I've been mulling over the topic of this post off and on for a while now. I think today I finally figured some things out. I don't know how well things will flow since I tend to have spaghetti brain with all kinds of strands going in different directions that ultimately connect to each other at some point along the way. But I'll try to make it make sense.
I've come to realize something about myself: I have several different voices.
And no, I'm not talking about personalities, or anything like that.
I mean voices with which I express myself.
For example, I have my blogging voice. This one is usually reflective, matter-of-fact, like when I journal.
Then I have my creative writing voice, like when I write stories. It tends to be descriptive.
Maybe too I have a poetry voice, which is poignant and flowery.
Then there's my social media voice, which tends to be blunt, to the point, and short. Unless I'm copying/pasting something, I don't tend to spend my time writing lengthy outpourings of my soul on my posts. Who wants to read all that anyway?
And then there's my verbal voice, which is soft-spoken, but can be loud if necessary.
Here are some examples:
Creative Writing Voice
As the sun began to fade behind the mountains on their right, Maura realized the day was almost over. The cold stung her face no longer as numbness claimed her nose and fingers. Her ears burned around the edges, despite her curly locks providing them with cover. Her eyes drooped, heavy with the weight of exhaustion. She struggled to force them open, her head nodding forward and back with jerks that scared her awake.“It must be this weather,” she muttered. Her eyes rolled around in her head once or twice, unable to focus themselves on Milo’s figure in front of her. She closed them for a moment, giving in to their demand for rest.
Just for a moment.
A moment turned into half a minute and, before she knew what was happening, she tilted sideways and toppled from Mirluin’s back. She heard the mare neigh in surprise, and felt a soft nudge on her arm as she lay in the snow. A fit of shivers rippled through her body.
Faint voices called her name, but her eyes refused to open.
She let her mind carry her through the darkness and back to the shores of Girdley Island. Her hole, covered in layers of snow, sparkled in the light of the winter moon. A fire roared in the fireplace; she could see the warm glow through the window. All was quiet and still until a whisper in the air beckoned her.
Come back, Maura. Come back.
Poetry Voice
The Most Brutal Way to Die
My dreams are like my heart,
Lying shattered on the floor.
I can’t seem to understand
Why I lost who I adore.
The pain of losing you
Is more than I can bear.
Three long months have passed, but
It still doesn’t seem fair.
I can’t believe you’re really gone
Despite what others say.
Still, I’ll hold onto the hope
That you’ll return someday.
But this internal grief persists
And never may depart.
The most brutal way to die
Is of a broken heart.
Social Media Voice
I guess this is why it bothered me when people said they wished they could take my struggles and health problems away. Those struggles ended up being used for my good and salvation.
~*~
Do these voices all sound different? Yet they are all mine. And I think that's neat. Who says we can only have one voice?
Different writing projects sometimes require different voices. I don't think we should be put off if we discover someone has more than one voice. And we shouldn't expect them to use our favorite voice or our preferred voice of theirs. That's their choice to make.
