On Voice

6/25/2014

For me, a writer's voice has always been the single thing that differentiates a story or novel for me. You can tease out or develop a story, but you can't create an author's voice where only a story exists, IMO. As a managing editor and reader (both personally and professionally), I am very aural in my response. Can I hear this author and his/her singularity when I read? I always read my own stories into a microphone--and am often astonished at what I hear back. Sometimes I'm delighted, other times I'm horrified at the obvious errors or pat quality of my words.

This notion was seconded in an interview with Amy Einhorn of Penguin Random House, in the March/April issue of Poets & Writers magazine. She says: "I think I would choose voice over story, if I had to. That is not necessarily a good thing, but I'm a sucker for a really strong voice. ... I can help somebody with the story, but I can't create a voice. I can't teach that, and I can't fix that."

Do you agree?

4 Comments

kemibe link

7/25/2014 16:31:38

Writing is like anything else people appreciate as a craft or aspire to do well themselves. And as in other realms, the intangibles and the things over which performers have limited control separate the mundane from the memorable.

I've spent a lot of time (too much!) around very good distance runners, being an accomplished if not top-flight runner myself, and describing in great detail as both a writer and a coach how to improve your own "craftsmanship" in this area. I can go into form drills, how to best allocate your mileage in terms of easy/moderate/hard, how to manage planned and unplanned down time, and race strategy. And you are likely to get better by incorporating some of these practices because they have long proven beneficial -- I haven't invented any of it -- and anyone, in theory, can adopt them.

But there are things I can't instill or convey. I can't infuse you with the kind of competitive demons that make running your fastest or collapsing in the attempt an automatic proposition. I can't make you loathe losing or value success over participation. And I sure as hell can't offer you genetically superior oxygen-carrying capacity, an uncannily efficient stride, and innate durability. Without these things, in spite if what warehouses full of self-help piffle may claim, you may be good, but if you do not have talent, you'll always be ordinary in the grand analysis. (Fortunately, untalented people can still have lots of fun and in some cases make very good money. Just watch a randomly selected cable channel for about three minutes if you main unconvinced of this. Or better yet, watch young children at play.)

Writing is kind of like that. I may come away from a special Stephen King or Carl Hiaasen novel thinking that I've just read a unique story, but with very rare exceptions such stories don't exist. What's drawn me to my favorite fiction writers over the years has been the artful use of profanity here, the impossible colorful yet credible minor character there, and the carefully restrained dispersal of reminding me of the essential futility of living throughout. (Here is where running and writing part ways, I suppose, as people can prefer different voices, but there are no style points awarded in competitive running. I wish track and field had an H.L. Mencken.)

This is what galvanizes me on days when I actually show some discipline and start writing (not the stupid bullshit I get paid to write, the stuff I like to). I don't have to tell myself I can concoct a brilliant and heretofore unexplored and unexposed plot; I just have to have confidence that I can connect to people through my voice. And every so often I get the right sort of feedback and am convinced that it's possible.

Pamela link

7/25/2014 18:49:47

Kemibe, I'm afraid that your reply is far more developed and interesting than my initial post! I'd almost love to see our dialogue printed, or your response to my notion of craft in Runner's magazine.

kemibe link

7/25/2014 21:38:53

Running magazines wouldn't publish anything like this exchange. For one thing, it can't be reduced to a "Ten tips on how to..." format. For another, it doesn't promise readers they can reach their goals by this time next week if only they pay close attention, and in fact assures them that they are probably among the 95 or so percent of runners who will never amount to shit in terms of competitive standing.

Now, if a celebrity writer penned a column about how he manages to fit in a couple of three-mile runs at 11:00 per mile and how creative it makes him feel, such noncontributory bullshit would be published in a trice because it would garner interest among the typical "Runner's World" reader, who isn't really interested in anything useful.

I hate writing for most of the mags now. It's not their fault that I'm burned out on repeatedly writing the same training pieces in convincingly different form (a niche in itself, perhaps) and feel like a fifth-degree slacker for writing hack I don't even enjoy because it's gotten so old. I only like doing athlete profiles now because those at least offer something now and can be fun. And mostly, I just know that every day I don't try working on my novel I'm just one more coward with lazy ambition who finds a reason to wait just 24 more hours to get real.

kemibe link

7/25/2014 21:39:01

Pamela Langley

In the past decade I have written memoirs for a nun, tutored children from Somalia, edited a college literary magazine, interned at Literary Arts in Portland, published a few stories, graduated from University with highest honors, given a speech to a packed house at the Schnitz, remodeled a fixer-upper, written grants for programs that helped, extended my emotional /intellectual horizons, made an intra-state move, started a business, regained my groove, placed my finger back on the pulse, joined Facebook, Pinterest and LinkedIn, bought a smartphone, traveled, raised puppies, and most importantly--honed my writing skills. I bare myself here on The Paper Garden and hope some moments will resonate with you.

On Voice

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Pamela Langley

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