Photo credit: I drew this hedgehog in a spacesuit
I spent years as a political public speaker, only to discover that I had no confidence in my written words. Despite regularly waxing poetic to crowds of a thousand or so, when it came time to let someone read my written work, I felt the need to explain the emotions I wanted them to feel. There is an adage in writing that you should write like you talk, which is a wonderful starting place. But in-person communication carries nuance in tone and gesture that you won't always see on the page with a simple transcription. Voice in writing then is all of the strategies and techniques used to make sure our writing feels like us. Pauses and gestures have analogs in the writing world. And gathering techniques up like a collection of little special moves can help us be fully equipped to express ourselves honestly on the page.
Starting line: Write like you talk.
As I said, writing like you talk is a good place to start. There is a natural poetry to the way people speak when they are comfortable. If you are stuck on how to phrase a particular line, consider how you would express your thoughts in the form you are most comfortable with — speaking, signing, whatever it may be. Speak the thought aloud as though you were with a close friend. Then write down precisely what you said.
When I worked as an editor, I would ask writers to explain to me what a passage of theirs meant. Often, what they said better explained what they wanted to convey. I'd transcribe their thoughts for them, and they would re-expand on their idea from there.
If you are stuck on how to phrase a particular line, consider how you would express your thoughts in the form you are most comfortable with.
What I find happens a lot is that our assumptions about writing make us forget that natural poetry. Years of conditioning for writing towards a grade or a job assignment make us write in a manner alien to ourselves. In high school, I recall an acquaintance once replacing every verb in his story with the most complicated synonym he could find for each. I assume he was angling for a better grade. The result was incomprehensible.
Second step: Consider how your writing reflects you.
Writing is an act of honesty. Whether you are writing a grounded, personal essay or a whimsical space opera, some part of you, the author, is showing through on the page. It's for this reason that self-reflection is necessary for a writer.
See if you can think of three words to describe your personality. Then, when you've finished, check those words against something you wrote. Does an aspect of you appear in your writing? If a friend read your work without knowing you wrote it, would they be able to tell that you had?
Now, self-reflection is far more involved and ethereal than a simple exercise. Three words are hardly enough to capture the essence of a person, especially since, like language itself, we are constantly changing. But identifying these few words can help new writers evaluate if their work reflects a part of themselves they want to share.
Our stories don't need to and often can't show every part of us in equal measure.
It is important to note that our stories don't need to and often can't show every part of us in equal measure. Compared to this newsletter, my pieces about grief contain fewer jokes and drawings of hedgehogs in spacesuits. We inhabit different aspects of ourselves depending on the context, and our writing can showcase similar versatility.
Building the repertoire: Sentence length.
With writing like you talk and self-reflection as the baseline, let's add a proper technique to the repertoire. One of the most immediately useful tools to learn is the effect of sentence length on a passage. Shorter sentences can often hold a lot of impact. Many of the quotes that ring in our heads are often short and punchy. For things you may want to portray as absolute truth, writer Tom Wolfe says to render that idea in the shortest possible sentence.
Think:
"I am Ironman." vs. "I am an autonomous flying robot suit guy who does war crimes."
"It's over." vs. "I don't know. We can see how we feel in a few months."
This is not to say long sentences are bad. No, a long flowy sentence can allow you to deal in the transcendent, the realm of conversation and of being that is hard to define.
There is an oft-shared quote on this topic from writer Gary Provost. I've replicated it here:
"This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It's like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals–sounds that say listen to this, it is important."
Sentence length is just one of many aspects of the craft that is worthy of our analysis. While I am also a fan of more cerebral definitions of voice, understanding tangible techniques can help us express the more abstract and soulful ideas in our heads. In essence, we are learning the craft to make sure our work feels like us. But beyond that, we are looking for a way to be comfortable with both our writing and ourselves. When I write advice essays, I often imagine I am speaking to someone I care for very deeply. I can be harsh with myself, but I would not do the same if talking to a new writer. I ask a question to myself as one of the writers I used to teach and proceed from there.
That is where I write from and where I like to be — mentally surrounded by some passionate folks who just love this weird craft we've chosen to follow.