AUTHORIAL VOICE
The word synergy is defined as the “the interaction or cooperation of two or more organisations, substances or other agents to produce a combined effect greater than the sum of their separate effects”. (My bold and italics.)
Voice is the synergy of your syntax, vocabulary, punctuation, grammar, phrasing and – the unique, individual, one-of-a-kind, cannot-be-duplicated part: you.
The following is my contribution to FINDING YOUR VOICE, one of our many writing Craft Chat discussions on colony.litopia.com. Read the full feature, and enlightening comments, on Litopia’s Craft Chats.
“It was about eleven o’clock in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills. I was wearing my powder-blue suit, with dark blue shirt, tie and display handkerchief, black brogues, black wool socks with dark blue clocks on them. I was neat, clean, shaved and sober, and I didn’t care who knew it. I was everything the well-dressed private detective ought to be. I was calling on four million dollars.”
That’s voice.
I can almost hear the sharp intake of breath from some of you: oh, dear me, he started with show, not tell. And carried on with show show show. Every sentence in the first paragraph starts with It was, I was, I was, I was…. And oh, pass the smelling salts, he even mentions the weather in the second sentence, and tells us what it wasn’t instead of what it was…He’s doomed…
Yeah, right. Doomed to be so iconic every crime fiction writer reads him in the hope something of his genius will rub off on them.
For me, that first paragraph doesn’t just give us the voice of iconic character, Philip Marlowe, created by the excellent Raymond Chandler in The Big Sleep, it also gives us the voice of the author – something much harder to pin down. Not in the punctuation, although that’s fine. Not in a high-action beginning (there isn’t one), not even in the vocabulary, because there is nothing remarkable about any of those words. It’s in the rhythm and cadence of the sentences, the down-to-earth, take-me-or-leave-me-it’s-your-loss observations, and the obvious humour and intelligence of the character (and, hence, the writer). We feel in safe hands. He was neat, clean, shaved and sober, and didn’t care who knew it. Those last six words rounded off that character for me, giving him a wry humour that I loved. And while the voice coming across loud and clear is the character‘s voice, the energy of the writer’s voice is also strong. Would you read on? Millions of readers have. Millions. Me included.
I know it was written before the middle of the last century, before the rise of the professional pedant and the inundation of writing classes and courses on how-to, and what-not-to, and ohmygod-don’t-start-with-a-dream it’ll be the end of civilization as we know it…but I am SO not bothered by any of the was and were and past continuous, or by Chandler describing his surroundings, rather than laboriously taking us with him and showing the character “patting down” or “putting something in the pocket of” his powder-blue suit. You do not always have to “show”. This no-nonsense private eye is telling us, accurately and with humour, what’s going on, and that works.
It may not work for every genre. As a writer, it’s your job to read enough to know which authors (and styles) are most popular with readers: first or third-person, rich detail or spare, a lot of telling, a lot of showing or a mixture. That’s style, and you need to understand it. But it’s not voice.
Voice is different. It’s like your literary fingerprints, or DNA – it’s unique to you.
The words used in Chandler’s opening are the words of the no-nonsense PI character, and they show us his character. But the voice behind it all, giving rhythm and cadence to the sentences – the sky behind the scenery, if you like – that’s the writer.
Vive la difference
There are the voices of characters, and then there is the voice of the writer – much harder to pin down. Some say voice is the mix of vocabulary, tone, syntax, rhythm, cadence, humour, etc that creates a certain flow in the order in which we write our words and sentences. Reading work out loud helps us hear that flow (cadence).
Although authorial voice can often be mistaken for the main character’s voice, and vice versa, I believe the two are different. The first is innate to a writer (and, I believe, cannot be taught, although it can be found); the second is vital to a story (and, I believe, can be enhanced with learned techniques).
Voice can come across in how confident a writer is in what they have to say, whether that’s a piece of well-researched journalism or a piece of fantastic fiction. It’s not whether you use adverbs and adjectives – or not. It’s not whether you write about high or low fantasy, romance, God/s, crime, mystery, or even hard-core, quantum physics-led sci-fi. It’s you. It’s what many lecturers in the MA in writing say is the most important aspect of writing for a writer to “find”. Find your voice.
Which can be a wee bit like handing you some sandwiches, a bottle of water and a chocolate biscuit and saying, “Off you go and don’t come back until you’ve found the Holy Grail.” That would be daunting if you had to head off into the unknown – out there – to look for it.
But it’s not out there. It’s in here. Inside you. Boiled down to its essence: voice is you.
