We’ve decided to blog this week about what current writer we envy and why.
Um… any published writer.
Even though that was my first reaction, I realized almost immediately I don’t envy just any or every published writer. I don’t even envy a great many successful published writers.
Who do I envy?
1) Libba Bray. I’m not sure I even looked forward to the final installment of the Harry Potter series with the zeal with which I await Libba’s The Sweet Far Thing. What is it I envy of Libba so much? I envy the extraordinary, imaginative concepts in her books. I envy her subtle use of theme, how suddenly the theme of her books are staring you in the face. I envy her aching portrayal of an innocent teen with all the angst that is universal, all the desire that bubbles below the surface, all the terror that you will and won’t experience all life has to offer. I’d love to write great YA fantasy. I’d love to write like Libba Bray.
2) J.R. Ward. Envelope-pushing, world-building genius J.R. Ward. Her Black Dagger Brotherhood series is a masterpiece. Her characters, especially the big, bad vampires of the brotherhood are well developed. She breaks rules that make you gasp and sets up story line and arcs that tie book after book together. She knows her characters as if they were real people. She knows her world like I know my hometown. Spectacular. I’d love to write great urban fantasy like J.R. Ward.
3) J.K. Rowling. This one woman made reading cool. She made science fiction and fantasy cool. She spurred a new trend in YA books. Her works have people getting in line to buy books six hours before they go on sale. That’s the stuff of rock bands and arena concerts. And did I say she’s a cagillionaire? I’d love to write like J.K. Rowling. Actually, I’d just love her bank account.
Perhaps this is a bit of an irreverent view, but it was very eye-opening to write it. As I struggle with what I should write after voice class, I find little clues everywhere. All three of the writers I selected write fantasy of some sort. All create vivid worlds that I’d step into if I could. All at least dabble in romance with love interests and hormones and crushes and first kisses. Two of the three are YA with wide adult appeal. All have a distinctly dark aspect. All deal with themes which land squarely in gray, rather than black and white.
I didn’t have any idea this little exercise would continue to give me voice clues.
Sigh.
I guess what I SHOULD write for NaNoWriMo is becoming clearer and clearer.
What current writer(s) to you envy and why?
Macy
Showing posts with label voice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label voice. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Autumn
Autumn is always a subtle endeavor in Florida. You must pay careful attention to notice its arrival, so I’ve learned to heed the signs of its advent.
Fall in many places is heralded with showy force. The temperature dips so that sweaters and jackets are returned to places of prominence in closets and wardrobe drawers. Hot chocolate supersedes lemonade on grocery lists as football fans fill thermoses full of the rich liquid to drink as they settle beneath blankets at evening games. The canopy of green that marks summer transforms into brilliant shades of red, orange, and yellow.
I miss the transfiguration of the world in autumn.
However, I’ve learned an equinox and calendar cannot proclaim the arrival of fall in Florida. Autumn arrives here, not with a proclamation of trumpets, but rather with the subtlety of a softly plucked guitar.
One morning you wake to greet a soft breeze rather than the driving humid heat. The hue of blue in the sky shifts to a softer shade, an almost imperceptible abatement of harsh light. You sleep through the night without the whir of an air conditioner and eventually crack your windows, letting in the pleasant breeze sans mosquitoes.
Autumn arrives, not with the grandiose intensity I’ve always associated with my favorite season, but with attenuated clues.
My ongoing discoveries about my voice are like autumn in Florida. I’ve had to learn to pay careful attention to subtleties. I wouldn’t mind if voice insights hit me with the full force of a northeast autumn, but I’ve learned to look for minute changes instead.
Careful scrutiny is all that allows one to witness the arrival of fall here. Careful scrutiny is all that allows me to garner those important voice clues which are so valuable.
I’d like to be slammed with the revelation that I should write this or that, that my voice is perfect for a particular genre, or that my gift is to write story X.
Instead I settle for subtle clues I’m learning to recognize. These clues are everywhere when you discover what to notice.
For example, Alyson says my voice deals with allegory. My scientific mind needs proof. Just as I can’t read the words “fall begins” on a calendar and buy into the statement, neither can I just say, “Great. I write with an allegorical voice.” So I decide to look for clues. I start by trying to understand just what an allegorical voice means. My best interpretation? Representing something abstract, spiritual or other in a concrete way, using one thing as a symbol for something altogether other.
I finally agree. Where did I find my clues? My favorite books. I never assumed for a minute that Watership Down really had anything to do with rabbits. I always knew Jonathan Livingston Seagull was about more than a bird. I’ve gleaned all along that the ultimate theme of the Harry Potter series was not so much about good vs. evil, but rather about the power of every decision to influence the course of one’s soul.
Another example: My voice is more about emotion than almost anything else. My clues: I mark passages in my favorite books that evoke that surprising change in the rhythm of your heart – not a change due to suspense, but rather due to an emotional discovery. Examples: J.R. Ward’s powerful portrayal of grief in Lover Awakened or Gemma’s discovery of the roots of why women were so long oppressed in Libba Bray’s novel A Great and Terrible Beauty. Another clue: The way a song I haven’t heard in years will change the rhythm of my heart and the way the memory of why it does so slides in afterward. My first concern when I write my own stories is not with a believable romance or compelling suspense. Rather, it’s with the emotional journey and whether I can apply some deeper understanding through it.
Of course, none of this helps me know what to write or where I fit as a writer. It does, however, remind me that sometimes a box is too small or too confined. A Florida fall doesn’t fit in the autumn box. It’s something other, and yet it’s wonderful and awe-inspiring.
Maybe I just have to be content that I don’t fit in a box.
