Hello, writers. The snowdrops bloomed today at my sister’s house. This is about six weeks before they usually show up in this neck of the woods. The USDA recently issued a new map of climate zones in which most zones are bumped up from what they had been—this was zone 5a and is now zone 5b, though I had no idea the new regulations would take effect so quickly.
But enough about global warming. We’ve been talking about dialogue. Let’s look at a closely related subject: voice.
Just as a character, done right, is a whole way of looking at the world, voice is a whole way of talking about it. It’s the author’s point of view, often disguised as the protagonist’s point of view. It’s what the reader is encouraged to laugh at, be angered by, reject. (It can also be a quiet way for the writer to push his or her politics.)
Consider:
They had been married ten years, and until this present day on which Mr Dombey sat jingling and jingling his heavy gold watch-chain in the great arm-chair by the side of the bed, had had no issue.
-- To speak of; none worth mentioning. There had been a girl some six years before, and the child, who had stolen into the chamber unobserved, was now crouching timidly, in a corner whence she could see her mother's face. But what was a girl to Dombey and Son! In the capital of the House's name and dignity, such a child was merely a piece of base coin that couldn't be invested --a bad Boy --nothing more.
--Charles Dickens, Dombey and Son
Without the overwhelming voice of this opening chapter—ostensibly Dombey, but really Mr. Dickens inviting us to share his disgust for Dombey—the passage might read like this:
They had been married ten years, and until today had had only one child, Florence, who was now six. Florence had come into the room unobserved and now sat timidly nearby. It was Mr. Dombey’s opinion that girls were not worth mentioning. He had wanted a boy.
In the second version, we lose some information (such as why the girl is so timid) and we also lose the sense of impending disaster—Dombey is a person who can’t be sustained, the girl is in an awful situation, and the set-up in this passage is, title notwithstanding, the central conflict of the book.
That’s what voice can do.
So, just as each of your characters needs a recognizable voice, your narrative overall needs a voice. Something I’ve seen with my own stuff and that of others is that until we find the right voice, our writing can be as timid as six-year-old Florence, surrounded by mighty literary Dombeys.
Sorry. That was a tad purple. Point being that when we write without voice the result can feel flat; when we find our voice we can end up surprising ourselves with what we say and with how people respond.
So try out tonight’s challenge…
Below is a passage from the epic fantasy adventure The Quest for the Jewel of Togwogmagog. It’s kinda flat. Imbue it with a feeling, an emotion of some kind: fear, disgust, adolescent angst, wry humor, ambivalence, hubris.
(Feel free to reassign pronouns in order to give the callow youth the gender of your choice.)
The callow youth came to the edge of the pit. A winding stair went down into the darkness.
She looked down the stairs. There was no handrail in the center, and it would be easy to fall down into the depths. She didn’t know how deep the pit was.
She was alone. Her stout companion had had to stay behind in the village, having been arrested over the brawl at the inn.
At the bottom of the stairs was a cavern that contained the jewel, according to what the old legend said. But there was something guarding the jewel, and the callow youth didn’t know what it was. The wording the legend used to describe the guard was unclear:
“It bites; it moves; it dies, yet lives.”
The callow youth started down the stairs.
Write On! will be a regular weekly diary (Thurs 8 pm ET) until it isn't.
Before signing a contract with any agent or publisher, please be sure to check them out on Preditors and Editors, Absolute Write and/or Writer Beware.