Voice is one of the most important elements of any great writer. No doubt about it.
Without a unique “voice”, they wouldn’t have had so many readers.
But what is this voice, exactly? And how can you make it come through in your writing?
Well, let’s think of voice. Some have a deep tonality, a certain way of articulating words. They have a style. They talk like no one else you ever met. Others have this squeaky voice that sounds like scratching a blackboard with your fingernails, and even though what they’re saying could make a lot of sense, and it could be something witty and smart, you can’t wait for them to shut up, because you can’t understand a thing they’re saying anyway.
Well, the same is true for your writing. No one can hear you, but they can feel you through the words you use and how you choose to use them.
Odds are that you are struggling to find your voice as a writer. To find that style. Odds are that you are also putting a lot of pressure on yourself to be unique. To write like no one else before you.
If only you knew how simple it really is.
You just got to write like yourself.
Disclaimer: This new project of mine is called God, The Devil, and a Man walk into a bar.
Caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.
— Antonio Machado
The traveler sat down on a sand dune and saw nothing. He heard nothing. He feared the worst. He had reached a truly godforsaken place: a vast, mournful pan of emptiness where anything sentient resented anything else that was alive. Every sun-scoured scrap of fauna had barbs, hooks or thorns, every animal had poison, paw or claw. Scorpions scuttled and snakes hissed and slithered while they went about their grisly business of survival. Even sand was an enemy. It burned his feet raw, it stinged his eyes and acted as a surrogate for pain.
His skin felt like scraped by sandpaper, his tongue was cloven to the roof of his mouth. His eyes felt like they’d melted into the back of his mind, making everything seem mirage-like. He knew he was alone, abandoned, and doomed. A colorless heat haze had blurred out the background and his vision had become myopic.
Yet, through the silence, through the nothing, something throbbed, something gleamed. Continue reading
Fragments of a wild and bizarre beauty would appear and disappear fast, never settling for more than what felt as a second. My mind couldn’t put together all the glints that my past kept throwing at me. But then the incessant moan of the city night faded into silence, and my mind began to weave an intricate web of memories. What had started off as a waffling and erratic cocktail of images, condensed to such a degree that I could barely discern Amber’s face, had now grown into a fascinating and yet frightening labyrinth.
I took pleasure in building her, piece by piece, until my mind contained a fully fleshed version of a thin and gracious young woman, a white dress sculpted around her body and her black hair falling down to her waist.
It was a two year old memory, but it felt as real as the people I was walking around with.
We were at my father’s restaurant. I was watching her from afar. She was thin, but there was still flesh underneath her rigid dress, there were still thighs and hips and breasts, all tailored together with delicate mastery. Continue reading
Romania is last in the European Union when it comes to reading books. The book market here is something out of a horror story for writers.
What do these two sentences mean?
I shouldn’t be able to do what I do. And I don’t think that you ever gave it a thought while reading my posts.
Some women are nice to stare at. Nice to hold their hand, go on long, long walks with them. They taste real nice when you kiss them.
But not this woman. Oh, no.
Kisses dream of lips like hers.
Alice walks closer.
God, this woman! Even the way she sips from her glass knocks men the fuck out.
She is sex. The way you’d imagine sex to look like. Alice is pretty sure she is wearing a perfume made from the tears of all the men who had her and lost her. If you listen carefully you can almost hear the sound of hearts breaking.
Even if they tried to avoid one another, it wouldn’t work. Somehow, the Universe seems willing to collapse in on itself just to make them meet.
Which is kind of odd, considering… Continue reading
There are three elements to becoming successful in any given area.
Motivation: I also like to call it willpower. You simply want to get from point A to point B.
You want it. You are driven. You are willing to go the distance. Continue reading
“Where do they go, these dreams of mine? Do they live? Do they die? Do they fall? Do they fly?”
“Most people will spend their lives doing jobs that they don’t particularly enjoy, and will eventually save up enough money to stop doing those jobs just in time to start dying instead. Don’t be one of those people. There’s a difference between living, and just surviving. Do something that you love, and find someone to love who loves that you love what you do.
It really is that simple.
And that hard.” – John Connolly
I strenuously believe that most of us crave adventure. We want our lives to make us feel. We crave the bittersweet excitement brought on by uncertainty.
But we also want safety. And comfort. Just enough.
We are torn between “more” and “just enough.”