Finding Your Voice

I was listening to the audio recording of LOVE IS MURDER in the car the other day. I will admit with no hesitation that I skipped directly to my story, THE NUMBER OF MAN, because I was curious to see what I sounded like. Yes, yes, ego-trip, check. Trust me, you’d do the same thing.

Because having someone else read your work is fascinating.

I think voice is the most important element of writing. It is also the most elusive. Voice is what makes you unique. It’s what sets your story apart from the other 70,000 books published last year. It’s what keeps reading coming back for more, what helps them feel like the characters are their friends, or at least someone they’d like to know. It’s why series are so popular, and why standalones can be so incredibly gripping. Good voice is like a whispered secret directly from the writer's brain to yours. 

Thematically, there are only seven basic plots in the literary world. Each has to do with conflict. Each can be manipulated in many forms, but they boil down to these seven:

•       Man versus Man
•       Man versus God/Religion
•       Man versus Nature
•       Man versus Machines/Technology
•       Man versus Self
•       Man versus the Supernatural
•       Man versus the Environment

You’ve heard people say there isn’t anything original out there. This is why. So if all stories fall within an agreed upon set of parameters, what makes them different? How is it that you can give five writers an exercise – tell me a story about man versus man – and end up with five WILDLY different tales? Imagination, individualism, quirks, prejudices. 

Voice.

I need a strong voice to hook me on a book. It seems rarer and rarer to find a book that’s transportive, that I can read without thinking about. Being a writer kills reading for fun in many respects, because if the voice isn’t strong and immediate and different, it’s too easy to start picking apart the pieces.

I know I have a unique voice because it’s so strong in my head I can’t shake it, and when I try to write outside my voice, I fail miserably. That’s why I love to hear my work read by other people. I get a chance to see how they perceive my voice. Where they put the emphasis. How they add a giggle here and a sob there. A pause where I didn’t put one, but should have. It is really the coolest thing ever, and it’s a great writing exercise to try at home.

Get a friend, or critique partner, and have them read your work aloud to you. Don’t follow along on the page, just shut your eyes and listen. Accept their voice into your head. You will hear the glaring errors, the passive sentences, the brilliant turns of phrase and the limp declarations. Dialog is especially important to voice, and this method will allow you to hear where you’ve got it right, and where you’re off the mark. I guarantee this will make you a stronger writer.

If you’re a reader interested in this exercise, get an audio book of something you’re very familiar with. That you’ve read multiple times. And listen to how different it sounds in someone else’s voice than in your own head. See? You have voice too.

So I return to the page energized after hearing my story read aloud. Many thanks to Shannon McManus who kicked ass telling Michael and Caitlyn’s tragic story. She nailed it.

Want to share some examples of strong voices? I’d love to hear who you think qualifies.  

My Big Secret Is Out!

I am terrible at keeping big secrets, but this one I've managed. So thrilled to share this news that appeared in Publishers Marketplace yesterday:

Fiction: Thriller: NYT bestselling authors Catherine Coulter and J.T. Ellison's JEWEL OF THE LION and YARD OF GRAVES, the first two in the new A Brit in the FBI series, complex thrillers with an international flavor involving the pursuit of the infamous Koh-i-Noor diamond and a chief inspector from the Metropolitan Police who gets a taste of the FBI, toIvan Held at Putnam, in a major deal, for seven figures, by Robert Gottlieb and Scott Miller at Trident Media Group

Catherine and I are a match made in heaven. She's a hugely dynamic writer who packs a real punch, and her FBI series has long been one of my favorites. If you haven't read these awesome thrillers, you must! Here's a reading list to get you started.

In the meantime, thank you, as always, for all the support. It means the world. I've got a busy couple of years ahead, writing the Brit in the FBI books with Catherine and continuing Dr. Samantha Owens' story, so here's to lots of books and lots of fun!

Best Links of the Week

Speeches, Events, and Overheard at RWA from Smart Bitches, Trashy Books - This needed to be said. I still believe in publishing. I don't find my team simply transmitters. A lot of the technical side of this is true--it's easier than ever to get good books in the hands of readers--but that doesn't mean we need to jettison the people who got us here in the first place. There's room for everyone on this train.

Stephanie Laurens Keynote - Beacuse we're fair and balanced here at the Tao. You make up your own mind on this one. Would love to hear what you think.

Just because the author does a lot of marketing doesn't mean the publisher can't help - The Shatzkin Files - I think the trick these days is finding the right balance between what the house does and what you do. We're writers, after all, not marketing companies.

Why social media isn't the magic bullet for self-epublished authors | Books | guardian.co.uk - Another furor. But there is a LOT of truth in this article. Must read.

Writing Wednesdays from Steve Pressfield: The “A” Story and the “B” Story - Great analysis for story lines.

4 Best Writer's Block Infographics | Tech18 - Some very cool ways to look at the beast. Writer's Block isn't real though. It's just your story telling you you're going in the wrong direction.

Chaos versus Control

     VS.

There are two very active spider webs side by side on my back deck. I am not a fan of spiders, so when I saw them, my first impulse was to grab a broom and sweep them away. But as I looked closer, the startling differences between the two webs intrigued me.

One was classic, elegant, perfectly aligned, with spokes of geometric precision so perfect that one wonders whether the spider has terrible OCD. It is clean and orderly and efficient. No wasted space. No wasted energy.

The other is scattershot, crazily strung from chair to rail, like the spider was on a drunken bender. This has gathered leaves and dirt and is littered with bug casings. Its chaos and disorder and sheer disarray works, but looks like a downright mess.

I know these are the webs of two very different spiders.

It is also an excellent visual metaphor for two very different writers.

