My internal monologue is a lot faster than the words can get out of my mouth (when I was younger, I tried to speak as fast as I think, with the result that no-one could understand me; of course, to speak that fast, I needed to drop significant parts of most of the words, which didn’t help). I don’t always plan out every sentence in advance; but thinking about it, I think I do plan out every phrase in advance, relying on the speed of my internal monologue to produce the next phrase before or at worst very shortly after I complete the current phrase. (It often helps to include a brief pause at the end of a phrase in any case). It’s very much a just-in-time thing.
If I’m making a special effort to be tactful, then I’ll produce and consider a full sentence inside my head before saying it out loud.
Incidentally, I’m also a member of Toastmasters, and one thing that Toastmasters has is impromptu speaking, when a person is asked to give a one-to-two minute speech and is told the topic just before stepping up to give the speech. The topic could be anything (I’ve had “common sense”, “stick”, and “nail”, among others). Most people seem to be scared of this, apparently seeing it as an opportunity to stand up and be embarrassed; I find that I enjoy it. I often start an impromptu speech with very little idea of how it’s going to end; I usually make some sort of pun about the topic (I changed ‘common sense’ into a very snooty, upper-crust type of person complaining about commoners with money - ‘common cents’), and often talk more-or-less total nonsense.
But, through the whole speech, I always know what I am saying. I am not surprised by my own words (no matter how surprised other people may be by the idea of ‘common cents’). I don’t think I know how to be surprised at what I am saying. (Of course, my words are not always well-considered, in hindsight; and sometimes I will be surprised at someone else’s interpretation of my words, and be forced to explain that that’s not what I meant)
I’m the same—except occasionally, when I’m ‘flowing’ in conversation, I’ll find that my inner monologue fails to produce what I think it can, and my mouth just halts without input from it
I find that happens to me sometimes when I talk in Afrikaans; my Afrikaans vocabulary is poor enough that I often get halfway through a sentance and find that I can’t remember the word for what I want to say.
It occasionally happens to me in any language. I usually manage to rephrase the sentence on the flight or to replace the word with something generic like “thing” and let the listener figure it out from the context, without much trouble.
Something that occurred to me on this topic; reading has a lot to do with the inner monologue. Writing is, in my view, a code of symbols on a piece of paper (or a screen) which tell the reader what their inner monologue should say. Reading, therefore, is the voluntary (and temporary) replacement of the reader’s internal monologue with an internal monologue supplied and encoded by the author.
At least, that’s what happens when I read. Do other people have the same experience?
Hypothesis: Since I am more used to read sentences without a full stop after each word than sentences like that, of course I will read the former more quickly—because it takes less effort.
Experiment to test this hypothesis: Ilikehowwhenyoureadthisthelittlevoiceinyourheadspeaksveryquickly.
Result of the experiment: at least for me, my hypothesis is wrong. YMMV.
The little voice in my head speaks quickly for that experimental phrase, yes. It should be taking slightly longer to decode—since the information on word borders is missing—which suggests that the voice in my head is doing special effects. I think that that is becausewordslikethis can be used in fiction as the voice of someone who is speaking quickly; so if the voice in my head speeds up when reading it, then that makes the story more immersive.
That sounds in my head like the voice in Italian TV ads for medicines reading the disclaimers required (I guess) by law (ultra-fast words, but pauses between sentences of nearly normal length).
(If anyone picks any option except ‘Yes’ or ‘No’, could you please elaborate?)
I can parse it both ways. Actually, on further experimentation, it appears to be tied directly to my eye-scanning speed! If I force my eyes to scan over the line quickly from left-to-right, I read it without pause; if I read the way I normally do (by staring at the ‘When’ to take a “snapshot” of I, like, how, when, you, and read all at once; then staring at the space between “little” and “voice” to take a snapshot of this, the, little, voice, in, and your all at once, then staring at the “pauses” to take a snapshot of head, takes, and pauses), then the pauses get inserted—but not as normal sentence stops; more like… a clipped robot.
Yeah, something clicked while I was reading an old encyclopedia sometime around age 7; I remember it quite vividly. My brain started being able to process chunks of text at a time instead of single words, so I could sort of focus on the middle of a short sentence or phrase and read the whole thing at once. I went from reading at about one-quarter conversation speed, to about ten times conversation speed, over the course of a few minutes. I still don’t quite understand what the process was that enabled the change; I just sort of experienced it happening.
One trade-off is that I don’t have full conscious recall of each word when I read things that quickly—but I do tend to be able to pull up a reasonable paraphrasing of the information later if I need to.
