by Elizabeth S. Craig, @elizabethscraig
Wednesday, I was the only adult in the
line of about 100 junior year high school students in front of the counselor’s
office.
The students were all there to
have their schedules changed for one reason or another. My son was next to me, both relieved that I
was there and resigned that I was there. His schedule,
unfortunately, needed four or five changes to it—sometimes computers stick odd
things on schedules. This computer
had. I was there to lend an air of
gravitas to the situation and help him get the schedule in order so he’d have
what he needed for these colleges he’s starting to look at (primarily German
III and German IV, since they want four years in a single language).
So here’s the situation. We’re all sitting in plastic chairs in a
long, long line outside this office, each with a number. He has friends to the right of him and
friends to the left of him and I’m right in the middle. I have brought my book
with me and am determined not to bother/embarrass him (if I can help it). Although I could potentially be bothering him
by the fact that I’m quietly writing about murder in my notebook. Or that I’m there at all.
We wait about four hours.
His friends, nearer the start of the four
hour wait, aren’t exactly sure how to talk around me. And this is literally around me, since they’re having to lean forward to bypass my
presence. There is some stilted
conversation. They pass their phones to
each other to share a video or a funny picture, but they only snort or laugh
and don’t talk about whatever it is they’re looking at. I keep writing.
Finally the girl next to me asks sweetly,
“Mrs. Craig, are you here to get your schedule changed, too?” Trying out a
different tack to see how I’d respond. My son looks sideways at me.
I nodded.
“I was supposed to graduate in 1989, but I can’t seem to get enough
credits for graduation.”
This makes them laugh. And soon, they’re carrying on conversations
that seem a lot more natural. Not as natural as they’d be if I weren’t there at
all, but a whole lot more natural than they were before. This helps me relax
too. It’s very distracting when people are acting stilted around you. I was actually able to block them all out and
write several pages for my book.
To me, this is half the battle of coming
up with a writer’s voice—not sounding stilted.
Stilted narrative is distracting and makes it tough for a reader to get
wrapped up in our story.
I knew what I wanted my storytelling
voice to be before I wrote my first book…but it took a while for me to achieve
it. I wanted it to be intimate and friendly. It took some practice and both
hits and misses before I nailed it. One
tip that I found: once you’ve written a
passage of your book in the voice you’re shooting for, print that portion out
and keep it near you. When you feel
you’re sounding stilted again, reread the passage that you wrote. It can help to reorient you.
Here are some posts on voice that I’ve
found helpful in the past:
Can
You Hear Me Now? Developing Your Voice—by Janice Hardy @janice_hardy
10 Steps to Finding Your Writing
Voice—by Jeff Goins @jeffgoins
Need Voice? Think
Out Loud—by Jami Gold @jamigold
3 Vs of
Fiction—Voice—by Darcy Pattison @fictionnotes
Did your author's voice come naturally to
you? How did you find it?
Photo--MorgueFile--mconnors
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