That’s why one of the most important lessons we learn as writers is Be Yourself. Because no one else is better qualified (to paraphrase Frank J Giblin). YOUR voice is unique. I’m not saying it’ll make you a fortune, as it did Agatha Christie or J K Rowling, Raymond Chandler or Neil Gaiman. I’m saying be true to yourself and write with your own unique, individual voice – whatever that is – because then readers will know what they’re getting when they pick up one of your books. And, if they like it, they’ll come back for more.
If all a reader finds within your pages is a writer who has studied “techniques” and “advice” to the detriment of their own unique style, then the reader might carry on down the shelves looking for authors who are distinctive. Sure, if you’re in the game purely to make money, churn out those formulaic thrillers, romances, mysteries, sci-fi adventures. Go for it. But even there, if you want casual readers to become returning clients, give them what no one else can: give them you.
So, enjoy the sandwiches, water and chocolate biscuit, and then sit down and be yourself. Easy-peasy. Want to use adverbs? Use them – but be sensible: use them properly. Love adjectives? Well, a crimson sun sinking into violet and gold streaks will always evoke more images for me than “the sun went down”. Unless, of course, you want to be symbolic. In which case, KISS…
Finding your voice doesn’t mean ignoring good advice about craft. It means incorporating the advice into your work seamlessly, while retaining the most important aspect of it, which is you.
Some writers don’t find their voice until they’ve lived a bit, have made and lost a few friends, won and lost a few battles and learned that – who knew? – punctuation matters. If you truly don’t know where to start to discover your voice, the only way to find out is – surprise surprise – to write. There is no short cut to voice. There is no magic formula to voice. There is no Voice for Dummies manual.
Sounds odd, I know, but the only way to find your voice is to write.
Write short stories, long stories, novellas, novels, tomes. Hell, write a shopping list and make someone smile, if you want. A man wrote me a small shopping list forty years ago. He needed a few things for his shoes, which he took great care of. He wrote the brand of shoe polish he needed. That he needed black polish, brown polish, a tan polish and some colour I can’t remember. At the end of the wee list he wrote a PS: “sorry I had to write this note in Polish”.
Could I hear his “voice” come through in that last silly sentence? In a shopping list! Yes, I could. It made me smile because I heard his voice, his humour and his sense of the completely ridiculous. I still have that note; and him.
You, too, can make a sky
Write and read and keep studying the craft. Some techniques are clunky, some will improve your prose; take what works for you but remember: this is your voice. You decide the flow of the words, the cadence of the sentence, the gravitas of the vocabulary, and the simplicity or density of the prose. That is your voice.
Some writers are very spare, like Cormac McCarthy; some are rich: Stephen Donaldson, Sir Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman, Brandon Sanderson, N.K. Jemisin…There is no right or wrong here, just different voices. If you don’t like fantasy, or religious writing, or romance, that’s fine, but don’t denigrate anything because of its genre. That’s as crazy as saying Mozart was rubbish because classical music doesn’t appeal to you. Voice is separate to genre. There are great voices in every genre.
Sir Terry Pratchett’s work can come across as absolutely bonkers. I love it. He was a genius. Neil Gaiman – brilliant. His Neverwhere is a masterclass in character creation and world building, not to mention dialogue, character arcs and how to create gut-wrenching betrayals.
Gaiman’s voice, as with Pratchett’s, McCarthy’s, Donaldson’s, Jemisin’s, Sanderson’s et al, is like the sky: it’s always there, behind everything, even when we can’t “see” it. We can see the scenery: the mountains and people (world and characters); rivers and trees (rhythm and cadence); flowers and bushes (adverbs, and adjectives). Your voice – style, phrasing and syntax – becomes the sky, setting it all off beautifully and holding it all together.
Listen…
Reading for Litopia’s Pop-Ups has shown me how some writers have a wonderful rhythm to their sentences, no matter what the genre. Even submissions where there’s too much telling, not enough action, too much exposition too soon, story starting in the wrong place, poor dialogue…All these things can be mended, techniques learned to improve them. But if the writer has a voice, I know they’ll make it if they work at the craft.
Reading work out loud reveals a multitude of sins. And virtues. If you don’t already read your work out loud, start. Listen, and you’ll hear the rhythm and cadence of your own work and can adjust it as you see fit. That way, you’ll hear your voice.
Read the full FINDING YOUR VOICE feature, with YouTube links, more great advice, fantastic Litopian comments and more.
Kay Leitch
Treasure This