If it’s good enough for a Florida fall, it’s good enough for me.
Macy
Fall in many places is heralded with showy force. The temperature dips so that sweaters and jackets are returned to places of prominence in closets and wardrobe drawers. Hot chocolate supersedes lemonade on grocery lists as football fans fill thermoses full of the rich liquid to drink as they settle beneath blankets at evening games. The canopy of green that marks summer transforms into brilliant shades of red, orange, and yellow.
I miss the transfiguration of the world in autumn.
However, I’ve learned an equinox and calendar cannot proclaim the arrival of fall in Florida. Autumn arrives here, not with a proclamation of trumpets, but rather with the subtlety of a softly plucked guitar.
One morning you wake to greet a soft breeze rather than the driving humid heat. The hue of blue in the sky shifts to a softer shade, an almost imperceptible abatement of harsh light. You sleep through the night without the whir of an air conditioner and eventually crack your windows, letting in the pleasant breeze sans mosquitoes.
Autumn arrives, not with the grandiose intensity I’ve always associated with my favorite season, but with attenuated clues.
My ongoing discoveries about my voice are like autumn in Florida. I’ve had to learn to pay careful attention to subtleties. I wouldn’t mind if voice insights hit me with the full force of a northeast autumn, but I’ve learned to look for minute changes instead.
Careful scrutiny is all that allows one to witness the arrival of fall here. Careful scrutiny is all that allows me to garner those important voice clues which are so valuable.
I’d like to be slammed with the revelation that I should write this or that, that my voice is perfect for a particular genre, or that my gift is to write story X.
Instead I settle for subtle clues I’m learning to recognize. These clues are everywhere when you discover what to notice.
For example, Alyson says my voice deals with allegory. My scientific mind needs proof. Just as I can’t read the words “fall begins” on a calendar and buy into the statement, neither can I just say, “Great. I write with an allegorical voice.” So I decide to look for clues. I start by trying to understand just what an allegorical voice means. My best interpretation? Representing something abstract, spiritual or other in a concrete way, using one thing as a symbol for something altogether other.
I finally agree. Where did I find my clues? My favorite books. I never assumed for a minute that Watership Down really had anything to do with rabbits. I always knew Jonathan Livingston Seagull was about more than a bird. I’ve gleaned all along that the ultimate theme of the Harry Potter series was not so much about good vs. evil, but rather about the power of every decision to influence the course of one’s soul.
Another example: My voice is more about emotion than almost anything else. My clues: I mark passages in my favorite books that evoke that surprising change in the rhythm of your heart – not a change due to suspense, but rather due to an emotional discovery. Examples: J.R. Ward’s powerful portrayal of grief in Lover Awakened or Gemma’s discovery of the roots of why women were so long oppressed in Libba Bray’s novel A Great and Terrible Beauty. Another clue: The way a song I haven’t heard in years will change the rhythm of my heart and the way the memory of why it does so slides in afterward. My first concern when I write my own stories is not with a believable romance or compelling suspense. Rather, it’s with the emotional journey and whether I can apply some deeper understanding through it.
Of course, none of this helps me know what to write or where I fit as a writer. It does, however, remind me that sometimes a box is too small or too confined. A Florida fall doesn’t fit in the autumn box. It’s something other, and yet it’s wonderful and awe-inspiring.
Maybe I just have to be content that I don’t fit in a box.
If it’s good enough for a Florida fall, it’s good enough for me.
Macy
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
So, does all this voice stuff really make a difference?
Yes.
Actually, Katrina said she’d know the answer to this in a few weeks now that she’s diving back into the WIP. I understand that.
Perhaps, the correct answer to the above question is “I hope so.”
If that’s the case, what exactly is it that I hope?
First, I hope I’m brave enough to write THE book, the one book that I’d write if I could only write one. I can’t imagine this. One book? Only one? Ever? However, this is a difficult question: What is that one book?
I think maybe my answer has changed from the very specific book I wrote about in voice class to a more general description. I might not write that book yet for many reasons. However, the ONE book I’d write would tell a similar story. It would be a journey about losing yourself to find someone else and then realizing you don’t have a clue who you are. It would be about redemption and second chances and discovering who you are. It would be about a world where people do the wrong things for all the right reasons. It would be about learning to listen to your heart and trust it as much as you do your head.
So, when asked if voice class and the revelations from it have changed my writing, I really have to say I hope so. Before I wrote stories; now I weave an intricate tale of muted souls, wrong turns, and figuring out how to fix it all.
I could write pages about how I hope my writing changes, but I think this one thing is really important, and maybe I’ll just leave it with this one thing: My writing is changing because I know my themes. I know what my ONE book and the one after that and the one after that are supposed to say about the world -- Hope is important. Redemption comes in the strangest places. And you're only lost if you don’t know where you are now.
Go write.
Macy
Actually, Katrina said she’d know the answer to this in a few weeks now that she’s diving back into the WIP. I understand that.
Perhaps, the correct answer to the above question is “I hope so.”
If that’s the case, what exactly is it that I hope?
First, I hope I’m brave enough to write THE book, the one book that I’d write if I could only write one. I can’t imagine this. One book? Only one? Ever? However, this is a difficult question: What is that one book?
I think maybe my answer has changed from the very specific book I wrote about in voice class to a more general description. I might not write that book yet for many reasons. However, the ONE book I’d write would tell a similar story. It would be a journey about losing yourself to find someone else and then realizing you don’t have a clue who you are. It would be about redemption and second chances and discovering who you are. It would be about a world where people do the wrong things for all the right reasons. It would be about learning to listen to your heart and trust it as much as you do your head.
