More Voice Class Revelations

I’m still processing what I learned from Barbara Samuel's voice class.

Seriously.

I can list twenty things I discovered about my voice or about writing voice in general but when one says “discuss three revelations you had about your own voice” and everyone digs deep (see Macy's post, Katrina's post and Jackie's post to see what I mean), I automatically think I need to come up with something deep, and meaningful, too. Three major insights. As our classmate, Mel, pointed out, Barbara is good muse food. My muses, including two new ones I met courtesy of Barbara's phenomenal voice class, are still hand weaving together the weft and warp threads of the tapestry.

Hmm. The tapestry thing works here. Let's incorporate that.

What I've come to realize is "voice" is complicated, intricate, complex, like a tapestry. It comprises everything you are, who you are, and how you came to be that way. I do truly get that now. It’s your vibe, rhythm, world view, word choice, design, cadence, speed, pulse, personal truth, way of seeing, way of being, senses and sensibilities, landscape, personal and cultural history, likes and dislikes, theme songs and more. It’s not your genre or writing style, although your voice may be better suited to one genre or subgenre over another, and one style over another. No wonder it’s a source of puzzlement, a topic debated, difficult to define.

After listing 25 loves, describing a favorite place, listing favorite movies and books at different ages, examining dialects and who taught us to speak, discussing cultures we’re attracted to and that surrounded us when we were growing up, doing timed writings on photos we selected and that were selected for us, exploring themes, describing the book we’d write if we could only write one (yikes!), talking about primary senses and sensibilities, describing our favorite outfit, writing fan letters to ourselves from our ideal reader, describing our 80^th birthday parties complete with advice from our 80 year old selves for our current selves, and choosing what type of artist we’d be if we couldn’t be writers, our culminating exercise as part of a final worksheet was to come up with a “voice statement.” I’ll start there.

My original voice statement went like this, “My voice is hip, bold, edgy, bright, darkly witty, passionate and soulful. It will rock you!”

I knew it wasn’t exactly right but it was close and I liked it. By then, I had discovered a couple of things. First when I described my favorite outfit the words I used to describe it were hip, mod, bohemian, rock chic but in an age appropriate urban minimalist type way. I asked Barbara about the significance of the outfit and she said something like your favorite outfit represents your inner self. Your true self. After completing that exercise, I found myself thinking things like I wanted to be the Sheryl Crow of women’s fiction or romance, or possibly, young adult romance or fiction (I’ll get back to the latter later.) I wasn’t sure what that meant. Barbara said she thought of Sheryl Crow as hip, independent and soulful. My insides thrummed and sang, “Perfect.” I’m hip, independent and soulful, too.

Given these early clues, it wasn’t surprising that for my artist other than a writer, I chose rock star, although movie director and dancer were close behind. The more I thought about it, the more perfect the idea of being a rock star seemed, given that talent wasn’t a limiting factor. In my imagination, I AM a rock star. I like to dance, sing, live out loud, rock the masses, support good causes. And in my imagination I look like Peggy Lipton of the Mod Squad. Or Kate Moss. Or Kate Hudson in Almost Famous. Or Sheryl Crow. You get the idea. Since the class ended, I’ve gone out and gotten myself some rock star hair and I absolutely love it. I’m a rock star writer. And I’m tired of pretending that I’m not.

Here’s what I mean by that. For as long as I can remember, and as long as I’ve been writing, I’ve had people tell me that either I or my writing are: bold, passionate, edgy, raw, “out loud,” intense, in your face, kick ass, bawdy, lusty, unedited, not subtle or mainstream, irreverent, rebellious, like bright, bright lights turned on too high, hip, cool, and so on. I’ve sometimes tried to tone myself down, and I’ve sometimes tried to do that with my writing, too. It’s freeing to say, hell, I’m a rock star, baby, and that’s that. I’m not the subdued soccer mom or even the romance writer next door ( not that all soccer moms or romance writers are the same). My novels will be fast, bold, intense, edgy, out loud, bawdy, lusty, rebellious and rocking. Not lush, rich, emotional opera. Not smooth jazz. Not sultry blues. Not pop, although some stories may have pop-like hooks, especially in the chorus. Not down home country. Not classical for brainiacs either. Not goth or punk or pared down, moody alternative grunge. Not techno. Rock, baby. Classic rock. Hip, independent, soulful, and perhaps, a bit old school cuz I have a thing for all things late sixties and seventies. I can own that. I even have the hair now to prove it. LOL.

In her final comments to me, Barbara mentioned that I might face some desires to "polish" my work into something more "mainstream," and I shouldn't let that happen. She said, “What's vibrant and true about your voice is the fact that you are able to tell the truth, tell it intelligently, and don't wince away from the dark places.”

