Normandie Fischer, writer and editor
My favorite comments from the latest contest judges concerned my writing voice — hugely encouraging. But they got me thinking about voice and how we learn it — or if we learn it at all. Is the cadence of our writing bred into us like the language of our tongues?
I don’t pretend to have an answer to that. I write, I’ve always written, the way I hear language. Yesterday I spent some hours revisiting an old story with Maryland’s Eastern Shore as the backdrop. There I heard a different tone from my Beaufort stories, a different word patterning. The cadence of the South, which permeates conversation and thought as well as observation, fixes itself into the words of the Beaufort folk. Does that mean I as author see things differently when I’m in different places?
I think it does. I think the me who wrote from Mexico had images pressed into my mind that were slower, drier, perhaps friendlier. They held whiffs of deep sea and large expanses of open water and empty land, of mountains plunging toward the sea and whales cavorting off our bow.
The me who writes here in NC feels more confined to place. I’m no longer surrounded by the lilt or clip of foreign tongues or by the lazy days at anchor. Here, the world seems populated with issues that need to be solved, tempers that must be assuaged, emotions that must have reason…if only I could plumb deeply enough to discover them. Here, I’m awash in a world of care, which must translate somehow into the words I use to craft stories. (Or the ones I pluck from the moment to write on this blog.)
What are your thoughts on voice and writing? Do you think you’ve learned the voice with which you write, or is it merely you as you’ve always written on paper (or screen)? Please post a comment and let me know.