So, when asked if voice class and the revelations from it have changed my writing, I really have to say I hope so. Before I wrote stories; now I weave an intricate tale of muted souls, wrong turns, and figuring out how to fix it all.
I could write pages about how I hope my writing changes, but I think this one thing is really important, and maybe I’ll just leave it with this one thing: My writing is changing because I know my themes. I know what my ONE book and the one after that and the one after that are supposed to say about the world -- Hope is important. Redemption comes in the strangest places. And you're only lost if you don’t know where you are now.
Go write.
Macy
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Macy's Voice Revelations
Recently, five of the six of us at AotP finished Barbara Samuel’s voice class. The experience was worth every penny I spent and every minute I committed to the class. I wish it could go on for another six weeks. Perhaps in the future, Barbara will create Voice Revisited or Voice 202. If she does, I want to be part of the inaugural class.
Why was this experience worth so much to me?
I learned more than I ever dreamed I would about my voice.
Voice is such an elusive thing. It’s hard to define, yet it’s what almost every editor and agent want most – a strong, new, different, unique, or fresh voice.
Barbara says, “Your voice is a deep-level chord that is largely unchangeable, made up of the cultural, intellectual, and emotional landscape of your life.”
That’s pretty heady stuff, especially if you aren’t too keen on some of your emotional landscape. Know what I mean?
Anyway, the plan is for AotP to spend some blog time discussing our revelations about voice in general and voice in specific.
This week’s topic is revelations about our own voices. Voice is highly personal, so no judgments here, just sharing.
Macy’s voice revelation #1:
Barbara astutely identified my biggest revelation. She said, “What I do see is a sense of the particular, a sense of things being a certain way and you relating to them as they are or should be. The proper way to make a margarita. Specific questions triggered by music. Putting things down in a way that is particular to you. It isn't all fussy or even really orderly. Just precise. Just so.” Barbara made this comment in regards to my list of 25 things I love. At first I translated “just so” as anal. But it isn’t. I chuckle about it now. Yesterday, I was thinking about a shade of red to which I’ve become particularly attracted. I was thinking of how I’d describe it in my head and realized that I was working pretty hard at it. I wanted it to be just right – that one particular shade of red which is deeper and richer and more poetic than the others. It’s a blue red – deep, rich, oxygenated, royal. See. Just so.
Macy’s voice revelation #2:
I evoke mood. I went back to look at all the times someone said I evoke mood and finally gave up counting them. It’s true. I evoke mood. Mood is very important to me. It’s almost a sense. Perhaps mood could be added to my primary senses. How do I evoke it? With subtle clues rather than slow pages of description. I evoke it with withered leaves carried on a gust of wind. With candle flames flickering on the window sills of a darkened room. With the slow slither of a brown snake past a massive oak door open to the Gregorian chants coming from inside weathered rock walls. Mood. Subtle. Emotional. Atmospheric.
Macy’s voice revelation #3:
My final voice revelation for today (not my final one, period) is about POV. I wrote 2 pieces in first person. I don’t normally write in first person. I didn’t realize I’d written in first person until I was finished. However, it was easy. Seamless. One was a fantasy piece about nomadic woman with a dark secret. The other was about a woman grieving. Many readers thought the one about that grieving woman was me. It wasn’t – at least not in that sense. Barbara said I might find a lot of power experimenting in first person because there was so much power for me in what I wrote. And, funny, I’ve been thinking about a new story, and it’s unraveling for me in first person. Hmmm…
These are big revelations. They may seem insignificant, but each profoundly alters my perception of me as a writer – in wonderful ways.
What revelations do you have about your voice?
macy
Why was this experience worth so much to me?
I learned more than I ever dreamed I would about my voice.
Voice is such an elusive thing. It’s hard to define, yet it’s what almost every editor and agent want most – a strong, new, different, unique, or fresh voice.
Barbara says, “Your voice is a deep-level chord that is largely unchangeable, made up of the cultural, intellectual, and emotional landscape of your life.”
That’s pretty heady stuff, especially if you aren’t too keen on some of your emotional landscape. Know what I mean?
Anyway, the plan is for AotP to spend some blog time discussing our revelations about voice in general and voice in specific.
This week’s topic is revelations about our own voices. Voice is highly personal, so no judgments here, just sharing.
Macy’s voice revelation #1:
Barbara astutely identified my biggest revelation. She said, “What I do see is a sense of the particular, a sense of things being a certain way and you relating to them as they are or should be. The proper way to make a margarita. Specific questions triggered by music. Putting things down in a way that is particular to you. It isn't all fussy or even really orderly. Just precise. Just so.” Barbara made this comment in regards to my list of 25 things I love. At first I translated “just so” as anal. But it isn’t. I chuckle about it now. Yesterday, I was thinking about a shade of red to which I’ve become particularly attracted. I was thinking of how I’d describe it in my head and realized that I was working pretty hard at it. I wanted it to be just right – that one particular shade of red which is deeper and richer and more poetic than the others. It’s a blue red – deep, rich, oxygenated, royal. See. Just so.
Macy’s voice revelation #2:
I evoke mood. I went back to look at all the times someone said I evoke mood and finally gave up counting them. It’s true. I evoke mood. Mood is very important to me. It’s almost a sense. Perhaps mood could be added to my primary senses. How do I evoke it? With subtle clues rather than slow pages of description. I evoke it with withered leaves carried on a gust of wind. With candle flames flickering on the window sills of a darkened room. With the slow slither of a brown snake past a massive oak door open to the Gregorian chants coming from inside weathered rock walls. Mood. Subtle. Emotional. Atmospheric.
