 | 12 Jan 10 |
This morning, I woke with no voice. Just air and frustration as I rasped, “I can’t talk” to my husband. This announcement was met with such an expression of delight that, for one brief moment, I considered divorce. Oh, he was kidding, of course! Tea and sympathy was offered in short order.
“I’ll just write today,” I stage-whispered. “Don’t need a voice for that.”
But, that’s where I’m wrong. Voice is all I need for my job…my writer’s voice. Few elements of the craft fascinate me as much as the subject of a writer’s voice, and the loss of my speaking voice made me realize how much we take our writing voice for granted.
The first time I heard the word “voice” used as it relates to the written word, I was intrigued. Did a writer have a “voice” – a tone, a pitch, the ability to carry a melody? Was it baritone, breathy, bold? Was an author’s voice truly recognizable from the words alone? Could she lose it? Change it? Raise and lower it? Could it be different from book to book? From character to character?
So, let’s talk, er, whisper, about voice today.
First of all, what is a writer’s voice? Can anyone define it? In a word, no. You see, no one really knows. It’s like the wind, always there, sometimes strong and cold, sometimes sweet and warm, but you can’t really grab a handful and show it to anyone. You can only witness the effect of a strong voice. The trees are swaying, there is wind. My heart is twisting, there is voice.
Determined to find a definition, I headed right to my bookshelves to pluck out a well-worn copy of Bird By Bird by Anne Lamott (quite possible the most brilliant book on writing I’ve ever read.) Surely a writer with a voice so beautiful it can make me cry over a craft concept (The shitty first draft? Did you not weep with relief when you read that?) would have a gorgeous definition of voice that I could share. And there, on page 195, a whole chapter on “Finding Your Voice.”
Only she doesn’t talk about finding your “voice” – she doesn’t even say what voice is, or how to recognize yours vs. others. She calls it finding your truth, which is glorious and lyrical, and so Lamottish that I’m sucked for half hour of reading, and then lose another feeling totally inadequate and intimidated and insecure. And still I don’t have my pithy definition of voice.
I’m no Anne Lamott (as I realize every time I read that book), but I’ll try to do what she didn’t, and give you a definition of voice.
Voice is how a writer tells her story, not what story she tells.
Pithy? Yeah, but still not enough. Voice is every choice a writer makes from the individual vocabulary words to the simplicity or complexity of the sentence structure. Voice is affected by parsing, pacing, and punctuation (and, clearly, alliteration), by the specificity of nouns and the power of the verbs, by narrative rhythm, the balance of dialogue and introspection, the length of the chapters, scenes, paragraphs, and sentences, by the amount of white space, dialogue tags, humor, sarcasm, metaphors, fragments and one sentence paragraphs. (Oh, boy, can you overdo those – just ask me.) Voice is what you leave out as much as what you emphasize, and voice is as individual as you are. No two are the same.
Defining it is one thing; identifying it, a whole different bag of chips.
I once listened to an RWA craft workshop tape on the subject of voice. I apologize in advance, because I cannot remember the speaker’s name, but I remember this suggestion to help writers find their own voices. Think about one sentence or paragraph in any book you’ve written or are writing. Your favorite one – the one that sort of fell out of your fingers without thinking. The one that made you lean back and grin. Yeah, you thought, that’s exactly what I wanted to say and precisely how I wanted to say it. The one that gave you a little thrill chill, the one you would fight to the death to keep in the book, regardless of what an editor says.
That, according to this presenter, is your voice. You shouldn’t even have to look for it in your work, she suggested. This sentence is one you connect with so completely that you probably have it memorized.
I tried, I really did. I thought about my entire body of work scene by scene. Are there lines I loved and wouldn’t part with for love or money? Absolutely. Is there a cadence and tone to my writing style, especially in narrative, that “sounds” right to me, and “sounds” like I must have written it? Most definitely. Was I able to pluck a line from a book and say this is my voice?
Not a chance. (Didn’t I tell you I love the one line paragraph?)
And that’s what makes the elusive voice so fascinating. If we can’t define it easily and don’t know our own when it bites us on the tongue, how can we ever improve it? Or, more importantly, how can we change it? Can you take your soprano technique and become an alto?
Not without throat surgery. But, a voice can grow and evolve, it can age and mellow, and it can certainly be adjusted for character, genre, and book. You can change your style, your emphasis, your word choice, your characters, your setting, your tense, your point of view, and your plot. But I don’t think you can fundamentally change your natural voice, the one stamped onto your writing and storytelling DNA.
