Stranger Than Fiction Monologues

I.R.S. auditor Harold Crick suddenly finds his mundane Chicago life to be the subject of narration only he can hear: narration that begins to affect his entire existence, from his work to his love life to his death.

Because it's a book about a man who doesn't know he's about to die and then dies. But if the man does know he's going to die and dies anyway, dies willingly, knowing he could stop it, then... I mean, isn't that the type of man you want to keep alive?

Little did he know that this simple, seemingly innocuous act would result in his imminent death.

It wasn't just about finding a guitar. It was about finding a guitar that said something about Harold. Unfortunately, this guitar said: "When I get back to Georgia, that woman gonna feel my pain." This one said something along the lines of: "Why, yes, these pants are Lycra." These said, "I'm very sensitive, very caring and I have absolutely no idea how to play the guitar." "I'm compensating for something. Guess what." And then Harold saw it.

As Harold took a bite of Bavarian Sugar Cookie, he finally felt as if everything was going to be okay. Sometimes, when we lose ourselves in fear and despair, in routine and constancy, in hopelessness and tragedy, we can thank God for Bavarian Sugar Cookies, and fortunately, when there aren't any cookies, we can still find reassurance in a familiar hand on our skin… or a kind and loving gesture… or a subtle encouragement… or a loving embrace… or an offer of comfort… not to mention hospital gurneys… and nose plugs… and uneaten Danish… and soft-spoken secrets… and Fender Stratocasters… and maybe, the occasional piece of fiction. And we must remember that all these things, the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties, which we assume only accessorize our days, are in fact here for a much larger and nobler cause. They are here to save our lives. I know the idea seems strange, but I also know that it just so happens to be true. And so it was a wristwatch saved Harold Crick.

Why was Harold talking to this man? This man was an idiot.

Excuse me, where are the dying people? Most of these people are sick or injured - Which is great, don't get me wrong. But they're gonna get better, which doesn't really help me. Is there any way to see the people who aren't going to get better?

The sound the paper made against the folder had the same tone as a wave scraping against sand. And when Harold thought about it, he listened to enough waves every day to constitute what he imagined to be a deep and endless ocean...