Writer A – let’s call her Control Spider – has a process. A method. She rises early, gets some exercise, eats a good breakfast and starts work with a clear head. Control spider probably outlines her story, so she knows what she has to tackle during that day’s writing session. She edits her previous day’s work, then forges ahead, clear about her path. She gets her words down on the page then breaks for the day, utilizing the afternoon to read, run errands, prepare a meal. She goes to bed at a decent hour and does it all again the next day.

Writers B – Chaos Spider – is scattered. Like her messy web, she has no process, no method. Her writing day is not structured. She is catch as catch can, writing when the spirit moves her or the deadline gets close. Chaos spider may even be a daily writer, loading the page with words, having exultant moments when the words, characters, story take her places she never expected. She is often surprised when she sees her word counts at the end of the day, but never feels fully comfortable with her process.

Chaos Spider and Control Spider make their deadlines, they just do it in two very different ways.

The question I’m sure you’re asking yourself is which way is right?

The answer is: Both.

While on the surface Control Spider looks like the better method, she can get into such a routine that her work becomes stale and ordinary. Precise, yes, but even perfection can get boring sometimes.

On the other hand, Chaos Spider can spin works of sheer genius, her far-flung web bringing together pieces of life in ways no one imagined before, but won’t remember to wash her clothes or cook her dinner.

It’s best to find ways to incorporate both aspects into your writing day. Control Spider needs to build her web next to Chaos Spider so she can see that even when you break the rules, you can still catch your prey. Chaos Spider parked herself next to Control Spider for the same reason, to see how the other half lives, to watch the precision and beauty with which Control Spider spins her web, and absorb some of the benefits to being next to that serenity.

Having a plan and a goal is wonderful, commendable even. But allowing Chaos Spider to crawl onto the page, even for five minutes, will bring a fresh perspective to your writing.

Which are you? Control Spider or Chaos Spider? I must admit, I’m a bit of both.

Greetings From Colorado

Happy Tuesday, chickens! I've jetted across the country to Colorado, where I am taking refuge from all this travel at my parents'. I'm holed up trying to meet a minor deadline, and this is just the place for it. Fresh mountain air, beautiful scenery, and some pets to love. They have an adorable miniature pincher named Jetta, and a gorgeous Siamese named Jamocha. If my man was here it would be perfect. That, and the disappearance of the pesky sore throat and fever that joined the party this morning. Not surprising after two weeks of canned air. I am sucking down tea and lozenges at a rapid pace.

Every time I come out here, I'm struck by the same emotions. I thought I'd share the essay I wrote once upon a time, (August 2006, to be exact) just because it makes me happy to do so. Here you go, and have a superb week!

I’m away from home this week, visiting family in Colorado. I'm trying to work. I’m sitting on the deck, trying desperately to hit that magic 1,000 word a day vacation goal. I’m pecking away at the keyboard of my laptop, and I can’t concentrate.

It is just so beautiful here.

This is my home, where I spent my formative years. All of my firsts happened in this area. I learned to golf, and swim, and play tennis, and ski here. I learned to drive, had my first kiss, lost a close friend to suicide. I spent all of my time out of doors, leaving the house first thing in the morning and not returning until the gloaming. There were three of us in kindergarten, and it wasn’t until second grade that they decided to bus in some kids from neighboring areas, so we weren’t alone.

I learned to drive, to dream, to work. I fell in and out of love with my brother’s friends. I snuck off into the red rocks with a couple of friends to smoke cigarettes; we discovered dinosaur tracks in the rocks. I was isolated by geography, yet lived the fullest possible life that a child could lead.

These are often melancholy memories, for I left this area under extreme duress when I was a teenager. My parents moved us to Washington, D.C., someplace I had absolutely no interest in going to. I cried for a year. I left every part of me behind. For many unfortunate years, I believed I left the best parts of me behind.

This area is so fraught with emotion, with memories, that I can’t seem to work on the new book. From an objective sense, the beauty of the area overwhelms me. But what’s really happening is everywhere I look, I see the ghost of a smaller me, sniffing the bark of the pine trees trying to decide if the scent is chocolate, strawberry or vanilla. (Don’t believe me? Try it.)

I am so inextricably linked to these woods, these rocks, the greens, blues, blacks and browns, the deer and bear, that I can’t seem to keep Nashville and Taylor Jackson, my protagonist, foremost in my mind.

I’ve settled for writing some short stories. The tenor is completely different from some of my earlier work. It’s moody, and atmospheric, and I’m finding new expressions to illustrate my surroundings. I think once I’m back home, in my office, staring at the river birch outside my window, I’ll be able to refocus on Nashville, and killers, and homicide lieutenants.

This does not bode well for the lifelong dream – the house in Tuscany half the year to write, write, write.

In the meantime, I want to watch the black storm clouds lurk over the jade and stone mountains. I want to smell the sparkling air, tinged with the scent of wet asphalt, moldy leaves and the barest hint of skunk. I want to laugh at the antics of the towhees, scratching for dinner in the scrub oak.

I want to watch the golfers stream in off the course, shouting admirations to one another as they come in to the 19th hole for a post-round drink.

I want to watch the deer wander through the backyard, stopping at the birdbath for a quenching draught of water. They all seem to have had twins this year, so Bambi keeps interrupting my thoughts. (As does Jetta the Wonderdog.) They’re all adorable.

Each time I return, I realize that I didn’t leave the best parts of me behind, but stamped my imprint on the area in such a palpable yet subtle way that I will always feel like I’ve come home.

It’s okay that I can’t work on the book. There are other avenues to explore, other stories to put on paper. I hope to take it home with me, this texture and depth. For today though, this setting is just one spark that I will use to write something... different.

So tell me, what's your favorite place in the world???