Macy’s voice revelation #3:
My final voice revelation for today (not my final one, period) is about POV. I wrote 2 pieces in first person. I don’t normally write in first person. I didn’t realize I’d written in first person until I was finished. However, it was easy. Seamless. One was a fantasy piece about nomadic woman with a dark secret. The other was about a woman grieving. Many readers thought the one about that grieving woman was me. It wasn’t – at least not in that sense. Barbara said I might find a lot of power experimenting in first person because there was so much power for me in what I wrote. And, funny, I’ve been thinking about a new story, and it’s unraveling for me in first person. Hmmm…
These are big revelations. They may seem insignificant, but each profoundly alters my perception of me as a writer – in wonderful ways.
What revelations do you have about your voice?
macy
Friday, August 17, 2007
Voice challenge
It may look as if we've been on hiatus lately. We haven't. Not really. Well, maybe a bit on the blogging end of things. However, on the writing front, we've been moving along.
Between the voice class that 5 of the 6 of us are in, the famous author mentor one of us has, the kids 4 of us have, the bill-paying jobs 4 of us have, the home-schooling one of us does, the research work one of us does, the MIPs we're all working on, and one Oregon trail trip, we've been a tad bit busy.
Of everything listed, I think voice -- learning about it, discovering it, developing it, claiming it, accepting it -- is what's demanding our time now. Voice is a hard-to-define quality that is crucial to be a successful novelist. We're in week 2 of a 6 week exploration.
The article Voyage to Voice contains some tips for finding your voice. One that validated the exercises in which we are currently engaged said that "stream-of-consciousness writing is a necessary exercise for any author who wishes to fully comprehend their voice. When we write without concern for the mechanics, we free the voice locked within us. As with a toddler, these first steps will be awkward, shaky, and we may land on our derrieres, but as with a child, the more often we use those muscles, the stronger we become."
Writing with the internal editor turned off, pen to paper, is what we are doing now. As a matter of fact, one of the exercises for this week is to list 25 things we love -- to really describe them.
But sometimes we sensor ourselves. What if everyone thinks I'm a freak because of something I love? And that, of course, is the other big area to overcome -- fear.
So, here's what I propose, over the next week I'm challenging the authors of this blog to post a blog. Make it your list of 25 things you love. Put it out there and don't be afraid.
If you're a reader of this blog, post your 25 things in a comment.
Do it.
I'll post mine as soon as I'm done. I know Alyson is done already. Maybe she'll go first.
Be brave. Find your cadence. Embrace your destiny. Own your voice.
Macy
Between the voice class that 5 of the 6 of us are in, the famous author mentor one of us has, the kids 4 of us have, the bill-paying jobs 4 of us have, the home-schooling one of us does, the research work one of us does, the MIPs we're all working on, and one Oregon trail trip, we've been a tad bit busy.
Of everything listed, I think voice -- learning about it, discovering it, developing it, claiming it, accepting it -- is what's demanding our time now. Voice is a hard-to-define quality that is crucial to be a successful novelist. We're in week 2 of a 6 week exploration.
The article Voyage to Voice contains some tips for finding your voice. One that validated the exercises in which we are currently engaged said that "stream-of-consciousness writing is a necessary exercise for any author who wishes to fully comprehend their voice. When we write without concern for the mechanics, we free the voice locked within us. As with a toddler, these first steps will be awkward, shaky, and we may land on our derrieres, but as with a child, the more often we use those muscles, the stronger we become."
Writing with the internal editor turned off, pen to paper, is what we are doing now. As a matter of fact, one of the exercises for this week is to list 25 things we love -- to really describe them.
But sometimes we sensor ourselves. What if everyone thinks I'm a freak because of something I love? And that, of course, is the other big area to overcome -- fear.
So, here's what I propose, over the next week I'm challenging the authors of this blog to post a blog. Make it your list of 25 things you love. Put it out there and don't be afraid.
If you're a reader of this blog, post your 25 things in a comment.
Do it.
I'll post mine as soon as I'm done. I know Alyson is done already. Maybe she'll go first.
Be brave. Find your cadence. Embrace your destiny. Own your voice.
Macy
Saturday, June 9, 2007
Voice revisited
We’ve been thinking about voice and themes and brands lately on our AotP loop. This seems reasonable since 2/3 of us have already signed up for Barbara Samuel’s voice class.
In thinking about my voice, I’ve been trying to embrace who I am and what I really need and want to write. I don’t really think these things are so secret, but sometimes it’s more difficult to see it in yourself than in your writer buddies.
I think back to what I’ve read that gives me the most pleasure, what I’ve been drawn to in life, the things I’ve done right and the things I’ve done very wrong, the relationships I’ve had, and the thoughts that float in my head. In doing so, I’ve made a couple of observations.
1. I like to think. I like to read a book where at some point or points I have to put it down and think about it – not to understand it, but because there’s something in it I want to roll around in my head for awhile. Usually this is something unsettling – either in a good way or a bad one. Regardless, it shifts your universe just a little in letting into your head.
2. When I see scenes in my head, they are never sunny (in a weather sense). They are darker. Cloudy. Heavy fog. Mists. Early morning or late evening. Deep gray-blues of impending storms. Um, my voice, I’ve come to accept, has a dark edge to it. I don’t know why this ever surprised me.
3. I read once in a personality profile that the worlds I create in my head are so much more interesting than the one I inhabit. I inhabit a busy, active world full of opportunity. But, yeah, the one in my head is filled with magic. Magic pervades all my day dreams. Evil is around every corner and the heroes and heroines living there must call on all their resources – good and evil – to survive. The people in my head don’t live in a black and white world. They inhabit psyches of gray – right and wrong blur in an epic battle of good vs. evil. And that may seem contradictory, but it isn’t. Have you ever had to do the wrong thing for the greater good?