I can see both pros and cons to this talent. The pro is obvious; faster reading. The con is that it may cause trouble parsing subtly-worded legal contracts; the sort where one misplaced word may potentially land up with both parties arguing the matter in court. Or anything else where exact wording is important, like preparing a wish for a genie.
Of course, since it seems that you can choose when to use this, um, snapshot reading and when not to, you can gain the full benefit of the pros most of the time while carefully removing the cons in any situation where they become important.
Assuming you’re literally talking about subvocalization, it depends on what I’m reading (I do it more with poetry than with academic papers), on how quickly I’m reading (I don’t do that as much when skimming), on whether I know what the author’s voice sounds like (in which case I subvocalize in their voice—which slows me down a great deal if I’m reading stuff by someone who speaks slowly and with a strong foreign accent e.g. Benedict XVI), and possibly on something else I’m overlooking at the moment.
I do not notice that I am subvocalising when I read, even when I am looking for it (I tested this on the wiki page that you linked to). I do notice, however, that it mentions that subvocalising is often not detectable by the person doing the subvocalising.
More specifically, if I place my hand lightly on my throat while reading, I feel no movement of the muscles; and I am able to continue reading while swallowing.
So, no, I don’t think I’m talking about subvocalising. I’m talking about an imaginary voice in my head that narrates my thought processes.
Hmmm… my inner monologue does not tend to speak in the voice of someone whose voice I know. I can get it to speak in other peoples’ voices, or in what I imagine other people’s voices to sound like, if I try to, but it defaults to a sort of neutral gear which, now that I think about it, sounds like a voice but not quite like my (external) voice. Similar, but not the same. (And, of course, the way that I hear my voice when I speak differs from how I hear it when recorded on tape—my inner monologue sounds more like the way I hear my voice, but still somewhat different)
...this is strange. I don’t know who my inner monologue sounds like, if anyone.
Hmmm… my inner monologue does not tend to speak in the voice of someone whose voice I know. I can get it to speak in other peoples’ voices, or in what I imagine other people’s voices to sound like, if I try to, but it defaults to a sort of neutral gear which, now that I think about it, sounds like a voice but not quite like my (external) voice. Similar, but not the same. (And, of course, the way that I hear my voice when I speak differs from how I hear it when recorded on tape—my inner monologue sounds more like the way I hear my voice, but still somewhat different)
Mine usually sounds more or less like I’m whispering.
My inner monologue definitely doesn’t sound like whispering; it’s a voice, speaking normally.
I think I can best describe it by saying that it sounds more like I imagine myself sounding than like I actually sound to myself; but I suspect that’s recursive, i.e. I imagine myself sounding like that because that’s what my inner monologue sounds like.
Yes. If my mood or emotional state is sufficiently severe, then my inner voice will sound different; both in choice of phrasing and in tone of voice.
It’s not an audible voice, as such; I think the best way that I can describe it is to say that it’s very much like a memory of a voice, except that it’s generated on-the-fly instead of being, well, remembered. As such, it has most of the properties of an audible voice (except actual audibility) - including such markers as ‘tone of voice’. This tone changes with my emotional state in reasonable ways; that is, if I am sufficiently angry, then my inner voice may take on an angry, menacing tone.
If my emotional state is not sufficiently severe, then I am unable to notice any change in my inner-voice tone. I also note that my spoken voice shows a noticeable change of tone at significantly lower emotional severity than my inner voice does.
It’s not an audible voice, as such; I think the best way that I can describe it is to say that it’s very much like a memory of a voice, except that it’s generated on-the-fly instead of being, well, remembered.
I was about to say that it’s the same for me, but then I remember that at least for me actual memories of voices can be very vivid (especially in hypnagogic state or when I’m reading stuff written by that person), whereas my inner voice seldom is. (And memories of voices can also be generated on-the-fly—I can pick a sentence and imagine a bunch of people I know each saying it, even if I can’t remember hearing any of them actually ever saying that sentence.)
Huh. Either my memories of voices are less vivid than yours, or my inner monologue is more vivid. Quite possibly both.
Of course, when I remember someone saying something, it can include information aside from the voice (e.g. where it happened, the surroundings at the time) which is never included in my inner monologue. I consider these details to be seperate from the voice-memory; the voice-memory is merely a part of the whole “what-he-said” memory.
BTW, I think I have one kind of memory for people’s timbre, rate of speech, volume, accent, etc., and one for sequences of phonemes, and when recalling what a person sounded like when saying a given sentence I combine the two on the flight.
