English Language
There’s a fairy out there somewhere–invisible and able to fly through walls, visiting working writers on a regular basis to monitor their progress. She isn’t collecting baby teeth–that job’s been filled. This fairy is waiting and watching for the right moment to grant a magical gift—one most of us don’t realize we’ve been waiting for until much later. It’s as crucial to creating saleable prose as all the
fabulous vocabulary and perfect mechanics in the English language.
What magic could possibly be more important than flawless punctuation and impeccably constructed sentences? It’s really very simple, though elusive and easily suppressed. The magic is a writer’s unique way of selecting and putting words together to make them his or her own. This is what makes your work unique and fresh, innovative.
It’s your writer’s voice. Not the soprano you belt out in the church choir or in your shower. This special voice magically appears when you’re ready for it, but least expect it. Most of us must consider very carefully when attempting to ascertain the exact time in our writing careers that our voice materialized. Perhaps this is why it’s so precious.
Timing is critical, because voice is typically misinterpreted, even viewed as an impediment to the struggle for control of our language–an obligatory rite of passage. I’m certainly no exception. Early grappling with dialogue tags and learning to control the perilous point of view do pay off–eventually. They precede a level of sophistication most successful authors ultimately realize–the discovery of their unique voice.
It’s magic–it’s also fragile
The voice fairy is generous and omnipotent, ready to bestow all writers with this special magic. This legacy is best reserved until after the more mundane aspects of creating marketable fiction have been at least partially mastered.
The emergence of a writer’s voice can be a very perilous evolution. Perhaps this is why the voice fairy is so conscientious about choosing the right moment. Sometimes a novelist’s particular voice attempts to emerge before development of the requisite level of self confidence. The natural tendency is to subdue and edit it right out of their prose.
The assumption is that this impudent, unique voice is wrong. It’s different. Voice may–will–include breaking some of the rules we’ve worked so hard to master. A writer’s voice may be brash and daring, or subtle and understated. The natural urge to suppress voice is difficult to overcome, but it can be done.
Write from the heart. A cliche? Yes, but an eternal truth, nonetheless. Also write from the gut. In other words, trust your instincts. Let the words pour out, then worry about “fixing” them later. The natural passion we writers have in common should not be suppressed, though it should be critiqued, edited and improved.
If your writing goal was to attain perfection, think again. Perfection is boring. A one sentence paragraph—a one word paragraph–is perfectly acceptable to evoke emotion, or punctuate a particularly poignant moment in your story.
If your voice wants to break the rules, do it. Certainly, some of your wild ideas will have to go when it’s time to turn your rough draft into a final, saleable manuscript, but not all.
Your voice should live. Don’t kill it by over-editing. And if you’re part of a critique group, be respectful of your peers’ voices.