4. Alyson has a death thing (I hope it’s ok to say that Alyson) in her voice, but underneath it is a celebration of life and a humor that pervades the sadness of death. My voice doesn’t really have death in it, but rather dark decisions (key word there) that alter the internal balance of people and the external balance of the world. (I really think in a statement about my voice, the word “epic” has to be in there somewhere.) The characters in my head are wounded by dark choices – either theirs or others.
5. I read once that you want your heroine to be someone with whom you’d want to be friends – a person a little bit more upstanding than most. Nope. I don’t agree at all. Yes, I think in some peoples’ books, that is who the heroine should be, but not in mine. In mine, the heroine has to have a little darkness in her – something that gives her an edge. Edgy – another word I’d like to describe my voice.
Ah, I should stop now. I have to get ready for a writing workshop. Instead of being my trademark late, I have to be on time – at least – since I’m coffee girl today at the meeting.
Tell me about your voice observations. Make 5 points. Where are you now?
Macy
In thinking about my voice, I’ve been trying to embrace who I am and what I really need and want to write. I don’t really think these things are so secret, but sometimes it’s more difficult to see it in yourself than in your writer buddies.
I think back to what I’ve read that gives me the most pleasure, what I’ve been drawn to in life, the things I’ve done right and the things I’ve done very wrong, the relationships I’ve had, and the thoughts that float in my head. In doing so, I’ve made a couple of observations.
1. I like to think. I like to read a book where at some point or points I have to put it down and think about it – not to understand it, but because there’s something in it I want to roll around in my head for awhile. Usually this is something unsettling – either in a good way or a bad one. Regardless, it shifts your universe just a little in letting into your head.
2. When I see scenes in my head, they are never sunny (in a weather sense). They are darker. Cloudy. Heavy fog. Mists. Early morning or late evening. Deep gray-blues of impending storms. Um, my voice, I’ve come to accept, has a dark edge to it. I don’t know why this ever surprised me.
3. I read once in a personality profile that the worlds I create in my head are so much more interesting than the one I inhabit. I inhabit a busy, active world full of opportunity. But, yeah, the one in my head is filled with magic. Magic pervades all my day dreams. Evil is around every corner and the heroes and heroines living there must call on all their resources – good and evil – to survive. The people in my head don’t live in a black and white world. They inhabit psyches of gray – right and wrong blur in an epic battle of good vs. evil. And that may seem contradictory, but it isn’t. Have you ever had to do the wrong thing for the greater good?
4. Alyson has a death thing (I hope it’s ok to say that Alyson) in her voice, but underneath it is a celebration of life and a humor that pervades the sadness of death. My voice doesn’t really have death in it, but rather dark decisions (key word there) that alter the internal balance of people and the external balance of the world. (I really think in a statement about my voice, the word “epic” has to be in there somewhere.) The characters in my head are wounded by dark choices – either theirs or others.
5. I read once that you want your heroine to be someone with whom you’d want to be friends – a person a little bit more upstanding than most. Nope. I don’t agree at all. Yes, I think in some peoples’ books, that is who the heroine should be, but not in mine. In mine, the heroine has to have a little darkness in her – something that gives her an edge. Edgy – another word I’d like to describe my voice.
Ah, I should stop now. I have to get ready for a writing workshop. Instead of being my trademark late, I have to be on time – at least – since I’m coffee girl today at the meeting.
Tell me about your voice observations. Make 5 points. Where are you now?
Macy
Friday, April 6, 2007
"Elusive Voice Thingy" Redux
Voice.
What in the hell is it?
I’m serious. There’s a reason Macy calls it “the elusive voice thingy.”
I keep reading that we all have unique "writing voices," but often we can’t really "hear" those voices ourselves, even when others can.
I’ve read that “voice can be defined as the writer's awareness and effective use of diction, tone, syntax, unity, coherence and audience to create a clear and distinct personality of the writer, which emerges as a reader interacts with the text.”
One of your most powerful tools as a writer is not your vocabulary, your mastery of grammar or even your fancy computer -- it's your voice. Your unique blend of description, character and style allows you to talk to the reader through the printed word. Without a voice, a manuscript may have an exciting plot, interesting characters and a surprise ending, but it might not get published. The voice is what beckons the reader to curl up with a book and whispers, "Pay attention. I'm going to tell you a story."
Editors are always searching for new voices. Yet, when pressed, most editors find it hard to describe exactly what a voice is.
Clear as mud, no?
Will Kalif states that finding your unique writing style and voice is much like chasing a wild unicorn. You can’t do it. The harder you look, the further away it gets. You have to let it come to you by writing a lot.
I admit that I’m not overly worried about voice because so far people have said that they like my voice and that I have a distinct voice when I write fiction. Even when I speak people tend to ask me where I’m from. I say the
Uh, in the
I suspect what they’re thinking is “What planet are you from?” Yeah, yeah. I’m a little paranoid. But really, what do they mean by that?
Anyway . . .
As I said, in terms of my writing voice I’m not overly worried because I do believe it will come to me as I continue to crank out pages. HOWEVER, I would like to be able to describe it. I’m into navel gazing, if you haven’t noticed, completely and utterly obsessed with exploring, analyzing, describing and defining the experience of being Moi. The problem is that I can’t hear my voice. If I can't hear it, how can I describe it to anyone who will listen, let alone explore and analyze it?
Others have told me that it’s bold, edgy, blood red against a black border, in your face, funny, sharp, breezy, fun, irreverent, chick lit like.