Does that mean you’ll sound exactly the same in every story? Surely you’ve heard that other bit of voice folklore that says if a writer’s voice is truly distinct and strong, you could read a page of their book and know immediately who wrote it.
Here’s a test – who do you think wrote this?
“This is nice,” she whispered.
“You aren’t afraid?”
“Of you? No. Never of you.” Her tone was liquid with tenderness. She lifted her hand to reach back and cup his jaw in her palm. “I’ll be all right in the morning, wait and see. I’m just too tired right now to deal with it. Will you hold me all night?”
“If you want me to.”
“Please.”
He brushed her hair to one side and pressed a kiss into the nape of her neck, delighting in the delicate little shiver that rippled through her body when he did so. “My pleasure,” he said gently. “Good night, sweetheart.”
How about this?
He lifted me into the truck as though I wasn’t capable of sliding in on my own. I gave him a bright smile and hooked one leg around his. “Want to get it on, big boy?”
He choked on a laugh. “Can you hold that thought until we get back to the cottage?”
“I may be sober by then, and remember why I shouldn’t.”
“I’ll take my chances.” He gave me a lingering kiss. “I think I can get around that.”
Oh, right. My neck. He knew about my neck. I could see I’d have to invest in some turtleneck sweaters.
Or this one:
“Since when did I start answering to you?”
He staggered back maybe an inch.
“Since about a week ago!” he said furiously, and kissed her.
His mouth was hard and angry, and his heart pounded like a sledgehammer beneath her hands. As always when he kissed her, it was as if time spun away, leaving only the here and now. The taste of him filled her; his bare skin was hot to the touch, despite the rain beating down on them. He locked her against him, his arms so tight she couldn’t draw a deep breath, and against her belly she felt the thrust of his erection.
Three very different sensual scenes. Three very different, distinct, powerhouse voices. Right?
Wrong. Well they are distinct and powerhouse, but not different. Every word was written by the same author – Linda Howard. (This is the part where I genuflect.) The first is vintage Howard, MacKenzie’s Mountain; the second from her switch to first person POV in To Die For; and last is my personal favorite, Mr. Perfect. (Autographed!!)
Those snippets are, in my opinion, signature Howard, as loud and clear to me as when I put on a Barbara Streisand CD and hear her hit the money note. While each is utterly different, all of those excerpts share rich phrases, brilliant imagery (OMG “liquid with tenderness” – could you die?), a cadence of sharp banter, and a sexy, mouthwatering hero whether he’s gentle, teasing, or hard as a rock and ready to do it up against the wall. (Which is what happens next in that third scene. Natch. This is, after all, Linda Howard.)
I believe these excerpts support the theory that while you can change character’s voices, you can change tone of a scene, you can even change from first to third person…your voice is fundamentally, well, true.
So Anne Lamott was right after all.
Let’s talk voice! Do you think about voice as a reader? Have you played with yours as a writer? Is there an author whose voice you adore – share a snippet! Leave a comment about writing voice, and sing it loud. I’ll sing with you…except, I have no voice. But I’ll throw a book at you! One random commenter will win the first book in the Bullet Catchers series, KILL ME TWICE! And trust me, Alex Romero…has a very nice voice.
Roxanne St. Claire is a bestselling, RITA-Award winning author of twenty-four novels of romance and suspense. For the past several years, she's been writing a popular romantic suspense series called “The Bullet Catchers” for Pocket Star Books, featuring a cadre of bodyguards and security professionals. In 2010, she's launching a new series, "The Guardian Angelinos" focusing on an extended family of renegade crime fighters and investigators based in Boston. The first book in that series, EDGE OF SIGHT, will be released from Grand Central Publishing in November, 2010, with two more scheduled in 2011. In addition to the RITA, her books have won the National Reader’s Choice Award, the Daphne Du Maurier Award, the Maggie Award, the Booksellers Best, the Book Buyers Best, The HOLT Medallion, multiple Awards of Excellence, and Borders “Top Pick” for Romance in 2007.
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Ouch. I hope you’re feeling better–want some of my kick-ass lemon/thyme/honey syrup?
Loved your example of voice by using three of Linda Howard’s stories…especially because to me, she’s one of those writers I can’t pin down by voice!
