Finding a writing voice can be a struggle,
whether you’re writing a novel, short story,
flash fiction or a blog post. Some may even
wonder, what is voice in writing? A writer’s
voice is something uniquely their own. It makes
their work pop, plus readers recognize the
familiarity. You would be able to identify the
difference between Tolkien and Hemingway,
wouldn’t you? It’s the way they write; their
voice, in writing, is as natural as everyone’s
speaking voice. Your voice should be authentic,
even if you borrow a sense of style from your
favorite author. But remember, voice and style
are two entirely different things.
When you find that unique voice, you might not
even be able to explain how it came about—let
alone describe what it is. That’s the beauty of
writing and discovering as you write.
Sometimes the best things just happen
naturally. In his book Writing the Breakout
Novel, literary agent Donald Maass discusses
developing a writing voice, it’s importance and
where it comes from:
* * *
“I am looking for authors with a distinctive
voice.” I hear that from editors over lunch
almost as often as I hear, “I am looking for big,
well-written thrillers.”
What the heck is “voice”? By this, do editors
mean “style”? I do not think so. By voice, I
think they mean not only a unique way of
putting words together, but a unique sensibility,
a distinctive way of looking at the world, an
outlook that enriches an author’s oeuvre. They
want to read an author who is like no other. An
original. A standout. A voice.
How can you develop your voice? To some
extent it happens all by itself. Stories come
from the subconscious. What drives you to
write, to some extent, are your own unresolved
inner conflicts. Have you noticed your favorite
authors have character types that recur? Plot
turns that feel familiar? Descriptive details that
you would swear you have read before (a
yellow bowl, a slant of light, an inch of cigarette
ash)? That is the subconscious at work.
You can facilitate voice by giving yourself the
freedom to say things in your own unique way.
You do not talk exactly like anyone else, right?
Why should you write like everyone else?
Science fiction writer Neal Stephenson has a
unique voice. His cyber-sensibility comes
through in his very choice of words. At the
beginning of his 1992 novel Snow Crash ,
Stephenson introduces his pizza-delivery hero
and, in this passage, his car:
The Deliverator’s car has enough potential
energy packed into its batteries to fire a pound
of bacon into the Asteroid Belt. Unlike a bimbo
box or a Burb beater, the Deliverator’s car
unloads that power through gaping, gleaming,
polished sphincters. When the Deliverator puts
the hammer down, shit happens. You want to
talk contact patches? Your car’s tires have tiny
contact patches, talk to the asphalt in four
places the size of your tongue. The
Deliverator’s car has big sticky tires with
contact patches the size of a fat lady’s thighs.
The Deliverator is in touch with the road, starts
like a bad day, stops on a peseta.
Another distinctive voice in science fiction
belongs to my client Nalo Hopkinson, a
Jamaican Canadian who not only envisions the
future, but who envisions the future of people of
color in Creole-spiced prose that is as flavorful
as gumbo. Her 1998 debut novel, Brown Girl in
the Ring , won her the John W. Campbell Award
for Best New Writer, a stunning collection of
reviews, and is in its fourth printing. In her 2000
novel Midnight Robber , Hopkinson pushes her
voice even further. Its opening paragraphs
introduce a storyteller narrator and the novel’s
heroine, the Midnight Robber:
Oho. Like it starting, oui? Don’t be frightened,
sweetness; is for the best. I go be with you the
whole time. Trust me and let me distract you a
little bit with one anasi story:
It had a woman, you see, a strong, hard-back
woman with skin like cocoa-tea. She two foot-
them tough from hiking through the diable
bush, the devil bush on the prison planet of
New Half-Way Tree. When she walk, she foot
strike the hard earth bup! like breadfruit
dropping to the ground. She two arms hard
with muscle from all the years of hacking paths
through the diable bush on New Half-Way Tree.
Even she hair itself rough and wiry; long black
knotty locks springing from she scalp and
corkscrewing all the way down she back. She
name Tan-Tan, and New Half-Way Tree she
planet.
That said, it is worth noting that the voice of
many bestselling authors is as neutral as a
national news anchor’s accent. Some say it
takes blandness of style to break out; or rather,
to rub so few people the wrong way that
millions can read the author without any
discomfort. My own feeling is that voice is a
natural attribute. You no more control it than
you can control the color of your eyes—nor
would you want to. Plenty of breakout authors
have a distinctive voice.
To set your voice free, set your words free. Set
your characters free. Most important, set your
heart free. It is from the unknowable shadows
of your subconscious that your stories will find
their drive and from which they will draw their
meaning. No one can loan that or teach you
that. Your voice is your self in the story.
* * *
A writer’s voice can vary, too, particularly when
crossing genres of fiction (and nonfiction). You
probably wouldn’t write a romance novel the
same way that you write crime. If you’re
looking to develop a consistent voice, try
reading a lot of works by one author—look for
patterns (and inspiration). Some of my
personal favorites are Cormac McCarthy, Chuck
Palahniuk and Colson Whitehead. Generally,
they keep a similar style and voice across all of
their novels.
It could be as simple as practicing free writing.
It might mean trying exercises to find the
particular voice you are looking for. For
example, if your narrator is your protagonist,
you might want to try develop a unique voice
for him that stands out from your own. I like to
come up with characteristics or traits of that
narrator and create statements as if that
character was saying them. “I’m a smoker.” “I
have anger issues.” “I’m an insomniac.” What
do these traits tell you about that character?