Maybe.
I decided to answer Macy’s questions to see if that helped.
Q: Why are you writing?
A: I’m a communicator. I’ve always been compelled to read, write, talk a blue streak, tell stories, punctuate my stories with animated gesturing, write and direct all the neighborhood kids in plays, turn academic papers into stories to provide the right analogies. Also, writing helps me think, sort things out. I use stories as a way to describe and understand life. It’s the means I use to analyze people, ideas and experiences. While I’ve just started writing novels, I’ve always written – poetry, prayers, short stories, letters, emails, academic papers, newpaper and newsletter columns and articles, journal entries. It’s my form of therapy.
Now, if you’re wondering why I've chosen to write books, it’s because I love them – I’m a true blue bibliophile, a book collector, a person who has no clothes in her closet because all my spending money goes to books and book cases. I like movies, too – but the books come first for me.
Q: Why write now? Why not at some other point in your life?
A: Okay, I have ALWAYS written—just not novels. Actually, I remember trying to write a novel in third grade, comparing it to Anne of Green Gables and thinking, “Hmmm.” I don’t know how in the heck to do this. I was a perfectionist back then so I stuck to writing plays because that was mostly dialogue. I became a rebel in high school and college. A party animal. A slacker. Over time, I decided I didn’t have the talent to write fiction so I became a shadow artist by going first into marketing, then into bookselling, then into teaching language arts. Once my son was born, I decided it was time to live my dreams so I wouldn’t be a pathetic little hypocrite without the guts to go for it, without the guts to follow my bliss. I write now because when I saw my son I realized I was good enough, talented enough, blessed enough to be whatever the heck I wanted to be-- and I also thought he deserved a mom who made her dreams come true.
Q; Why write what you write? What drives you to tell your stories the way you do? What is the reason behind the stories? What's your big picture?
A: I’m writing my first novel, but as I pointed out, I have written poetry, plays (as a kid), short stories and creative nonfiction. The truth of the matter is that they are all about me, in one way or another. They are about why I think life is beautiful, why I think one should seize the day, why love must prevail, why I think there are things we will never be able to explain—like why we love who we love and whether coincidences are more about probability, divine intervention or Jung’s collective unconscious and synchronicity. They are about what it is like to be a middle class white woman living in this time and this place – and they aren’t wrapped in pretty pink paper with shiny, silky decorative bows. They are more raw than that – bolder, edgier, sharper, more “real”, more "in your face" – because I think beauty lies in rawness and reality. I think the way things really are is amazing, awe-inspiring and good enough. My stories are breezy, airy, light, fun and funny (hopefully) but anchored to Earth and its cycles (life/death/rebirth)– because I’m of both Air and Earth elements, born on the cusp of Taurus and Gemini.
My theme?
I have no idea. I think its along the lines of “Life is difficult, but once you accept that you also find that it is beautiful, sweet, abundant, hilariously funny and very good.” Also, as an accompaniment to that, falling in love is all its cracked up to be, even if it takes more than one "true love" to get your happily ever after (which can still take work, btw).
I found a worksheet from Barbara Samuel’s workshop that you may be interested in. One of the questions she asks is—
If you weren't a writer, but could be any other kind of artist/musician, what would you choose? What would be your tools? why?
My immediate answer was that I’d be the lead singer/songwriter of a rock band. I realized after the fact that my main tool would be my bold voice (again) along with my edgy lyrics, soulful music full of hooks and rockin' body language. It’s highly likely I’d be singing about love and lust -- and myself.
Interesting.
As it turns out, I'm every bit as self-absorbed as I've always suspected-- but, uh, er, hopefully in a good, unoffensive way.
So how about you? How would you describe your voice? Why do you write what you write?
Thanks for a great topic, Macy.
Cheers and happy writing,
Alyson
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
The elusive voice thingy
I was pretty much thinking I had nothing to write about today. I've been rolling around what I wanted to say and coming up with nothing all day.
I've been writing alot again. Well, today I only got 1100 words, but I played alot. One thing I learned in Barbara Samuel's Girls in the Basement class is that play is good for the muses. And, frankly, with the schedule I've kept all my life, I haven't done enough of it. I've felt guilty when I did. I'm trying to change that.
I could write about play, but I won't. I'm going to write about voice -- that elusive quality that everyone says they want from new writers but which no one can adequately define.
The whole gang here is planning to take Barbara's voice class in August. I can hardly wait. It's like knowing what you want for Christmas several months out and then just being stuck looking at pictures of it while you count down the days.
In thinking about voice, a question was recently posed to me. Actually, a few. I'll pose them to you.
Why are you writing?
That one was pretty easy. I have stories to tell. Imaginary people run around in my head, and they want me to give them life. Who am I to say "no?" (Yes, to most non-writers this seems a crazy concept, but for all of you who write, you say, "Yes, I know the feeling.")
Then, why now? Why not at some other point in your life?
That question is harder. I've thought about writing forever. However, being the practical girl, there were always things that HAD to be done. The WANT TO's seemed to get put off. I moved this up to a HAVE TO, instead of a WANT TO. There was a point when I realized I'd cut myself off from the highly creative part of me. I wasn't whole. Writing fills the spaces that were empty. It sounds both simple and vague. It is. It's one of those intangibles that's hard to put into words.
Why write?
("Ok," I said, "uh, I already answered that.")
No, really, you haven't. Why write what you write? What drives you to tell your stories the way you do? What is the reason behind the stories? What's your big picture?
Oh, my theme. My over-riding theme. Hmmm.
