My Voice

I was reading a blog post recently with advice for authors on building a blog to help promote their work. I read several blogs like this, and they usually have good, or at least interesting advice. It doesn't always apply to me. Sometimes it doesn't apply right now and I'll bookmark it for going back to when and as I am ready for it.

This particular blog post went a bit beyond not applying to me, though. What I took away from this post was 'You're doing it wrong!' And that bugs me enough that I'm going to talk about it.

How Important is

The blog post I'm talking about included the advice that you need to find your voice, and make sure that voice comes through consistently in all your writing. On the surface, that's good advice. We read authors whose voices we enjoy. And if you read my blog, enjoy my voice, and know you'll find the same enjoyable voice in my published work, you'll probably be a little more likely to buy that published work.

At least in theory, an authors voice is one of her most important commodities - her signature that is not just on the front page but imbued in every word she writes. Every author, in theory, has a unique voice and many faithful readers can identify a paragraph written by their favorite author whether or not the byline is present.

In general, voice is considered to be pretty damn important.

But what if you have more than one voice?

None of us is one dimensional. We are all complex beings who can't be easily pigeonholed, and I doubt finding a consistent voice is easy for any new author. Finding your voice, I expect, is rather like finding yourself - not a simple project.

However there is an assumption built into the idea of finding your voice. The assumption that each person has only one voice or should restrict themself to a single voice.

And here is where I am 'doing it wrong.' At least, if I listen to conventional wisdom. Luckily for me, I've never blindly followed the conventional wisdom yet, so I doubt I'll start now.

A Chameleon? Or a Variety Show?

When I was still going to college, I took a psychology course which talked about the way other people affect our behavior. In particular, I remember one class when the teacher explained how studies show that some people behave pretty much the same no matter where they are or who they are with. Other people are less consistent - their behavior changes depending on the circumstances.

We all do this to a certain extent - you probably dress differently for a day at work (if you have a 'regular job') than you do for going out with friends. A lot of people are more comfortable talking about their sex lives with friends then their mother. These are ways the vast majority of people change their behavior depending on where they are and who they are with.

By Florent HARDY, CC 3.0

Some people take it a step farther. Some people's behavior changes so much that they may seem to have a completely different personality depending on which group of friends they are hanging out with at the time. I don't know where it came from, but the term 'social chameleon' stuck in my head for people like this.

And I suppose you could say I'm one of them. At least, my old psych teacher probably would have said so. The thing is, from my perspective, I am always consistent with myself. Myself is just pretty complicated, and sometimes I'm crazy and silly and wild, sometimes I'm quiet and watch and listen and absorb what is going on. Sometimes I'll hold nothing back, other times I may be discrete in what I share and why. Is the quiet serenity I show when entering a forest any less 'me' than the giddy nut who has dice-throwing fights and stages random tickle ambushes on her partner? Is the fun loving mom any less me than the obsessive writer? Is the woman who when truly upset about something can curse like a truck driver more or less 'real' than the woman who almost never curses, because what's the point?

Who I am doesn't change depending on who I am with. I don't act differently to blend in with others the way a chameleon changes color to blend in with the forest. I just am different. I am multitude and I am one. I like having a complicated personality and being just as comfortable in a meditation group as I am squealing over some great piece of steampunk or dancing in the middle of the street, just because I like the music the busker on the corner is playing.

I'm not a social chameleon - I'm a walking, talking variety show. Stick around me long enough and you'll see just how varied it can get.  Yet each different 'segment' is all me - just a different side of me.

So how does a person who's theme song is Meredith Brook's "I'm a Bitch" find a consistent voice to express myself?

I don't.

My Voice is a Symphony

I'm not playing a single instrument here, I'm the entire band. My voice will change depending on my topic, my feelings, and my audience. Each time I write, I am adding a new note to the song. And it is the interplay of the different notes - the fact that my voice is not consistent, but is instead varying through the scale of who I am - that makes my voice mine.

My Voice:

In this strange woodland, the trail is a dark brown blaze against a riot of green. I'm sure there are leaves beneath the verdant growth, but they are hidden by vines, bushes, and saplings. If I were to step off the trail two feet I would not be able to see the trail, because it would be hidden by this overgrown jungle. Assuming I could step off the trail, without a machete to hack my way through the undergrowth. It is almost disturbing to know that if I stumbled back onto the trail I would recognize it immediately.

  --Things are Different Here

And western culture follows that pattern. Again, partly out of necessity. Would I prefer to be able to refer to the spirit-workers (yeah it's a shit term, I'm trying to avoid 'shaman' and IMO 'medicine man' is just as bad) of each Native American tribe, African tribe, Amazon tribe, etc, etc etc by their proper names? Yeah. Do I have any way to learn those proper names? At most, a handful. And no equivalent term exists in English. So with apologies, I will probably continue using the word 'shaman' (actually, spirit-worker is kinda growing on me) and if I meet anyone from those cultures I will tell them "I'm sorry, I don't know the word I should use. I'll be happy to use the word in your language if you can tell me what it is."

--Cultural What?