I like Lamott’s reference to ‘truth’ because I think it’s authenticity–the ring of truth in the story–that carries voice. If the writer is contriving a plot point, or making a character ‘be’ just because it’s ‘supposed’ to be there…the reader senses that. When we are really letting the stories flow, not adding in stuff just because someone told us it ought to be done that way, or using words that someone else told us to use, then it’s real, then it’s in our voice.
Hope yours (your speaking one, that is) comes back in a hurry!
by Lorena January 12th, 2010 at 7:07 amLorena, darling, I’ll take some of that kickass syrup, stat. In fact, I’m off to the clinic after I drop my daughter at school; this one has gone on too long and I need some medical intervention. And my voice back!
Interesting thing – when I couldn’t talk yesterday? I wrote 4,000 words. Hmmm. Perhaps duct tape is in order when I’m on deadline!
Thanks for the comment! xo
by Roxanne St. Claire January 12th, 2010 at 7:35 amGreat post! And I loved your examples. Now I’m going to have to run and get a copy of BIRD BY BIRD. Thanks!
by Laura Griffin January 12th, 2010 at 9:02 amTrust me, you won’t regret that purchase. The book is amazing. xo
by Roxanne St. Claire January 12th, 2010 at 11:04 amAgreed. BIRD BY BIRD is one of the few books on craft that I re-read every year. It’s brilliant.
by toni mcgee causey January 12th, 2010 at 11:47 amI was clueless about voice until a helpful RWA chapter member told me that the reason I was getting contest scores that were all over the place was most likely because I had a “strong voice” which a reader either liked or didn’t.
Trying to sound writerly doesn’t work. It’s when the words appear on the page without seeming to involve the use of brain or fingertips that I feel I’m using “my” voice.
Love those workshop exercises where you’re given a very short setup (she’s asking him for a divorce) and you write a paragraph. No two come out anywhere alike.
by Terry Odell January 12th, 2010 at 9:12 amI’ve heard the same thing about strong voices, Terry – the elicit strong reactions. All it takes is for that book to resonate with one editor, though. I think that’s exactly what they’re looking for – an outstanding voice, even if it riles some readers. xo
by Roxanne St. Claire January 12th, 2010 at 11:05 amI hope you feel better. I never thought about an author’s ‘voice’ but, to me, it is the way they write and why some there are some authors that I will buy their book just because their name is on the book and I know that I will enjoy the story.
by Maureen January 12th, 2010 at 9:53 amI’m back from the doc and just knowing I’ve got an antibiotic started, I feel better. He gave me cough med w/ codeine, but, Lordy, I know better than to take that! Thanks for the comment! xo
by Roxanne St. Claire January 12th, 2010 at 11:06 am~sigh~ It’s posts like this that make me wonder if I’ll ever figure all this writerly stuff out and put all the pieces together for myself. I don’t know what my voice is, except it’s very, very quiet these days. Writing a grocery list has become laborious. I put “Journal daily” on my 2010 list of goals (which I still have not finalized and stored away in the little box on my desk) and so far I’ve managed to write something in the cute new journal about 6 days. And even that’s been tough. Most nights my eyelids are drooping before I even pick up the pen, so maybe I should journal in the morning — after the first cup of tea has jolted the brain with caffeine.
Great post as usual. And I hope the throat issue clears up quickly.
by Marilyn January 12th, 2010 at 9:55 amYou have laryngitus of the writer’s voice, Marilyn. Temporary silence…it will return. I miss you, btw! xoxo+++
by Roxanne St. Claire January 12th, 2010 at 11:08 amMarilyn, if it helps any, I go through periods of that exact same thing. It sucks, to feel adrift amongst the words, but look at it as a time to replenish. There’s a reason why you want to keep writing–enough so to create a goal for yourself. There’s something inside you telling you, “yes, I must do this. It’s what I want.” Even when it’s hard.
I’d ask you this: if you could write about anything in the whole wide world, what’s the thing you’d love to write? What was the first thought that popped in your head?
by toni mcgee causey January 12th, 2010 at 11:52 amMy lawyer won’t let me write about that. LOL!
by Marilyn January 12th, 2010 at 12:01 pmLOL… but you could disguise it! That’s what’s so great about fiction.
Besides, NOW you’ve made me curious!
by toni mcgee causey January 12th, 2010 at 12:18 pmOne day…
by Marilyn January 12th, 2010 at 3:25 pmI know I have two very different voices – one for my lighter paranormal romances and one for my darker gothic fantasies, but it’s fun to play between them. I think it helps me not get burned out with one.
