Sandra’s Miscellany

Voice is one of those remarkably difficult things to define. You know, the kind of thing where the editor says, “I can’t tell you what I like, but I know it when I see it.” For every writer, there’s a definition of this elusive thing called “voice.”

So, since this is my blog and I can yell if I want to, here’s my definition:

Voice consists of three parts: you, the author; craft; and courage.

You know what I’m talking about. The story’s well-crafted, the characters are interesting, the conflict is high — and you don’t care. The words are dead on the page because they’re not lifting you, the reader, up into story and drawing you in. You sense there’s nothing beneath the words. And… you don’t care. This is one of those problems where the editor or agent will make encouraging noises on your manuscript, but not buy it. A novel with a great voice is workable — fix this characterization or change that plot problem. But a novel with no voice (unique or not) is a very, very hard sell.

Let’s have a look at the components.

You

We can’t help it. While today we may write a historical novel and tomorrow a science fiction short story, chances are, both will “sound like us.” Part of voice is our own particular worldview and the way we choose to express that worldview. If we’re cynical, our writing will have a knowing sneer about it. If we’re optimistic, our pages will vibrate with anticipation. If we’re mildly depressive, our work will have a natural somberness and gravity.

This is where I adhere to the wisdom that we should write the book of our voice. Voice is going to be the one thing we have a hard time changing, so we might as well stack the cards in our favor and write to our strengths. I, for example, will likely never write a historical. Why? The words don’t naturally come out in the cadence and sensibility of a historical author. If I were to try to write one, I’d have to struggle hard against my tendency to write quick, snappy sentences (not to mention smart-assed heroines). Better I stick to subgenres that allow me to put the words on the page they way I want to.

There’s nothing intrinsically right or wrong about who we are and how we express our thoughts on the page. So embrace the part of yourself that emerges in your writing. It’s the one thing you can do absolutely nothing about, so why not enjoy your self?

But you can do something about…

Craft

Once you have a handle on your natural voice, you can actively take steps to pump up the volume. Think diction and sentence length for starters.

Diction is the art of word choice. Your heroine, no matter where she’s from, will have a particular set of words she’ll choose to get her point across. Maybe she’ll even have a catch phrase. Using colloquial language can aid characterization and give dialogue — both internal and external — a bit of flair. When you’re writing in deep POV, the language should “pop” on the page, even if the tone is dark, because you’re writing from within the character’s deepest self, and revealing who s/he is.

Sentence length is simultaneously the simplest and most difficult thing to address. For example, a good writing buddy of mine couldn’t figure out why her dark paranormal was winning in contests but didn’t sell. I offered to read it. The story was interesting but I wasn’t moved, and it took me a while to realize that the reason was because her sentence structure was that of light comedy. No wonder I couldn’t get emotionally invested in what was going on. The story was telling me it was serious, but the writing felt lighter, fluffier. Sort of like listening to carnival music while you watch the Titanic go down. It’s a mismatch.

Longer sentences suggest a slower, more deliberate tone. Like anything else, you have to use your best judgment as to when to use them — they’re great any time you need things to slow down, turn inward for some introspection, or get serious.

Short sentences are excellent for comedy, action sequences, and anywhere you need a faster pace.

Not all introspection needs to have long sentences and not all action sequences have to be in short ones. This is one of those points where it helps to have read a lot and then looked hard at what you’ve read. Remember how we used to diagram sentences in English class and absolutely hated it? Well, whip out the old notebook because diagramming a paragraph that you admire will help you figure out how the sentences were constructed, and allow you learn what moves you can make in your own writing to achieve a similar effect.

But the most difficult part of voice is…

Courage

All writing is an act of arrogance. You don’t think so? Consider this: If you’re writing a romance novel for publication, aren’t you expecting other people to read it — and like it? Don’t you want them to give you money to read your work?

I’m not talking about arrogance that’s the snobby, better-than-thou, stuff that’s insufferable to be around. I’m talking about believing that the words belong on the page because you put them there.

That doesn’t mean those words can’t be improved or changed or even thrown out entirely. But it does mean that you own them. They’re yours. You get to decide whether they go or stay. No one else.

This is called writing with authority, and no one can teach you or berate you or coax you into doing it.

Writing with authority allows you to make up words if you need them. It lets you use words that your critique partners may not like. It lets you sound like you know what you’re talking about — the words on the page are true — even if you don’t.

Courage is between you and your higher power. I wish I had a magic wand to wave to give more writers courage, but I don’t. Pray about it, meditate on it, practice it. In the final analysis, that’s all anyone can do.

But keep writing! And keep reading lots of other ideas about voice. No one treatise is going to satisfy everyone. Just don’t stop seeking….