Voice. An elusive and obnoxious writing concept if there ever was one. Ask a writer what they think voice is, and they’ll say, it’s your style. It’s the different words you choose. It’s like music. It’s what makes you different.
The only thing anyone can agree on is that it’s that thing that makes your writing unique.
I’m not going to mention trees, but I’m going to keep using images because I think it’s a good metaphor. We’re all trees ya’ll.
Okay, cool. But what is it? And how are we supposed to find it or grow it if we have no idea what it is?
What is Voice?
First, let’s talk definition. I pulled every book I own about writing off of my shelf and flipped to the section on voice, and was disappointed by most. I read blog posts, articles, and even polled in my various writer groups across the internet. While everyone pretty much agreed that voice is the “thing'“ that makes your writing unique, no one offered a tangible definition of what that “thing” is. There were metaphors, examples, and the occasional shrug, but no one could really pin it down into something useful.
I think the reason that the concept of voice is so nebulous is because every writer has a different voice. So when someone tries to pin down the definition, they’re focused on their own voice and have trouble looking at it from a more objective perspective. When a writer says, “this is voice” another says, “not for me!” So, what exactly is voice?
Here is my definition: Voice is the sum of all the writing choices you make.
Voice is a math problem where every choice you make adds up to something greater than itself, something that is representative of you: the unique sound of your writing. Every choice matters: style, point of view, word choice, tense, theme, genre, characterization, description, dialogue, length, even your audience—who you’re writing for or to. All of these choices combined add up to equal voice.
Strengthening or discovering your voice is the act of being intentional with the writing choices that you make. Each choice points back to you: your intentions and who you are. You are the common denominator of all your writing choices.
Which tree are you?
Style is another term that gets thrown into voice conversations a lot. I think the reason voice and style get confused is because they are both equations. The difference is that while voice is the sum of ALL your writing choices, style is the sum of only a few writing choices. This might be a bit subjective, but I would say that style is the sum of genre, tone, and maybe theme.
For example, let’s say you wanted to write in the style of HP Lovecraft. You might write a story that is dark, gritty, and weird, that explores the cosmic horrors of the unknown. But HP Lovecraft’s work is notoriously racist at its core. In order to write in his voice, you’d have to try to get into his head, try to make the same writing choices he would have—racism and all. But remove the racism (as you should), and you have something written in his style, but in your voice. You’ve made different choices than he would have.
I think most writers want to develop and grow their own voice, but there are a few times when a writer might try to mimic the voice of another writer, not just their style. Robert Jordan’s series, Wheel of Time, is a good example. Jordan died before he finished his series, and so Brandon Sanderson was hired to finish it. While I’m sure Sanderson included a few touches of his own, the idea behind it was that he would finish the series as closely as possible to the way Jordan would have. He had to get into Jordan’s head and really try to write in Jordan’s voice. Here is some info about his experiences doing this.
Book packaging is another example. Book packaging is a form of publishing where a company purchases a series or a brand from an author, and then hires the author to work on it. If the author gets fired (look up Vampire Diaries), the company simply hires a new writer to work under the same pen name and continue the series. Other examples of well-known packaged series are Nancy Drew or Goosebumps. In these instances, the writer has to try to make choices as if they were the original author of the work.
In both of these examples, the writer is essentially a ghostwriter—and if you’re a professional ghostwriter, the aim here is the same: to get into your client’s head, and make the choices they would have made if they wrote the piece themselves—hence, in their voice.
Strategies for Finding Your Voice
The first note I want to make is that I don’t think you get to “pick” your voice. You find it. Discover it. It’s based off who you are, your values, and what’s important to you. I think your voice is really the effort of your subconscious to implant your creative fingerprint or DNA onto everything that you create.
But the more intentional you are about your values and your writing choices, the more clearly your voice will come to light in your writing. So how can you be more intentional? Three ways: write, revise, and read.
1. Write.
Write more. Write often. Write a lot. The more you write, the more your voice will become evident. I know everyone gives this advice for everything. You want to make more money? Write more. Want to be a better writer? Write more. Want to learn how to write better dialogue? Write more. Want to figure out your brand? Write more.
Well. There’s a reason everyone says it. Because in order to be a writer or a better writer, you have to write. In this case, the goal of writing more is to be more honest and intentional when you do it. You can try things like:
Write about yourself to parse out your values and identity. Take a month and write in a daily journal. Look for sentences and paragraphs that “feel right” or “feel wrong” and take note of them. Free write or use prompts, but whatever you do, try your best to be honest and authentic.
Explore other forms of writing. Explore genres, themes, points of view, narration styles. If you usually write science fiction, try writing poetry. If you prefer mystery, try romance. If you’re strictly a non-fiction writer, maybe try flash fiction. Stretch yourself, try new things. I think of it as feeling out the corners of a dark room. You can stand in the same place the whole time, but if you move around slowly and try to figure out the shape and size of the room, you never know—you might find the light switch.
Mimic other writers. Don’t plagiarize or copy word for word, but choose writers you know and are familiar with their work, and try to think and write like them. I find that this exercise tends to show me who I’m like and who I’m not. If it’s easy to mimic their style, I’m more like them. If it’s hard, I’m more different. It is also good for getting more insight into what “feels right” or “feels wrong.”