I think I could pick your voice out from a sample of reading selections. It’s very distinct: quick and edgy with a tautness that is SO perfect for romantic suspense.
by Kristen Painter January 12th, 2010 at 10:02 amI almost used your voices as an example, Kristen! I thought the difference between your light paranormal of ALL FIRED UP vs. some of the tidbits you’ve shared in your new upcoming urban fantasy, the Blood Rights series (which is amazing, I might add) would have been a perfect example of different voice, same writer. But I didn’t want to steal your thunder, and Linda beckoned with those snippets.
Thank you on the voice compliments! xo
by Roxanne St. Claire January 12th, 2010 at 11:11 amI second that on Rocki’s voice!
by toni mcgee causey January 12th, 2010 at 12:06 pmWow–I feel really foolish! I knew the second excerpt was Howard’s “To Die For” but I couldn’t figure out the other two! You sneaky columnist; lost your voice but your sense of humor is firmly intact. Good sign. Hope you feel better.
by GSM January 12th, 2010 at 10:12 amLOL, my sense of humor is fine. The poor people who live with me and have to listen to my hacking…not so fine. Good for you, GSM, for not scrolling and cheating! xo
by Roxanne St. Claire January 12th, 2010 at 11:13 amI’m with Terry on this one. When I was an unpublished author (for a very many years) I found that people tended to react strongly to my work. Love it…or HATE it. For a long time I thought the task I should focus on was trying to come up with a “style” (because that is what I thought it was called before I first heard the term “voice”) that would appeal to everyone.
And that meant making it bland and inoffensive.
I think I lost a couple of years on that ill-advised task. Here I am, much later, and still people tend to feel strongly about my work. But now I know it’s the strong voice that either makes them feel at home or lets them know the story isn’t for them…
by Sophie Littlefield January 12th, 2010 at 10:25 amGood lesson, Sophie, and that’s kind of what Anne Lamott is saying in her chapter on voice. Try as you might to “imitate” another writer or “simulate” a market trend, and it won’t be true. And, OMG, your voice is anything but bland! xo
by Roxanne St. Claire January 12th, 2010 at 11:16 amI think about voice all the time, though, I wouldn’t call myself an impartial reader. I’m still trying to figure out my voice, how it works for me and how to make it flow better, but I think I’ve been going through a pretty smooth path with that. I like the way I’m going and have been satisfied with what I’ve been able to figure out. I hope I can find a really smooth voice some day that will work great for me AND my readers!
It’s because of voice that I can’t read translations anymore. It’s only when you read the same book in a language you’re completely fluent and compare it to the original (in a language you’re completely fluent, too, obviously) that you realize how much is lost in translation, even though the general story of the book is the same. But the plot doesn’t tell a story, doesn’t pull the reader in, doesn’t captivate them and allows them to escape the world. The voice does. And only he (or she, in many cases) who wrote a book can truly tell the story, no matter how accurate someone’s translation is. Voice is everything in a book. I can read a book completely outside my comfort zone when the writer has a good voice, but I can’t read the bloodiest romantic suspense/thriller if the voice doesn’t work for me.
Having said that, I adore your voice, Rocki. Absolutely LOVE it. You know, I’m pretty sure I could identify your voice anywhere. If you gave me 10 manuscript with no name, I think I could tell which was yours with a couple of pages, though, I’m so used to it that maybe it wouldn’t be fair (yes, by the way, your ‘email voice’ and ‘book voice’ are essentially alike).
by Barbie January 12th, 2010 at 10:51 amI have often wondered about translation and voice, Barbie. What a great point you make. (Along with loving my voice, another great point!!) I get dozens and dozens of my older category books from all over the globe, and I look at these incomprehensible words and wonder: did they just tell the story or did they capture the nuances of how I told it? Until I’m bilingual, I’ll never know!
Thanks for the comment and all da lurve, baby. xoxoxo
by Roxanne St. Claire January 12th, 2010 at 11:18 amPS to Barbie: your English voice is very strong, Barbie, which is astounding since it is not your first language. As strong as many published writers! I’ve no doubt you’ll smooth it out and find the perfect chords to sing your stories. And I’ll read them all!
by Roxanne St. Claire January 12th, 2010 at 11:20 amRocki, though I haven’t read you in anything but English, I’ll dare to say they just “told the story”. In the hundreds of translations I’ve read in my life, I don’t think I’ve ever read one that actually captured the voice. The most I can say is that it’s happened — not often, but it has — sometimes that I liked the translator’s voice better than the authors voice. But topping you, especially in Portuguese, would be nearly impossible!