My internal monologue is a lot faster than the words can get out of my mouth (when I was younger, I tried to speak as fast as I think, with the result that no-one could understand me; of course, to speak that fast, I needed to drop significant parts of most of the words, which didn’t help). I don’t always plan out every sentence in advance; but thinking about it, I think I do plan out every phrase in advance, relying on the speed of my internal monologue to produce the next phrase before or at worst very shortly after I complete the current phrase. (It often helps to include a brief pause at the end of a phrase in any case). It’s very much a just-in-time thing.
If I’m making a special effort to be tactful, then I’ll produce and consider a full sentence inside my head before saying it out loud.
Incidentally, I’m also a member of Toastmasters, and one thing that Toastmasters has is impromptu speaking, when a person is asked to give a one-to-two minute speech and is told the topic just before stepping up to give the speech. The topic could be anything (I’ve had “common sense”, “stick”, and “nail”, among others). Most people seem to be scared of this, apparently seeing it as an opportunity to stand up and be embarrassed; I find that I enjoy it. I often start an impromptu speech with very little idea of how it’s going to end; I usually make some sort of pun about the topic (I changed ‘common sense’ into a very snooty, upper-crust type of person complaining about commoners with money - ‘common cents’), and often talk more-or-less total nonsense.
But, through the whole speech, I always know what I am saying. I am not surprised by my own words (no matter how surprised other people may be by the idea of ‘common cents’). I don’t think I know how to be surprised at what I am saying. (Of course, my words are not always well-considered, in hindsight; and sometimes I will be surprised at someone else’s interpretation of my words, and be forced to explain that that’s not what I meant)
I’m the same—except occasionally, when I’m ‘flowing’ in conversation, I’ll find that my inner monologue fails to produce what I think it can, and my mouth just halts without input from it
I find that happens to me sometimes when I talk in Afrikaans; my Afrikaans vocabulary is poor enough that I often get halfway through a sentance and find that I can’t remember the word for what I want to say.
It occasionally happens to me in any language. I usually manage to rephrase the sentence on the flight or to replace the word with something generic like “thing” and let the listener figure it out from the context, without much trouble.
Something that occurred to me on this topic; reading has a lot to do with the inner monologue. Writing is, in my view, a code of symbols on a piece of paper (or a screen) which tell the reader what their inner monologue should say. Reading, therefore, is the voluntary (and temporary) replacement of the reader’s internal monologue with an internal monologue supplied and encoded by the author.
At least, that’s what happens when I read. Do other people have the same experience?
Inner monologue test:
I. like. how. when. you. read. this. the. little. voice. in. your. head. takes. pauses..
Does anyone find that the periods don’t make the sentence sound different?
Let’s make it a poll:
When you read NancyLebovitz’s sentence (quoted above) do the periods make it sound different?
[pollid:470]
(If anyone picks any option except ‘Yes’ or ‘No’, could you please elaborate?)
Hypothesis: Since I am more used to read sentences without a full stop after each word than sentences like that, of course I will read the former more quickly—because it takes less effort.
Experiment to test this hypothesis: Ilikehowwhenyoureadthisthelittlevoiceinyourheadspeaksveryquickly.
Result of the experiment: at least for me, my hypothesis is wrong. YMMV.
As far as I can tell, I started reading the test phrase more slowly than normal, then “shifted gears” and sped up, perhaps to faster than normal.
Same here, for both test sentences.
The little voice in my head speaks quickly for that experimental phrase, yes. It should be taking slightly longer to decode—since the information on word borders is missing—which suggests that the voice in my head is doing special effects. I think that that is becausewordslikethis can be used in fiction as the voice of someone who is speaking quickly; so if the voice in my head speeds up when reading it, then that makes the story more immersive.
Hypothesisconfirmedforme.Perhapstoomanyhourslisteningtoaudiobooksatfivetimesspeed. Normalspeedheadvoicejustseemssoslow.
That sounds in my head like the voice in Italian TV ads for medicines reading the disclaimers required (I guess) by law (ultra-fast words, but pauses between sentences of nearly normal length).
I can parse it both ways. Actually, on further experimentation, it appears to be tied directly to my eye-scanning speed! If I force my eyes to scan over the line quickly from left-to-right, I read it without pause; if I read the way I normally do (by staring at the ‘When’ to take a “snapshot” of I, like, how, when, you, and read all at once; then staring at the space between “little” and “voice” to take a snapshot of this, the, little, voice, in, and your all at once, then staring at the “pauses” to take a snapshot of head, takes, and pauses), then the pauses get inserted—but not as normal sentence stops; more like… a clipped robot.
Huh. You read in a different way to what I do; I normally scan the line left-to-right. And I insert the pauses when I do so.