2. Revise.
Yes. Everyone always tells you to do this too—and then you groan and say, “I hate revision!” So try this. Instead of thinking of revision as “fixing something that’s broken,” think of it as “finishing something that’s not done.” I like to compare revising a rough draft to creating a sculpture. The sculptor starts out with a big block of stone (blank page), and to start, she hacks out a rough shape of what the sculpture is going to be (rough draft). Then she spends the rest of her time carving out the details, smoothing out the hard edges, and polishing the stone (revising). The true voice of the artist isn’t evident in the hacked out stone. Her hacked out stone looks similar to everyone else’s. The true voice of the sculptor is in the details.
When trying to discover your voice, revising takes on a different purpose anyway. While revising, do it intentionally—to learn more about who you are, and how your unique self becomes evident in your writing.
Self-critique is arguably one of the most important skills you can develop as a writer. Ultimately, the only opinion of your work that truly matters is your own, but unless you can learn to look objectively at your work, you won’t be able to see its weaknesses or strengths—and you won’t be able to see its uniqueness. Keep in mind that self-critique doesn’t mean that you hate everything that you write—quite the contrary. It means to seeing the beauty and elegance of your writing just as clearly as you see the dross.
I recommend the book Self-Editing for Fiction Writers by Renni Brown & Dave King as a good starting place.
Group critique can also have value. Many writers participate in critique groups or have beta or ARC readers. Having other people look at and make comments on your work can be a great way to get out of your own head, to see alternative perspectives on your work. Alternatively, you could consider hiring a developmental editor instead—think of it as therapy for your writing. They read your work, and you pay them to provide constructive feedback that not only helps you grow as a writer, but helps you learn to be more intentional with your writing choices.
A few notes on external critique: remember that not everyone is the right critic for your work. Just because someone doesn’t like something about your work, doesn’t mean they’re right about it. It also doesn’t mean they’re wrong. Take everything with a grain of salt. Feel free to ignore any opinions or advice—but try to listen with an open mind. Ultimately, the only opinion on your work that truly matters is your own.
I love Neil Gaiman’s advice on this. He says, “Remember: when people tell you something's wrong or doesn't work for them, they are almost always right. When they tell you exactly what they think is wrong and how to fix it, they are almost always wrong.”
Group critique has not always been a common thing. Plenty of writers have gotten along just fine without it (this is where self-critiquing skills come in handy). The danger of group critique is having too many cooks in the kitchen—especially if those other cooks aren’t rooting for you to succeed, or they’re cooking a completely different cuisine. Imagine what (the wrong) critique group would have said about James Joyce’s writing. Or Herman Melville. Or Kerouac.
And don’t forget: trust yourself.
3. Read.
The third strategy for finding your voice is to read. A lot. Widely. And with an open mind.
I’ve heard some writers say that they don’t have time to read. Well, I recommend making time. If you have 5 writing sessions a week, make one of those sessions for reading. If you spend a half an hour a day on Facebook, spend a half an hour a day reading instead—or swap out one day for reading, and spend the other six on Facebook. Delete the Facebook app—download the Kindle app instead. Can’t afford to buy books? Download free ones.
While you’re reading, watch for the voices of other writers. How do their choices manifest on the page? What about it resonates with you and what doesn’t? Read widely—as many genres as you can, as many authors as you can. Think about what feels “right” to you, and what feels “wrong.” Sometimes, a writer’s voice is subtle, sometimes strong. Sometimes it flows and swirls, sometimes it jars and rips. As you’re reading, think about how you might describe the other writer’s voice and how it might be similar or different to yours. And read intentionally.
But how do you know?
I know. There’s a lot of wishy-washy nonsense in this article. “Trust your feelings, Luke!” “Become one with the Force!” “I AM YOUR FATHER.”
Are you familiar with the uncertainty principle? It theorizes that you can’t know the exact position and the exact velocity of an object at the same time. Basically, you can know how fast something is moving OR where it is, but not both at the same time.
I think voice is similar. You can know that you have a voice, but not know what it is. Or you can know what your voice is, but not ever know if you’ve actually implemented it. You can know if you’ve found your voice while you’re writing, but not while you’re reading. Or, you can look at something you wrote and say, “this is my voice,” but not know how you got there.
You might not ever really truly know your own voice. Maybe it’s only something for other people to know. Regardless, your voice will be something that always grows and shifts and evolves. Eight years ago, when I first started searching for my voice, I knew what my voice was. Well, seven years later, my voice is completely different than it was back then. I still feel like I know my voice. Don’t know how I got here, though. And seven years from now, my voice might be completely different. Or it might be the same.
In conclusion, I’m going to share this quote from Donald Maass’ book, Writing the Breakout Novel:
“…it is worth noting that the voice of many best-selling authors is as neutral as a national news anchor’s accent. Some say it takes blandness of style to break out; or rather, to rub so few people the wrong way that millions can read the author without any discomfort. My own feeling is that voice is a natural attribute. You no more control it than you can control the color of your eyes—nor would you want to. Plenty of breakout authors have a distinctive voice.