Well, I haven't been writing forever. What I have are incomplete stories and ideas -- lots and lots of ideas that I can't wait to put to paper. However, as I explore these ideas and what the stories are really about, I actually do see a "why".
I write quests, journeys, missions to find out. I write about looking for something you don't have, about finding meaning in chaos, about revealing what's in the dark corners. In every quest, there is a distinctly evil entity and a distinctly good one. Not black and white, light and dark. More like black and gray. The hero/heroine isn't completely in the white. They are iffy. But part of their journey is discovering that they are the good guys and that they have the power to defeat the bad ones. Even my personal blog says, "Writing is a journey. This is the story of mine." Journeys are why I write. I want to tell the story of change and discovery and the ultimate triumph of good. To me, love is the highest good.
It makes sense why I write romance, huh?
I don't think my journey to discover this voice thing is over. It's only beginning. But, I've begun my quest.
Begin yours. Why write the stories you write? (Don't tell me that it's because you love history or vampires or good sex scenes.) Why do you write your themes? I really think that's a key to your voice.
What's your reason for writing? What is it you're ultimately trying to communicate?
Macy
I've been writing alot again. Well, today I only got 1100 words, but I played alot. One thing I learned in Barbara Samuel's Girls in the Basement class is that play is good for the muses. And, frankly, with the schedule I've kept all my life, I haven't done enough of it. I've felt guilty when I did. I'm trying to change that.
I could write about play, but I won't. I'm going to write about voice -- that elusive quality that everyone says they want from new writers but which no one can adequately define.
The whole gang here is planning to take Barbara's voice class in August. I can hardly wait. It's like knowing what you want for Christmas several months out and then just being stuck looking at pictures of it while you count down the days.
In thinking about voice, a question was recently posed to me. Actually, a few. I'll pose them to you.
Why are you writing?
That one was pretty easy. I have stories to tell. Imaginary people run around in my head, and they want me to give them life. Who am I to say "no?" (Yes, to most non-writers this seems a crazy concept, but for all of you who write, you say, "Yes, I know the feeling.")
Then, why now? Why not at some other point in your life?
That question is harder. I've thought about writing forever. However, being the practical girl, there were always things that HAD to be done. The WANT TO's seemed to get put off. I moved this up to a HAVE TO, instead of a WANT TO. There was a point when I realized I'd cut myself off from the highly creative part of me. I wasn't whole. Writing fills the spaces that were empty. It sounds both simple and vague. It is. It's one of those intangibles that's hard to put into words.
Why write?
("Ok," I said, "uh, I already answered that.")
No, really, you haven't. Why write what you write? What drives you to tell your stories the way you do? What is the reason behind the stories? What's your big picture?
Oh, my theme. My over-riding theme. Hmmm.
Well, I haven't been writing forever. What I have are incomplete stories and ideas -- lots and lots of ideas that I can't wait to put to paper. However, as I explore these ideas and what the stories are really about, I actually do see a "why".
I write quests, journeys, missions to find out. I write about looking for something you don't have, about finding meaning in chaos, about revealing what's in the dark corners. In every quest, there is a distinctly evil entity and a distinctly good one. Not black and white, light and dark. More like black and gray. The hero/heroine isn't completely in the white. They are iffy. But part of their journey is discovering that they are the good guys and that they have the power to defeat the bad ones. Even my personal blog says, "Writing is a journey. This is the story of mine." Journeys are why I write. I want to tell the story of change and discovery and the ultimate triumph of good. To me, love is the highest good.
It makes sense why I write romance, huh?
I don't think my journey to discover this voice thing is over. It's only beginning. But, I've begun my quest.
Begin yours. Why write the stories you write? (Don't tell me that it's because you love history or vampires or good sex scenes.) Why do you write your themes? I really think that's a key to your voice.
What's your reason for writing? What is it you're ultimately trying to communicate?
Macy
Monday, January 29, 2007
Warrior goddess
After this book, I think I need to write stories about warrior women. This idea came to me the other day as I was taking a shovel out of the shed. I picked it up by the handle, the shovel part down and held it up above my head and then launched it into the ground about 5 feet away. It stuck with the vibration of having hit hard. Of course, I wasn’t pretending to be warrior woman or anything. I was just trying to get it out of the shed where I could use it and just happened to choose a unique method of doing so.
Nevertheless, I suddenly had the vision of a warrior woman dressed in something that was both armor and flowing white silk. She was powerful and instead of a sword, she held a spear above her head. When she raised her spear in a chant, the wind blew up around her, swirling leaves at her feet. And I knew she was me, or at least some part of me. She is the woman that sets off to both defend and conquer. She is the brave part of me. (Notice that I didn’t say fearless. Fearlessness and bravery are not the same. You can be brave in the face of fear.)
I used to imagine I was a warrior princess, especially when the shy, awkward me would say or do the wrong thing or when the normal me wasn’t good enough to meet the very high and lofty standards set by my mother. I could imagine my warrior goddess brandishing a sword or spear and vanquishing the feelings of inadequacy that so frequently surrounded me. I wanted to be her so badly. She was all that was adventuresome and she was unafraid of her quests.
I hadn’t really imagined her in a long time. She’s run fleetingly through my mind on many occasions, but I never dwelt on her in my adulthood like I did the other day. I think she was a defender I conjured in my imagination as a child, but I also think she is a real part of me. Perhaps, she is a part I’ve neglected of late. But her image has been more and more pronounced over the past days. Her figure seems real to me. I almost feel like she’s following me – waiting for me to turn around and embrace her. I’m not sure how to do that. I think if I embrace her, we become one in the same.
And in saying that, I realize that she’s following me because she wants me to embrace her. And I also realize that I haven’t because becoming so powerful is scary.