And thanks. I’m glad you think I can write in English. I can’t write in Portuguese to save my life. I’ll never have a ‘voice’ because the grammatically acceptable Portuguese people use to write will never sound natural to me. And, thank you, always, for the encouragement.
by Barbie January 12th, 2010 at 1:00 pmI agree with Sophie in that I lost years trying to be something I wasn’t. Oh, I knew about voice and what it was, it’s just that I wanted to sell in a genre that didn’t reflect my ‘true’ voice. Once I figured out who I was, I became a happier writer, still unpubbed, but happier.
by Margaret A. Golla January 12th, 2010 at 11:06 amTake care of yourself, Rocki!
Margaret – key word in your comment: HAPPIER! Good for you! xo
by Roxanne St. Claire January 12th, 2010 at 6:06 pmExcellent, Rocki! And so true!
by Debra Webb January 12th, 2010 at 11:54 amI’m doing a workshop in April at the Desert Rose conference on voice — what it is, what it isn’t, how to look at your own voice and define it, and then make it soar. I don’t think voice in and of itself is teachable–meaning, you can’t set out to make a writer have a certain voice. But I do think you can analyze your voice and figure out what it is that’s working for you so that you know your strengths and weaknesses and know what you need to do to sharpen it and improve.
by toni mcgee causey January 12th, 2010 at 12:10 pmToni, you have a KILLER voice, one of the most distinctive I ever read. The first Bobby Faye book IS a master class on voice. I’d love to hear your workshop! Will you do it at Nationals? xo
by Roxanne St. Claire January 12th, 2010 at 6:04 pmRocki, I didn’t even think to submit it to nationals this time. Maybe next year.
But WOW, thank you. That is a tremendous compliment, and you totally made my week!
by toni mcgee causey January 13th, 2010 at 1:40 amRocki, hope you’re feeling better! Glad you got some antibiotics from the doc, it sounds like you have a secondary infection.
Voice is the key to writers! I love voice! But you covered if all, so I don’t have much to add. I struggled for years trying to “contain” my natural voice and have the rejections to prove it. It wasn’t until i was so fed up, I wrote the book I wanted to read and went with my natural voice that I got my first break.
by Jen Lyon January 12th, 2010 at 1:12 pmJen, that’s the hardest lesson to learn. I am so glad you let your voice free – it’s so much easier than to try and be something you’re not. And, of course, that’s what resonated with an editor and readers! xo
by Roxanne St. Claire January 12th, 2010 at 6:05 pmHi
Thanks for the excellent post on the writer’s voice. It was helpful. One of my favorite author’s has a distinctive voice I could read forever.
Here’s an excerpt from C.J. Cherryh’s REGENESIS:
There was a note in System from Catlin. And files for her. Interesting, Catlin’s note said. There was a flag
by RKCharron January 12th, 2010 at 2:01 pmon a section of note, but she started skimming the file from the top, choosing rapid-audio over
script—she wanted the nuances.
And it was interesting, right from the start. Jordan tended to be that.
“. . . So my own appeal couldn’t get you through my door, hut you don’t mind bringing the little dears
guards to burgle my apartment.”
A little odd to hear oneself snarled at in absentia. She had a pet name. How sweet.
“I was concerned for your safety.” That was Justin, a little further from the pickup, talking about Patil, and
she slowed the audio down. “She was talking about somebody inside, Dad. Who would that be?”
Then: “How was Patil involved? Why were you carrying her card around? And why in hell did you dump
it on me?”
There was a nice list of questions. She didn’t expect answers from Jordan,
but it was a good fight, very
much the same as at her dining table.
“. . . the fact I got close to Ari,” Justin fired back at one point. “Who, outside of being the incarnation you
deplore, is a pretty good little kid in her spare time.”
The audio went on. And on. Her heart had begun picking up its beats. Gotten harder and harder. And
she got Mad. As Mad as she’d ever been. And that was all she could hear. A pretty good little kid. A
pretty good little kid. That wasn’t Justin putting on an act. That was Justin defending her. A pretty good
little kid.