What naturally flows from your fingertips as you
write these statements? You can find out a lot
about your character’s voice, or your own
writing voice, by writing everything that comes
to mind. By writing what’s natural. Just remember to keep writing.
whether you’re writing a novel, short story,
flash fiction or a blog post. Some may even
wonder, what is voice in writing? A writer’s
voice is something uniquely their own. It makes
their work pop, plus readers recognize the
familiarity. You would be able to identify the
difference between Tolkien and Hemingway,
wouldn’t you? It’s the way they write; their
voice, in writing, is as natural as everyone’s
speaking voice. Your voice should be authentic,
even if you borrow a sense of style from your
favorite author. But remember, voice and style
are two entirely different things.
When you find that unique voice, you might not
even be able to explain how it came about—let
alone describe what it is. That’s the beauty of
writing and discovering as you write.
Sometimes the best things just happen
naturally. In his book Writing the Breakout
Novel, literary agent Donald Maass discusses
developing a writing voice, it’s importance and
where it comes from:
* * *
“I am looking for authors with a distinctive
voice.” I hear that from editors over lunch
almost as often as I hear, “I am looking for big,
well-written thrillers.”
What the heck is “voice”? By this, do editors
mean “style”? I do not think so. By voice, I
think they mean not only a unique way of
putting words together, but a unique sensibility,
a distinctive way of looking at the world, an
outlook that enriches an author’s oeuvre. They
want to read an author who is like no other. An
original. A standout. A voice.
How can you develop your voice? To some
extent it happens all by itself. Stories come
from the subconscious. What drives you to
write, to some extent, are your own unresolved
inner conflicts. Have you noticed your favorite
authors have character types that recur? Plot
turns that feel familiar? Descriptive details that
you would swear you have read before (a
yellow bowl, a slant of light, an inch of cigarette
ash)? That is the subconscious at work.
You can facilitate voice by giving yourself the
freedom to say things in your own unique way.
You do not talk exactly like anyone else, right?
Why should you write like everyone else?
Science fiction writer Neal Stephenson has a
unique voice. His cyber-sensibility comes
through in his very choice of words. At the
beginning of his 1992 novel Snow Crash ,
Stephenson introduces his pizza-delivery hero
and, in this passage, his car:
The Deliverator’s car has enough potential
energy packed into its batteries to fire a pound
of bacon into the Asteroid Belt. Unlike a bimbo
box or a Burb beater, the Deliverator’s car
unloads that power through gaping, gleaming,
polished sphincters. When the Deliverator puts
the hammer down, shit happens. You want to
talk contact patches? Your car’s tires have tiny
contact patches, talk to the asphalt in four
places the size of your tongue. The
Deliverator’s car has big sticky tires with
contact patches the size of a fat lady’s thighs.
The Deliverator is in touch with the road, starts
like a bad day, stops on a peseta.
Another distinctive voice in science fiction
belongs to my client Nalo Hopkinson, a
Jamaican Canadian who not only envisions the
future, but who envisions the future of people of
color in Creole-spiced prose that is as flavorful
as gumbo. Her 1998 debut novel, Brown Girl in
the Ring , won her the John W. Campbell Award
for Best New Writer, a stunning collection of
reviews, and is in its fourth printing. In her 2000
novel Midnight Robber , Hopkinson pushes her
voice even further. Its opening paragraphs
introduce a storyteller narrator and the novel’s
heroine, the Midnight Robber:
Oho. Like it starting, oui? Don’t be frightened,
sweetness; is for the best. I go be with you the
whole time. Trust me and let me distract you a
little bit with one anasi story:
It had a woman, you see, a strong, hard-back
woman with skin like cocoa-tea. She two foot-
them tough from hiking through the diable
bush, the devil bush on the prison planet of
New Half-Way Tree. When she walk, she foot
strike the hard earth bup! like breadfruit
dropping to the ground. She two arms hard
with muscle from all the years of hacking paths
through the diable bush on New Half-Way Tree.
Even she hair itself rough and wiry; long black
knotty locks springing from she scalp and
corkscrewing all the way down she back. She
name Tan-Tan, and New Half-Way Tree she
planet.
That said, it is worth noting that the voice of
many bestselling authors is as neutral as a
national news anchor’s accent. Some say it
takes blandness of style to break out; or rather,
to rub so few people the wrong way that
millions can read the author without any
discomfort. My own feeling is that voice is a
natural attribute. You no more control it than
you can control the color of your eyes—nor
would you want to. Plenty of breakout authors
have a distinctive voice.
To set your voice free, set your words free. Set
your characters free. Most important, set your
heart free. It is from the unknowable shadows
of your subconscious that your stories will find
their drive and from which they will draw their
meaning. No one can loan that or teach you
that. Your voice is your self in the story.
* * *
A writer’s voice can vary, too, particularly when
crossing genres of fiction (and nonfiction). You
probably wouldn’t write a romance novel the
same way that you write crime. If you’re
looking to develop a consistent voice, try
reading a lot of works by one author—look for
patterns (and inspiration). Some of my
personal favorites are Cormac McCarthy, Chuck
Palahniuk and Colson Whitehead. Generally,
they keep a similar style and voice across all of
their novels.
It could be as simple as practicing free writing.
It might mean trying exercises to find the
particular voice you are looking for. For
example, if your narrator is your protagonist,
you might want to try develop a unique voice
for him that stands out from your own. I like to
come up with characteristics or traits of that
narrator and create statements as if that
character was saying them. “I’m a smoker.” “I
have anger issues.” “I’m an insomniac.” What
do these traits tell you about that character?
What naturally flows from your fingertips as you
write these statements? You can find out a lot
about your character’s voice, or your own
writing voice, by writing everything that comes
to mind. By writing what’s natural. Just remember to keep writing.
Post a Comment Blogger Disqus
If you enjoyed our article, leave a comment.