Marie’s eyes narrowed as she saw Paul and a strange woman laughing and holding hands outside the movie theater. She stormed up to them and slapped him. Hard.
“What the hell!” Hand to his face, he growled at her, “Marie, what is your fucking problem.”
“Fuck you,” she said, “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. My sister is marrying you next week and you have the fucking balls to be out at the movies making kissy noises with someone else?”

 --Inspiration: Perplexed

Deep in the dark earth, all was still. Nothing moved, nothing lived. In the deep cavern, hidden from the world, there was silence.
Until a heart began to beat.. barely perceptible, it was still almost overwhelming. A subliminal thunder.
A moment later a new sound entered the hidden world. The quiet rush of breath filled the cavern.

 --Inspiration: Subterranean

Gearge didn’t know why Franj had insisted on the strange name for the ship, but since he didn’t much care, he went along with it.. Out of curiosity, he tried looking up the name in on the planetary ‘net. All he found was a song, from several centuries back, about baseball. Catchy thing, he’d caught himself whistling it several times that week. He might even hit one of the re-enactor events on their next leave, see if he could figure out what made baseball so wonderful.
Didn’t help him figure out what the crazy name Franj had come up with.

--Inspiration: Crackerjack

Three Shorts for My Mistress

A great deal of the time I spend on Second Life, I am hanging out with some of the writer's groups doing prompt exercises. The group leader chooses a word, and we have 15-20 minutes (depending on the group) to write whatever we can, inspired by that word. Since I'm typically taking part in 2-3 prompt exercises a day, that makes for a lot of shorts. You can find some of them on my Tumblr, updated every weekday.

The last few days, at least half of the prompts have led to scenes from my work in progress "My Mistress." I don't know if any of these snapshots will make it into the final draft, but they were fun to write. For lack of better ideas, I thought I'd share a few of them with you.

Inspiration: Inchoate

Parlen sat on the floor, legs tucked neatly under his long skirt. "It's not going to work you know."

Jahleen, sprawled on the couch with am arm over her face, answered with a distracted "Hm?"

"The plan. It's not going to work."

Jahleen bolted upright, and started pulling her long hair back into a braid, "Explain."

"We're relying on Lord Oeloff doing what we want him to," a raised eyebrow.

Jahleen groaned, "You're right, damn and blast it. You are right." She focused on her hair for a few minutes. "I can't think of anyway to make the plan not rely on him. We need to catch him interfering with my household. Which means we need him to be interfering with my household. Since he never stops causing us problems, I think it's a safe enough risk."

Parlan didn't reply immediately. His hands automatically smoothed his skirts, his eyes narrowed. "We can't really rely on Mattin either. If Brit can't get him trained well enough-"

Jahleen sniffed, "Brit will manage. He has never failed me."

You've also never asked anything like this of him, Parlen thought. Aloud he said, "I might have some ideas to push Lord Oeloff down our path. Let me think about it."

Jahleen accepted that with a nod.

Inchoate: Just begun and so not fully formed or developed; rudimentary: "a still inchoate democracy". Rather like Jahleen's plans.

Inspiration: Control

Mattin pulled at the collar around his throat. The high neck of his shirt kept it from being obvious to others, but he knew it was there. Knew his life was no longer his own.

"It's a fair bargain," he thought again, "My life for my sister's."

Which didn't do anything to make him like the situation. Taking a deep breath, he step out of his sleeping closet to face the day.

To his surprise, he saw Brit had been about to knock on his door. "Good, you're awake. Something's come up," the older man said, "I need to ride into town. You're on your own today, so try not to get into trouble."

The old man jogged out of the room, His voice echoed back, calling for the Goon Squad.

Mattin stared after him.

A day to himself? A day where he could do whatever he wanted?

What would he do?

The thought brought him too his knees. Less than two weeks of having his every moment dictated, and already he was forgetting what it was like to be in control of himself and his own life.

What would it be like when he'd been here for years? Would he even remember what freedom was like? For long moments he could only kneel there, tears running down his face.

His belly rumbled.

He looked down at himself in surprise. Then laughing through his tears, he got to his feet. Cook would have breakfast ready soon. And at least he knew now who was really in control around here: his stomach.

The ending of this one took me by surprise. Not at all where I expected the scene to end up. At the same time, I have little patience for extended angst (which Mattin is extremely good at), so . Also, have you ever noticed that in real life major emotional scenes are never like they are in the movies? The moment always gets interrupted. Someone has to sneeze, or go to the bathroom, or 'butt burp' (as my kids would put it). Bodily functions just don't stop for our dramatic interludes, ya know?

Inspiration: Masquerade

Jahleen examined the room from behind her mask. Mattin was in his place, two paces behind her. Really, Brit had done a surprisingly good job on his training. To bad the material was inherently flawed. "She'll be here. Wait until the music starts, then allow yourself to become separated from me. They'll find you."

"Yes, Lady," Mattin murmured, "I'll follow the plan."

"Good."

Sweeping out into the ballroom, knowing he would stay right behind her until it was time for the game to start, she smiled. A masque within a masque. It would be an interesting, and hopefully victorious, night.

Hopefully Jahleen isn't being overconfident, but given her discussion with Parlen... well, maybe she put the time Brit was training Mattin to good use and came up with a more complete plan.