Damn him! Damn him!
She shook, she was suddenly so mad. And her breath came short, and her eyes stung, suddenly
swimming with tears.
Well, that was interesting. She’d just had a heavy hit of adrenaline, and a rush of hormones, and she kept
hearing those same five words, over and over, and she wanted to cry. She wanted to cry so badly she
burst into sobs and buried her face in her hands. Which was just damned stupid. She wiped her eyes,
and kept wiping, smearing tears all over her face, and hiccuping, which just finished it—she hadn’t had a
tantrum like that since she was three.
God!
The audio had just gone on, far past, and the worst part was, she had to run it back to find her place and
hear it again. Little kid.
Dammit all. She wondered what else she’d hear that would send her over the edge. Or break her heart.
She really, really didn’t want to go on listening.
But it was what one got for eavesdropping on somebody else’s conversation,
and he probably hadn’t
even thought twice about saying it. That was the problem. He was, face it, older. A lot older. And that
was exactly how he saw her. And that was where he was. her Justin, forever out of reach.
She had to hear it to the end. She had to know, about Justin, of all people, what he was thinking and
saving. It was her job to know, if she was going to take over Reseune, if she was going to go on trusting
him as a major asset.
And it was an interesting reaction. Her heart was still beating hard. She wasn’t thinking straight. Jordan
was saying important things about where the card could actually have come from and how he’d reacted,
and she couldn’t analyze anything. They used to shoot her full of hormones so she’d react in certain ways.
This was like that. She was still shaken, and still feeling sorry for herself, and actually jealous of the first
Ari, for having had, just once, a physical chance at Justin. And simultaneously, she was ashamed of that
thought; and knew, still, that the first Ari hadn’t won Justin’s heart. Or she had, but not in the way
anybody would want to—she’d taken him, shaken him, and then died, leaving him to suffer the
consequences of being under Denys Nye’s regime and tangled somewhere
in the first Ari’s involvement
with Jordan. So it had kept him safe, but it had made him a target. Not mentioning what Ari had done to
him, deliberately, as an act of policy
That had to be part of Justin’s reaction to her . . . as long as she was a pretty good little kid, he had her in
a safe place in his mind. Sex, in Justin,
wasn’t going to go her way and she had to face it, was all. No
other woman ever seemed to interest him; and she seemed to be the female he reacted to, but it wasn’t
the reaction she wanted—or that at least part of her wanted. When she thought about it logically—or as
logically as she could manage—she knew it was one thing to imagine having sex with Justin; but it was a
damned scan’ prospect to contemplate really doing it. It scared him; it scared her. And—the real
stinger—it inevitably had a morning after, which just wouldn’t be good for either of them.
So maybe she was the little kid for now. As they aged, the difference in their ages would get less. He’d
be more like Jordan was now, she’d be more like Ari was then—
And it just wouldn’t get any better, would it? Forget the thought.
She just had to prevent it all going nova, was all. She couldn’t lose him. the way Ari had lost Jordan. That
was the important thing.
She wondered what sort of answer she’d get from Jordan, if she asked him if he and the first Ari had ever
had sex. She hadn’t found it in the records, and she wondered about it. He’d be shocked at the question,
she thought, probably disturbed, given that the relationship had gone the way it did—and then he’d twist
it around and ask her if she aimed at Justin. Only he’d probably put it more bluntly—to shock her.
If she took the old war with Jordan into the realm of sexual innuendo, it could divert it away from the real
issues—sex being, even with people who weren’t kids, a short-circuit in the logic process.
So she didn’t want to ask him, or get into that dialogue, because he wouldn’t answer. He didn’t have to
answer anything, ever, and he used that fact like a weapon, challenging them, outright challenging them to
break their own law and go after him, because then they’d be what he’d always said they were.
Maybe that was what went on in his head—just a spaghetti code of a thought process that hoped
someday he could break them before they broke him . . .
And, dammit, she’d let the recording get away from her again. She remembered the place, sent it back to
the precise number, and ran it the third time—this time hearing that little kid remark with a lot more logic
functioning. It was sad, it was hurtful, but her pulse rate had settled and she had her brain working again.
The recording ran on. There wasn’t anything else . . . down to the bit Catlin had flagged.
“Answer them, dammit! Leave it for security. Live your life. Ask Yanni for a few cases, and get busy,
high-level, low-level, it doesn’t matter. I’ll go to him …”
“But you haven’t done it, have you? I seem to remember you were going to do that.”