We’ve been talking about fear in the Girls class. I think there is a part of me that is fearful of my potential. I went through life as the “smart one” and while being smart opened a lot of doors for me, it also resulted in pain and ridicule and extra tough challenges making friends. However, I’m still the smart one at work. I’m the one that knows the answers to my questions and knows what I want to do. I do it and don’t worry about who’s onboard because I know, in the end, my idea will work.
I’m a bit afraid to do that with writing (okay – a lot afraid). I know the story I want to tell. I know what I want to say – mostly. But what if it isn’t right? What if I can’t finish it? What if I get to a point – maybe this point – and the story has no meat and I can’t figure out what’s next and I just can’t do it?
I don’t know if it’s fear of failure (but it sure sounds like it) or if its fear of all the what if’s.
Regardless, I have this black mustang with a flowing mane and this warrior goddess with spear and sword just standing ready. Waiting. I found them or they found me or we found each other. Maybe I finally recognized that they’ve been standing there. Now I feel like all I have to do is embrace them. But how do I do that?
Maybe I just write, regarding the advice of others with an open mind, but sticking to the voice and path I’ve chosen. Maybe I don’t worry about the “what ifs”. Isn’t the point of a quest to seek something valuable? And won’t the quest have pitfalls to skirt around or climb from if I fall in? But won’t my warrior and my mustang help me with that? Isn’t that the point?
(Ah, and then there is the quest thing. Barbara Samuels said she thought my voice had to do with quests. I went to a day long workshop with her. Amazing. If quests, and warriors, and wild mustangs are part of my voice, then I’m definitely taking her voice workshop in April. I want to know them intimately.)
So, does all this rambling have a point? Sure. Now you know I’m truly crazy.
No. No. That’s not the point.
I need to embrace my voice, my vision of my writing career, my hopes and dreams – my warrior goddess and the great mustang. I need to acknowledge my fears, but refuse to let them be in control. I do, after all, have that very fast mustang and a great big sword. I need to write this story – a good one I think. Then, I need to move on to the one I really want to tell.
The one with the warrior goddess.
Macy
Nevertheless, I suddenly had the vision of a warrior woman dressed in something that was both armor and flowing white silk. She was powerful and instead of a sword, she held a spear above her head. When she raised her spear in a chant, the wind blew up around her, swirling leaves at her feet. And I knew she was me, or at least some part of me. She is the woman that sets off to both defend and conquer. She is the brave part of me. (Notice that I didn’t say fearless. Fearlessness and bravery are not the same. You can be brave in the face of fear.)
I used to imagine I was a warrior princess, especially when the shy, awkward me would say or do the wrong thing or when the normal me wasn’t good enough to meet the very high and lofty standards set by my mother. I could imagine my warrior goddess brandishing a sword or spear and vanquishing the feelings of inadequacy that so frequently surrounded me. I wanted to be her so badly. She was all that was adventuresome and she was unafraid of her quests.
I hadn’t really imagined her in a long time. She’s run fleetingly through my mind on many occasions, but I never dwelt on her in my adulthood like I did the other day. I think she was a defender I conjured in my imagination as a child, but I also think she is a real part of me. Perhaps, she is a part I’ve neglected of late. But her image has been more and more pronounced over the past days. Her figure seems real to me. I almost feel like she’s following me – waiting for me to turn around and embrace her. I’m not sure how to do that. I think if I embrace her, we become one in the same.
And in saying that, I realize that she’s following me because she wants me to embrace her. And I also realize that I haven’t because becoming so powerful is scary.
We’ve been talking about fear in the Girls class. I think there is a part of me that is fearful of my potential. I went through life as the “smart one” and while being smart opened a lot of doors for me, it also resulted in pain and ridicule and extra tough challenges making friends. However, I’m still the smart one at work. I’m the one that knows the answers to my questions and knows what I want to do. I do it and don’t worry about who’s onboard because I know, in the end, my idea will work.
I’m a bit afraid to do that with writing (okay – a lot afraid). I know the story I want to tell. I know what I want to say – mostly. But what if it isn’t right? What if I can’t finish it? What if I get to a point – maybe this point – and the story has no meat and I can’t figure out what’s next and I just can’t do it?
I don’t know if it’s fear of failure (but it sure sounds like it) or if its fear of all the what if’s.
Regardless, I have this black mustang with a flowing mane and this warrior goddess with spear and sword just standing ready. Waiting. I found them or they found me or we found each other. Maybe I finally recognized that they’ve been standing there. Now I feel like all I have to do is embrace them. But how do I do that?
Maybe I just write, regarding the advice of others with an open mind, but sticking to the voice and path I’ve chosen. Maybe I don’t worry about the “what ifs”. Isn’t the point of a quest to seek something valuable? And won’t the quest have pitfalls to skirt around or climb from if I fall in? But won’t my warrior and my mustang help me with that? Isn’t that the point?
(Ah, and then there is the quest thing. Barbara Samuels said she thought my voice had to do with quests. I went to a day long workshop with her. Amazing. If quests, and warriors, and wild mustangs are part of my voice, then I’m definitely taking her voice workshop in April. I want to know them intimately.)
So, does all this rambling have a point? Sure. Now you know I’m truly crazy.
No. No. That’s not the point.
I need to embrace my voice, my vision of my writing career, my hopes and dreams – my warrior goddess and the great mustang. I need to acknowledge my fears, but refuse to let them be in control. I do, after all, have that very fast mustang and a great big sword. I need to write this story – a good one I think. Then, I need to move on to the one I really want to tell.
The one with the warrior goddess.
Macy
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