Hearing Voice(s)

As writers we are familiar with the anatomy of a story, the little pieces that make the whole.  From adverbs to tense, plot to pacing, we can point to the word on any given page and say - "There it is, I see it."  All plots can be reduced to a witch's hat; a physical manifestation of the course of the story.  The bones and muscles, sinews and capillaries that compose the body of our story exist in a very real sense.

So what about the soul?

That's what I call "voice."

And if you find me an accurate diagram of a soul, make sure you tell the Pope too. Chances are, he'll be interested.

Voice is the ephemeral personality of the story, whether it be cocky attitude or wistful pondering.  Voice is the single most difficult variable in writing, the make or break that's going to connect your reader or turn them off like a radio dropped in the toilet.  And it's impossible to explain.

I was at a conference where a panel of agents and editors were asked by an audience member, "How do you define voice?  And please don't tell me you know it when you see it."  An agent promptly took the mic and said, "I know it when I see it."

It's like asking someone - "Why do you like your friends?"  Uh well, she's nice, and uh, funny, and... well, she's... my friend.  Can you reduce your friends to adjectives?  No.  You connected with them because of their personality, because their internal, intangible voice said something to your own - and you began a conversation.

One more metaphor as I attempt to define the impossible.

If you look at a diagram of a flower, you won't see smell labeled.

Yet what do we think of when we think of a rose?  Or a hyacinth? Or heck, even a big fat pile of dog crap? Smell.  And if you pick any of those things apart, you're not going to find "smell" in there. It radiates from the whole but can't be singled out.

And so with voice.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

We've all got 'em. Those ideas that spring up in the middle of the night from a dream, or right before bed, and suddenly it's like somebody poured MiracleGro on your brain and those seeds of a story have turned into a novel without a lot of help from your gray matter.  And sometimes, a seed that we purposely planted sits there calmly looking back at us, unsure of what it's supposed to do, while we stare back at it, wondering what happened to the MiracleGro nozzle.  For everyone's benefit, I decided to share a picture of my garden.

So you'll notice the planned stuff - strategically placed clumps of daffodils and tulips (story ideas), a carpet of muscari to set it all off (little blurbies of dialogue flying out all over the place), a stone bench for me to rest on when I can't make it those last two steps to the car (chapter end).  Those tulip and daffodil type stories are the best. The idea went down into the dirt of my brain and came out a season later in boom and ready to go - all I had to do was enjoy it.

But if you look close you'll also notice things like - THIS GUY:

I've got a few stories like that.  They've taken up residence in my brain, among the daffodils and tulips. They eat my food and I try to give them medicine but they spit at me and refuse any kind of assistance. They're always going to be ugly, and feral, and they're always going to be taking a crap in the flower bed of my brain and then looking at me like, "What you go gonna do about it?"

If you look again you can spot: THIS LADY:

She's another rover, a wandering butthead that decided my five acres should be her home.  I got close enough to ascertain she was female and caught her skinny rear in a live trap and had her fixed.  She shows her thanks by refusing to acknowledge my existence.  When she wandered onto my property she was all bones and big eyes - crazy big eyes, oogly - googly.  So I named her Ugly. Over the years Ugly has turned into a sleek machine.  A groomed, efficient hunter, Ugly's midsection now sets off her eyes nicely and she's turned into the best looking outdoor animal I have.

I've had one or two ugly, unmanageable ideas morph into something awesome once or twice.  I just had to set that trap and show them who was boss.  After that, they fed off what was leftover in the brain and took their time evolving into something better than what they were.  They like to show off by setting themselves down nearby THAT GUY and saying, "See?  And you thought I was bad?"

In the end, I prefer those tulips and daffodils that are naturally beautiful, and require little work.  But those irritating, ugly ideas have their place too - if nothing more than to remind me of the effortlessness of the first type.

On Looking Good & Writing Well

Ladies: We talked before a little bit about self-esteem as writers and as people.  In an earlier post I talked about how we manage our households and juggle our time. Today, I've got a relevant Glimpse-Into-MindyLand (oh, it's a fascinating place) that I think will resonate with my readers.

I've got a friend & co-worker who is the blunt type, the one that calls you out on your shit - and really, we all need at least one of those to keep us honest.  She's also my Mary Kay lady.  So when she brought me down some new makeup the other day and showed me how to use it (I freely admit to my ineffectual makeup use) a conversation went thus:

Me: Yeah I know I haven't been doing my face a lot lately for work.

Friend: Or your hair.

Me: Right, I know.  I really need some new clothes, but don't have the extra cash to buy some.  So when I wake up in the morning I look in my closet and think, all these clothes look dumpy, so why bother doing my face and my hair when my clothes look like this?  Then I bought some new clothes, but when I put them on they looked bad cause I gained some weight, which made me feel crappy, so when I woke up the next day I felt even crappier, and thought why do my hair and my face if my body looks bad?  Internal thought: Wow.  I didn't know all that was in there.  I just totally dumped on Friend.

Friend: *cocks her head and looks at me like I'm stupid* You know that's a completely self destructive thought cycle, right?

So sometimes we need that friend who says - "Guess what?  You're totally screwing yourself right now."

And I think this applies in our writing too.  We get down on ourselves.  We re-read last night's work and say, "That is horrible, that is crap, why did I ever think I could be a writer?" And we stop trying.  We read a best seller and think, "This is incredible, this is what it takes to be a writer, I cannot do that."

And isn't that kind of thinking tantamount to comparing ourselves to the models on the magazine covers, or actresses with free time to go the gym everyday and the money to go the salon before they go out?  These writers (some of them) have been doing this for years; their skills are honed, they've had professional feedback from other writers and editors.  Some of them have the ability to make a living off their writing, instead of in those stolen moments.

This same Friend said to me one time, "You know, you could be a 10 but you treat yourself like 5."  So tell yourself today when you sit in front of that laptop / notebook / desktop / blank piece of paper - I'm a 10 dammit!  And I'm going to write like one!