“I’ve been a little busy. Never mind how. Just—I will.”
“You really don’t get the picture, do you? They won’t let me write sets. They’re paranoid. And, no, I’m
not going to get any work.”
“Jordan, don’t explode. She’d check them over. If she passed them, ultimately, they’ll be passed.”
“That’s not even worth a comment.”
“Because you’re too fucking proud.”
“Because I’m not going to deal with her. I’m not going to her begging.”
“Then I will. She’ll get you through this. Nobody’s going to pin anything
on you. No more frame-ups.”
Would he ask her? She wasn’t sure how she was going to answer that if Justin did. It would be interesting
to critique one of Jordan’s current designs. But if she said one word to him, Jordan would blow, and that
wouldn’t help anything. If he really did, it might poison the atmosphere between her and Justin, and
Jordan was perfectly capable of writing something she’d have to criticize, just to get that result.
So maybe that wasn’t a good idea. Endlessly, Jordan played the martyr and Justin tried to do something
to help him. Catlin didn’t like it, from the viewpoint of her own profession, and she’d flagged that
particular exchange as worrisome, but that was how those two were, just being Jordan
and Justin, to the
hilt. That she’d be upset about something else in the file—Catlin, dear, loyal Catlin, hadn’t picked that up,
didn’t feel the least upset herself by Justin’s statement, or remotely think she would be upset, or Catlin
would have warned her. It was downright funny—Catlin just hadn’t seen it.
She loved Catlin. And Catlin helped her, finally, get it all in perspective.
Her own reaction was all gauzy
wisp, pure emotion, evaporative on a breeze, and nothing to do with rationality—unless you started
taking your own rattled assessment for solid and factual, and that was a mistake that launched your whole
universe into mythology, especially when it was a love-hate reaction. Catlin dealt purely in substance, and
found real substance in that latter bit that she herself didn’t see as alarming, or at least didn’t see as at all
surprising—so she wasn’t fluxed by it, just analytical, and that was that, and she could tell herself calmly,
yes, she’d hear the request and she’d think about it and she’d probably say no. When Justin actually
asked her.
It was interesting, however, to hear that first scene as Catlin, and realize
that, if she were Catlin, she just
couldn’t be fazed by any assessment of her age—Catlin was just Catlin, and knew what she could do:
any other judgement was, in Catlin’s view, just mistaken.
Catlin did, however, worry about Justin’s mental engagement with Jordan’s frustration, and possibly the
vector it would take, entangling her and trying for sympathy.
And it would involve Justin going right to Yanni’s door, at a sensitive time in her own relations with Yanni.
There was that little question.
That was worth a slow rethinking, in Catlin’s way of looking at born-man behavior. In Catlin’s view, a
born-man following his emotions was apt to do any damned thing, not necessarily prudent, or successful,
or even in his own self-interest.
This request certainly wouldn’t be in Justin’s interest. That was the thing about real self-sacrifice, unlike
Jordan’s martyrdom: it knowingly
gave away bits of itself, trying to make the environment saner, and
better.
On the other hand, another inquiry about Jordan could, coming from her, constitute a very interesting
probe into Yanni Schwartz’s motives.
She thought about it a moment. And she was surer and surer about her course of action.
She wrote a note to Justin, and sent it. It said:
Don’t go to Yanni with your fathers situation. The Patil investigation is going to have Yanni’s office in an
uproar, ReseuneSec is conducting the investigation, and I don’t want Hicks’ office to sweep you and
Grant up for questioning. Then I’d have Hicks getting all upset and bothered because I’d have to go over
his head to Yanni to get you out. I would do it, understand, but that would just complicate things and you
still wouldn’t get your answer out of Yanni and I’d have Hicks mad at me, which would just make matters
worse. I have to talk to Yanni anyway. Let me approach Yanni about Jordan’s getting some work to do.
I’d be happy to. I want things to work out, the same as I know you do. You and Grant just be careful
about going out of the wing, even to restaurants,
and don’t send Grant by himself. I don’t want trouble
with ReseuneSec.
Justin had a strong tic, where it concerned ReseuneSec. And it wasn’t altogether the most honest thing
she’d ever written, but its purpose was. And there was still the question of who had put Jordan on to
Eversnow, and who had dropped that card into his pocket—if they could believe a word of what he’d
said.