It sounds like a clipped robot to me too.
Yeah, something clicked while I was reading an old encyclopedia sometime around age 7; I remember it quite vividly. My brain started being able to process chunks of text at a time instead of single words, so I could sort of focus on the middle of a short sentence or phrase and read the whole thing at once. I went from reading at about one-quarter conversation speed, to about ten times conversation speed, over the course of a few minutes. I still don’t quite understand what the process was that enabled the change; I just sort of experienced it happening.
One trade-off is that I don’t have full conscious recall of each word when I read things that quickly—but I do tend to be able to pull up a reasonable paraphrasing of the information later if I need to.
I can see both pros and cons to this talent. The pro is obvious; faster reading. The con is that it may cause trouble parsing subtly-worded legal contracts; the sort where one misplaced word may potentially land up with both parties arguing the matter in court. Or anything else where exact wording is important, like preparing a wish for a genie.
Of course, since it seems that you can choose when to use this, um, snapshot reading and when not to, you can gain the full benefit of the pros most of the time while carefully removing the cons in any situation where they become important.
I call that “skimming”, but maybe that’s something else?
Assuming you’re literally talking about subvocalization, it depends on what I’m reading (I do it more with poetry than with academic papers), on how quickly I’m reading (I don’t do that as much when skimming), on whether I know what the author’s voice sounds like (in which case I subvocalize in their voice—which slows me down a great deal if I’m reading stuff by someone who speaks slowly and with a strong foreign accent e.g. Benedict XVI), and possibly on something else I’m overlooking at the moment.
I do not notice that I am subvocalising when I read, even when I am looking for it (I tested this on the wiki page that you linked to). I do notice, however, that it mentions that subvocalising is often not detectable by the person doing the subvocalising.
More specifically, if I place my hand lightly on my throat while reading, I feel no movement of the muscles; and I am able to continue reading while swallowing.
So, no, I don’t think I’m talking about subvocalising. I’m talking about an imaginary voice in my head that narrates my thought processes.
Hmmm… my inner monologue does not tend to speak in the voice of someone whose voice I know. I can get it to speak in other peoples’ voices, or in what I imagine other people’s voices to sound like, if I try to, but it defaults to a sort of neutral gear which, now that I think about it, sounds like a voice but not quite like my (external) voice. Similar, but not the same. (And, of course, the way that I hear my voice when I speak differs from how I hear it when recorded on tape—my inner monologue sounds more like the way I hear my voice, but still somewhat different)
...this is strange. I don’t know who my inner monologue sounds like, if anyone.
Mine usually sounds more or less like I’m whispering.
My inner monologue definitely doesn’t sound like whispering; it’s a voice, speaking normally.
I think I can best describe it by saying that it sounds more like I imagine myself sounding than like I actually sound to myself; but I suspect that’s recursive, i.e. I imagine myself sounding like that because that’s what my inner monologue sounds like.
Does your inner voice sound different depending on your mood or emotional state?
Yes. If my mood or emotional state is sufficiently severe, then my inner voice will sound different; both in choice of phrasing and in tone of voice.
It’s not an audible voice, as such; I think the best way that I can describe it is to say that it’s very much like a memory of a voice, except that it’s generated on-the-fly instead of being, well, remembered. As such, it has most of the properties of an audible voice (except actual audibility) - including such markers as ‘tone of voice’. This tone changes with my emotional state in reasonable ways; that is, if I am sufficiently angry, then my inner voice may take on an angry, menacing tone.
If my emotional state is not sufficiently severe, then I am unable to notice any change in my inner-voice tone. I also note that my spoken voice shows a noticeable change of tone at significantly lower emotional severity than my inner voice does.
I was about to say that it’s the same for me, but then I remember that at least for me actual memories of voices can be very vivid (especially in hypnagogic state or when I’m reading stuff written by that person), whereas my inner voice seldom is. (And memories of voices can also be generated on-the-fly—I can pick a sentence and imagine a bunch of people I know each saying it, even if I can’t remember hearing any of them actually ever saying that sentence.)
Huh. Either my memories of voices are less vivid than yours, or my inner monologue is more vivid. Quite possibly both.
Of course, when I remember someone saying something, it can include information aside from the voice (e.g. where it happened, the surroundings at the time) which is never included in my inner monologue. I consider these details to be seperate from the voice-memory; the voice-memory is merely a part of the whole “what-he-said” memory.
BTW, I think I have one kind of memory for people’s timbre, rate of speech, volume, accent, etc., and one for sequences of phonemes, and when recalling what a person sounded like when saying a given sentence I combine the two on the flight.