I liked that. I suspected it and appreciated the confirmation. I’ve already tried polishing one novel into something more mainstream and I ended up hating it. Blech! My story lost all its oomph. I think there’s a reason that I started out writing chick lit, toyed with mainstream, and then changed my chick lit novel to an irreverent romantic comedy. I’m not classical romance. Heck, my husband says although I’m passionate and soulful, I don’t have a classically romantic bone in my body. (Sad, but true.) I'm also rebellious so the moment someone shows me a list of conventions, or a contest score sheet, or tells me there are rules, or forces craft down my throat (although I actually do believe craft is important), I start thinking about all the ways I can buck the system. It might make getting published tricky, but the bottom line is I need to follow my true north. I have to be who I am. I have to write in my voice. I have no other choice. As for publishing, I'll keep my fingers crossed.

Since my voice statement wasn’t spot on, I’ve been thinking about it some more. Barbara said there was another angle to my writing, my work, which was that it was both intelligent and street smart. I want to work that in.

My voice is hip, bold, edgy, fast, rockin', irreverent, streetwise, smart, fun, passionate and soulful.

Closer. I also happen to think I’m funny, but I don’t know that anyone else does (grin.)

Since this post is so long already, I’ll continue it over at my individual blog to give you a breather. And I’ll get back to the Young Adult thing over there.

Cheers and happy writing,

Alyson

Observations on Voice

I came to know myself and my voice better in Barbara Samuel’s wonderful Voice Workshop and I am taking up Macy’s challenge to name the top three things I discovered. Actually, I’m not sure she said to name the top three, but I’m sure she meant to select an important three.

It’s such an intriguing concept. Voice. The sound of our speaking voice is unique to each of us. If you shut your eyes and listen to ten people speaking in a room, you’d detect differences in pitch, cadence, word choice, volume, and so much more. Even those family members who tend to sound so similar on the phone wouldn’t be identical.

It’s the same with the written voice too. It’s the same with our voices. We’re all unique. And this uniqueness is what agents and editors say they’re looking for. Actually, they say they want a fresh, new voice, but underneath it all, I think what they’re really looking for is honesty.

Not George Washington’s “I cannot tell a lie” sort of honesty, but fearless emotional honesty that will reach out and grip the reader by the heart. That’s one of the things I learned and that’s one of the things that I’ve avoided in the past. During the workshop I noticed that when I wrote from the heart, letting myself show the depth of pain and longing I’ve felt, as well as those rich moments of joy, the reaction from readers was stronger than when I felt I was writing in my most clever style. Honesty is what readers connect with, and isn’t that really what we long for when we pick up a novel? To feel an emotional connection to the characters? To the story?

Personal truth also seems to be a huge part of voice as well and to me this is linked to emotional honesty. Every moment we’ve lived has led us to what we believe about the world and our place in it, which is our own personal truth, and it’s as unique to each of us as a fingerprint. These views of the world naturally flow into our writing and are expressed as part of our voice.

As we worked our way through the weekly exercises, I also discovered that we all had themes. You know how books have themes? Well it seems that we, as individuals seem to have life themes too, or at least themes that surface in our writing. My primary theme was all wrapped up in journeys. Journeys to freedom, to hope, to understanding, to love. It’s all about the journey with me. I hadn’t realized that before. It’s so funny that I never put that together. I love adventure movies (preferably with romance) and even love to travel, and have often described the thrill of arriving in a new place with all that possibility before me. Yep, journeys are huge with me.

Lastly (for purposes of this blog only), I learned that touch is one of my stronger senses. It never occurred to me that any sense would be stronger than another. Stronger might not be the right word here, but what surfaced was that my observations and descriptions often focus on how things feel physically, both through touch and inner physical feelings. I didn’t notice this myself, but Barbara and other workshop members pointed it out to me. The more I thought about it the more I realized they were correct. This too is a part of my voice.

I don’t think this means that I have to go around describing how everything feels physically, but if that’s a strength for me, I should use that fully in my writing. As a side note, I realized that the writers I love focus a lot on physical sensations in their writing too. Those who skim the physical reactions and focused more on the emotional or sight or some other sense, leave me feeling unsatisfied. Like I need more and they’re not giving it to me. I wonder if readers are not only drawn to writers because of their style and stories, but because they speak to those senses the readers are in tune with.

So, I’m at three here. I learned quite a bit more and I’m still processing it all, but these three give you a glimpse into what surfaced for me during this class.

I guess now I need to get back to the novel about the heroine who’s on the journey of her life…

Katrina

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