“To set your voice free, set your words free. Set your characters free. Most important, set your heart free. It is from the unknowable shadows of your subconscious that your stories will find their drive and from which they will draw their meaning. No one can loan you that or teach you that. Your voice is your self in the story.”
Writing the Breakout Novel by Donald Maass (p 195)
Fill out this form for regular updates to my blog! Or keep scrolling for exercises on voice (and more pictures of trees!).
Exercises on Voice
Because I’m one of those people that likes to DO things, and not just sit around and ponder nebulous concepts like “voice,” I’m going to throw a couple of exercises in here. But the truth is, your best bet is to write more, revise, and read—go be a writer, be yourself, and you’ll figure it out.
Exercise 1 (from my friend Cija)
Set a timer and write down ten words that you think describe your voice. Do it as fast as you can, with as little thinking as possible. If you’re having a lot of trouble, write down ten words that you think describe the voice of your current work in progress.
Do this twice a year (or as often as you want). Keep all the lists. Watch how it changes. Watch what stays the same.
Exercise 2
Read the following excerpts. Write down ten words you think describes the voice of these writers. You can do this with literally any writer, any book, any work.
First excerpt:
“Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you’ve ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there—on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.”
Second excerpt:
“What do I really know about love? I have had some experiences and feel fluent enough for my own satisfaction. Love, I find is like singing. Everybody can do enough to satisfy themselves, though it may not impress the neighbors as being very much. That is the way it is with me, but whether I know anything unusual, I couldn’t say. Don’t look for me to call a string of names and point out chapter and verse. Ladies do not kiss and tell any more than gentlemen do.
“I have read many books where the heroine was in love for a long time without knowing it. I have talked with people and they have told me the same thing. So maybe that is the way it ought to be. That is not the way it is with me at all. I have been out of love with people for a long time, perhaps without finding it out. But when I fall in, I can feel the bump. That is a fact and I would not try to fool you. Love may be a sleepy, creeping thing with some others, but it is a mighty wakening thing with me. I feel the jar, and I know it from my head down.”
Third excerpt:
“Everybody in our family has different hair. My Papa's hair is like a broom, all up in the air. And me, my hair is lazy. It never obeys barrettes or bands. Carlos’ hair is thick and straight. He doesn't need to comb it. Nenny's hair is slippery—slides out of your hand. And Kiki, who is the youngest, has hair like fur.
“But my mother's hair, my mother's hair like little rosettes, like little candy circles all curly and pretty because she pinned it in pincurls all day, sweet to put your nose into when she is holding you, holding you and you feel safe, is the warm smell of bread before you bake it, is the smell, when she makes room for you on her side of the bed still warm with her skin and you sleep near her, the rain outside falling and Papa snoring. The snoring, the rain and Mama's hair that smells like bread.”
Fourth excerpt:
“Modern elevators are strange and complex entities. The ancient electric winch and ‘maximum-capacity-eight-persons’ jobs bear as much relation to a Sirius Cybernetics Corporation Happy Vertical People Transporter as a packet of mixed nuts does to the entire west wing of the Sirian State Mental Hospital.
“This is because they operate on the curious principle of ‘defocused temporal perception.’ In other words, they have the capacity to see dimly into the immediate future, which enables the elevator to be on the right floor to pick you up even before you knew you wanted it, thus eliminating all the tedious chatting, relaxing and making friends that people were previously forced to do while waiting for elevators.
“Not unnaturally, many elevators imbued with intelligence and precognition became terribly frustrated with the mindless business of going up and down, up and down, experimented briefly with the notion of going sideways, as a sort of existential protest, demanded participation in the decision-making process and finally took to squatting in basements sulking.
“An impoverished hitchhiker visiting any planets in the Sirius star system these days can pick up easy money working as a counselor for neurotic elevators.”
Exercise 3
Reread the list of ten words you wrote about yourself in exercise 1 or the list you wrote about one of the excerpts in exercise 2. Then, choose one of the following prompts and do the best you can to write a paragraph in that voice. Be intentional with your choices.
I stared at the clouds.
Coins scattered as the purse hit the concrete.
The bright red car sped past.
I didn’t know what hit me.
She said no.
A pin, a tie, a pocketful of change
The same eyes gazed back at me but with new wrinkles.
I did the exercises too.
Because I’m also the type of person that likes to see examples of exercises already implemented, I did 1 & 3 (you’re on your own for #2) and they are below. Enjoy.
Exercise 1: 10 Words That Describe My Voice
quirky
eccentric
descriptive
intellectual
complex/maze
thoughtful
light
funny
character-driven
colorful
Exercise 3 (based off my own list and the prompt, “I stared at the clouds.”)
I couldn’t tear my eyes away. The clouds—they had changed. No longer white puffy billows of cumulus vapor, or the low lying undulating layer of winter—no they bled, vibrant red and orange, blood, brick, crimson. The rain, too, had changed, salty and scarlet, as if a great wound had torn apart the heavens and its life force was gushing down toward the earth below.
The end <3
Happy writing!