I won’t critique his work, she said at the end of that note. I won’t say a word. I know he’d like me to so
he can have a fight. So I’ll just pass/fail it. Tell him he’ll have to write it well enough to get it past me and
I’m going to be hypercritical. Bet he can’t do it. Tell him that.
Wow, that’s some snippet – thank you for sharing! A totally distinctive voice – great example! xo
by Roxanne St. Claire January 12th, 2010 at 6:02 pmFantastic post, and omg, I’m so telling every writer I know about it. Voice is such a mysterious, indefinable thing–it confused me for a long time, and I really wondered where I could get some or if I needed to develop mine, or something. But the more I write, the more it feels like there are times when I can recognize myself in my writing–moments when I think, ‘oh, that’s so me’ and it makes me happy.
So that whole How Do You Find Your Voice issue? To me, the answer to that is the same as the answer to almost every question about writing. Sit your butt down and WRITE. And think about your own work critically–there’s a big difference between mindless repetition of a task and deliberate practice of a skill, although they may look similar to an outside observer.
by Louisa Edwards January 12th, 2010 at 2:42 pmHow true, Louisa. Just write and write. And, you know, reading outloud helps a lot, too. Wish I could today, but I’m nothing by hot air, LOL. xo
by Roxanne St. Claire January 12th, 2010 at 6:03 pmHope you’re feeling better soon, Rocki!
so, voice. it took me awhile to allow mine out. my problem when i first began this journey was trying to sound like my favorite authors. I loved their voices. Unfortunately, imitation just doesn’t smell as sweet as the real thing. my first sale was the first book where i said, “screw this, i’m writing a karin book!” every book since then has been a karin book, whether it’s been my historicals, which have the same voice but more dramatic or my contemps where my voice is very much like, well my voice. succinct with not BS clogging up my point.
by Karin Tabke January 12th, 2010 at 6:14 pmI loves me some Karin book! Don’t stop! xo
by Roxanne St. Claire January 12th, 2010 at 8:16 pmI’m running late today, Rocki!
I really need to read Linda Howard. I’m terrible for not.
Voice. The one I always point to is Nora Roberts writing as Nora Roberts and Nora Roberts writing as JD Robb. Totally different in tone, cadence, structure. I love JD Robb, often devouring a book in one sitting. Nora’s books? Not so much. I have to struggle to read them. I know. That’s almost as bad as me not reading Linda Howard. *duck*
Voice is something most beginning writers struggle to define, me included. Color me surprised when another author told me she could almost always pick out the snippet I wrote because I have a distinctive voice. Oh, yeah! I was doin’ the Snoopy Dance(tm).
Great post today. I’ve got to get my hands on Bird By Bird, too. Like…right now. I have GCs for Borders AND B&N! *clicks*
by Silver James January 12th, 2010 at 6:30 pmYou haven’t read Linda Howard?!? You haven’t lived. Period. MR. PERFECT, ALL THE QUEEN’S MEN, TO DIE FOR, KILL AND TELL. What pleasure awaits! BIRD BY BIRD is good, too! xo
by Roxanne St. Claire January 12th, 2010 at 8:18 pmThis is going to sound bizarre, but part of the reason I don’t like to read my own work aloud, like I had to today at a book event, is because MY voice is not my character’s voice and it sounds….wrong. It sounds right in my head, but wrong when it’s coming from my mouth.
Because I also write erotic romance as Lorelei James, I’ve had reviewers tell me I couldn’t possibly be the same person that writes the mysteries because the tones are different. I’ll take that, but I like to think the voice is the same. Some are stronger than others, for me first person female is the strongest, but I love the challenges of keeping the voices strong in third person too.
Awesome post, Rocki, and I have to follow this tomorrow?
by Lori Armstrong January 12th, 2010 at 7:58 pmTo tell you the truth I have never thought about an authors voice before but there are certain authors that are auto buys for and mayber its because of their voice. If their name is on that book I will buy it.
So sorry to hear you are sick, try my home remedy mix some honey with whiskey and drink. If it don’t cure you it will make you a little high if nothing else!
by Quilt Lady January 12th, 2010 at 10:22 pmLove your post! This is such a hard topic to chat about because there really is no definition, but I think you covered it very well! I knew the last two snippets, but not the first.
Mr. Perfect is one of my favorite books….Hope you’re feeling better soon!
by Katie Reus January 13th, 2010 at 11:58 am