Copycatting: Two Exercises to Identify and Hone Your Narrative Voice
We come to writing from all points on the compass. Some of us have been obsessed with stories since before we could read; others love films and TV shows more than books; some couldn’t care less about writing until they find their own story to tell.
Regardless of how we get to the point of calling ourselves writers, one of the shared elements of our journey up that mountain will be finding our individual narrative voices.
A Hemingway short story reads very differently than a T.S. Eliot poem; a James Patterson novel reads differently than one by Gillian Flynn; and so on. Narrative voices can be iconic, so how do you find the one that will stand out for you?
There are two exercises I recommend you do throughout your writing life to identify your voice and continue to hone it. It may seem counterintuitive, but the two-step process consists of looking out for elements you enjoy in the work of others, then finding ways to play with that narrative style when you’re working on your own manuscript.
First, read the work of others.
This may seem obvious, but before you can find your points of difference from other books on the market, you have to find your points of parity—the elements you enjoy in the works of others that you can emulate in your own.
To do this, I recommend reading widely (across categories and genres) and deeply (in your preferred category or genre). You might get bonus points, from an agent’s standpoint, if you focus on books that have been published in the last two to five years, though of course don’t feel like that means you have to eschew the classics entirely—or a cult classic from twenty years ago you’ve only just discovered.
Whenever you’re reading, whether for pleasure or a more intense close-reading experience, pause whenever you feel that full-body shiver of pleasure over a well-written phrase or a well-turned plot point. Why is this element making you feel the way you do? When we take the time to parse out how the mechanics of language elicited an “Aha!” moment for us, we can arrive at deeper craft lessons organically. For instance, we might realize that after several long, stream-of-consciousness sentences, a short, direct one packs an even greater gut punch. We might try that on for size in our own work later.
Alternatively, you might learn what not to do through this exercise. Whether a book is “good” or not is entirely subjective, but if you find yourself disgusted, annoyed, or otherwise irritated by what you feel is a poorly written book, how would you improve upon its foibles if you were the writer?
Second, think about the tone, emotion, and ideas you want to convey as a writer. How can you use the lessons from the first part of the exercise to execute this in your own work?
Consider the primary points you’re trying to get across in your writing, both in a particular piece and across the spectrum of your work. How might adopting a particular tone or sentence style impact the delivery of these points? (For a concrete example, consider how tone and syntax change things even within a genre. For instance, high fantasy novels have an almost Elizabethan sentence structure while urban fantasy usually finds grit and/or humor in a more colloquial voice.)
(Psst! The worksheet “Writing Exercise: Niching Down to Hone Your Voice” in the Editing Vault might be of assistance here.)
Whether you ask yourself this second question at the outset of a project or just before you begin line editing, its answer should help you create a more purposeful set of “rules” for your own writing. Those rules, in turn, will lead you down the path to your own voice.
Of course, this two-step exercise is just the beginning! It can be helped along by having a stronger understanding of literary devices and of narrative theory through any number of books on the craft of writing. You might also consider joining a writing workshop in your area or finding a critique partner to meet with regularly.
At the very least, by reading the works of published authors and applying carefully the lessons you’ve gleaned from that experience in your own work, you should be well on your way to finding the narrative voice that belongs to you and you alone.