For Erica it comes down to shedding fear. For me it means embracing honesty. I think we’re probably talking about the same thing.
Being true to yourself on the page.
To a certain extent, this is also being true to your voice. I agree with Erica, and I think she revealed something particularly interesting when she pointed out our themes are as much a part of our voice as the way we put words together. But I digress.
Fear and honesty. In my real life (as opposed to the fantasy life I dwell in when writing) I avoid conflict. Can’t stand it.
This is such bad news for my writing.
I’m uncomfortable with conflict, I don’t relish suspense, and so I tend to smooth the way for my characters. I tell you, fictional people never had it so good.
Drama – story – is about conflict. Without conflict there is no suspense, no interest, no damn story.
Honesty in writing means whenever I find myself shying away from something – a character set back, a sexual encounter, simply a painfully emotional scene – it’s a warning to me I’m about to duck out on something important. Something vital to the heart and power of the story.
What you write about, and how you reveal it to the reader, is just as much a part of your voice as the words you choose. Yes, and the themes that haunt you.
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Saturday, September 6, 2008
The year my voice broke
The other day I talked about reccurring themes in a writer’s work. Themes recur in blogs, too, and I’m airing one today: voice.
Such a precious thing, so elusive, so delicate, so vital.
I actually found my voice late last year, even though I’ve been writing since I was a kid. Nearly thirty years of trying to write what I thought I should be writing. It was a long time before I questioned whether it was what I wanted to be writing.
I’d heard about voice and how it couldn’t be described, exactly, but it was the one thing that made you unique, made you stand out. That sounded like a cop out to me. It was a lot like being single, when all those well meaning but patronising friends and relatives tell you how you’ll find the right person. One day.
Yeah, right.
But I did find that person, and I did find eventually find my voice. It just never occurred to me that when I found it, the darn thing would come with an ‘under construction’ sign around its neck.
It seems voice slowly evolves as you improve as a writer; it broadens and strengthens and increases its range as you do. I guess this means you’ll always be watching that line – be true to yourself, to your voice, but allow enough room to grow.
That’s scary and exciting at the same time, but ultimately great news. Change is a good thing, and it doesn’t mean something’s gone wrong with your voice. Having yearned for it so long, it seems only natural we'd be afraid of losing it.
But as long as I keep sight of my line, I’ll be fine. And so will you.
Such a precious thing, so elusive, so delicate, so vital.
I actually found my voice late last year, even though I’ve been writing since I was a kid. Nearly thirty years of trying to write what I thought I should be writing. It was a long time before I questioned whether it was what I wanted to be writing.
I’d heard about voice and how it couldn’t be described, exactly, but it was the one thing that made you unique, made you stand out. That sounded like a cop out to me. It was a lot like being single, when all those well meaning but patronising friends and relatives tell you how you’ll find the right person. One day.
Yeah, right.
But I did find that person, and I did find eventually find my voice. It just never occurred to me that when I found it, the darn thing would come with an ‘under construction’ sign around its neck.
It seems voice slowly evolves as you improve as a writer; it broadens and strengthens and increases its range as you do. I guess this means you’ll always be watching that line – be true to yourself, to your voice, but allow enough room to grow.
That’s scary and exciting at the same time, but ultimately great news. Change is a good thing, and it doesn’t mean something’s gone wrong with your voice. Having yearned for it so long, it seems only natural we'd be afraid of losing it.
But as long as I keep sight of my line, I’ll be fine. And so will you.
Monday, September 1, 2008
What will my mother think?
Kirsty and Erica get the blame for kicking this one off, as their comments dragged another aspect of fear kicking and scratching out into the light.
The fear of what someone else will think presents a hurdle to most writers. It can take the shape of trying to write something you don't love because you think it will sell. It can take the shape of censoring the words you put on the page. It can even stop you from writing at all.
Writing fantasy romance means I have characters falling in - and making - love. Yes, sex. Hot, steamy, inhuman sex - and what will my critique partners think when they read that bit where he...? What will my frends think? And oh, my stars - what will my mother think?
My mother thinks my sex scenes rock.
Don't be afraid, because fear in witing will make you dishonest. If you aren't writing what you love, if you aren't letting your voice shine through then you are cheating your readers. You are cheating yourself.
The fear of what someone else will think presents a hurdle to most writers. It can take the shape of trying to write something you don't love because you think it will sell. It can take the shape of censoring the words you put on the page. It can even stop you from writing at all.
Writing fantasy romance means I have characters falling in - and making - love. Yes, sex. Hot, steamy, inhuman sex - and what will my critique partners think when they read that bit where he...? What will my frends think? And oh, my stars - what will my mother think?
My mother thinks my sex scenes rock.
Don't be afraid, because fear in witing will make you dishonest. If you aren't writing what you love, if you aren't letting your voice shine through then you are cheating your readers. You are cheating yourself.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
The dark heart of writing
In my previous entry I wondered what writing meant to others and Erica responded with a wonderful, candid comment, touching on issues like refusing to dumb down for others and standing up to be heard.
She also exposed the dark heart of writing:
Fear.
There’s a lot of fear involved in writing. Fear of not being good enough, not finishing, not being able to capture and do justice to the images dancing in your head. Fear of failure. Sometimes, fear of success.
Yes, you need to shake off that fear if you want to write, but it isn’t always that simple. Fear is elusive and persistent, a master at masquerading as something else. Something else that seems a legitimate reason for not writing. Family. Work. Fatigue. Waiting for the stars to be in alignment.
I think many of us who write struggle beneath some burden of fear; it’s just some days we cope better with it than others.
She also exposed the dark heart of writing:
Fear.
There’s a lot of fear involved in writing. Fear of not being good enough, not finishing, not being able to capture and do justice to the images dancing in your head. Fear of failure. Sometimes, fear of success.
Yes, you need to shake off that fear if you want to write, but it isn’t always that simple. Fear is elusive and persistent, a master at masquerading as something else. Something else that seems a legitimate reason for not writing. Family. Work. Fatigue. Waiting for the stars to be in alignment.
I think many of us who write struggle beneath some burden of fear; it’s just some days we cope better with it than others.
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