The Voice

by Barb, in Massachusetts, babysitting for grandchildren

I turned in the last manuscript for the Maine Clambake Mysteries a year ago. Since then I haven’t felt retired. There were still cycles of copy-editing and page proofs to get through, and two releases to support, Easter Basket Murder in January, and Torn Asunder at the end of April. But now, aside from some speaking appearances this summer, I am well and truly done.

Which leaves the challenge of what to post about here.

Because I got a late start in publishing, one of the ironies of retiring now is that I feel like I have finally put in my 10,000 hours. I’m beginning to understand what I’m doing when it’s time to go. So I thought, with everyone’s indulgence, I would use the next several blog posts to talk about what I think I’ve learned as a writer. Many of our blog readers are writers, and most of those who are readers are not ordinary readers. They don’t read a book a month or pick up a book at the airport on the way to vacation. They are readers who treat books and stories as others might treat a serious hobby. So I thought our readers might be interested.

One caveat: Since these are things I’ve learned along the way, you will find as the posts go on that I have violated or neglected every one of them in my work. Don’t bother looking for examples because you will definitely find them.

The first subject I will tackle is Voice.

Voice

Voice is the most amorphous yet important concept in writing fiction (or memoir or narrative non-fiction). If you look up definitions you will find them confusing and even contradictory.

Agents or editors will reject a book, saying, “The voice wasn’t quite there for me.” Or, “I didn’t love the voice.” Or, the famous expression attributed to various agents and editors, “I can fix everything but the voice.” For writers this can be frustrating. What does that even mean?

Here are some things voice is not.

The voice is not the prose style.The voice is not the way a point of view character or narrator speaks or thinks.The voice is not the order in which the tale is told, or the pace.

Voice is instantiated in all those things, but describing them as voice is like describing symptoms in order to identify a disease. The symptoms are real, but the disease lurks deep inside.

Voice is the voice of the storyteller. It is unseen, behind, and above the story.

At it’s best, voice is

seductive. It says, “Come with me…”confident. “…and I will tell you an amazing story…”in command. “I won’t lose the way or let you down.”authentic. No matter how many layers of fiction are loaded on, ultimately, the writer’s intellectual and emotional life, values, and personality are there somewhere, on the page.

How do writers develop voice? Prodigies have it out of the gate. But writing is a field with very few prodigies. Most people who begin writing seriously as grown-ups have several things working against them.

For one, writing is hard. I hate when people moan about how hard writing is because a) it is an entirely voluntary activity, and b) it’s not coal mining. But there is a lot to master– character, plot, pace, setting, theme, structure, and the words themselves.

For another, by the time they get serious, most writers will have heard hundreds of stories about the obstacles ahead and the infinitesimal chances of success.

And, to be authentic, writers expose themselves in a way that leaves them vulnerable. There is the inevitability of judgement and, often, fear of judgement. Judgement not just of the writing but of the writer.

So most writers begin supremely unconfident in their abilities. Exactly the wrong place to be. Because unconfident means in your head, worried, second-guessing.

How do you develop a seductive, confident, in command, authentic voice?

You can put in your 10,000 hours.(1)You can revise and revise until you are confident in the story and that confidence comes through on the page.You can let it all go, get out of your head, and trust yourself. (This is not as easy as it sounds.)

I often liken writing to riding a bicycle. When you start, there are so many things to pay attention to–balance, steering, pedaling, braking, speed control, road, route, obstacles. But with practice, you aren’t conscious of the individual skills and mechanics. You just go.

Does having a seductive, confident, committed, authentic voice mean you will write a great book? Of course not.

There are the deluded, those whose confidence is sadly misplaced. And the arrogant–authors whose books are precious in a “look at me!” self-conscious way,. There are authors who are confident they have written the best book they can in the moment but who are still learning. The next book will be better. The best and the worst thing about writing is that there is always more to learn.

But the converse is also true. You can’t write a great book without a seductive, confident, committed, authentic voice propelling it.

So why not go for it?

Readers: What do you think voice is? Are you conscious of the author’s voice when you read or write? Do you think you should be?

(1) The authors of the original 10,000 hours study have disputed that they meant it exactly the way Malcolm Gladwell uses it in Outliers. But it sure is a handy way to describe how you get to Carnegie Hall. Practice, practice, practice.