Being true to your own voice

Sometimes, as a writer, you know exactly how a section of your novel should be written. You know exactly the narrative tone, the diction, the kinds of sentence structure, the paragraphing that would make the scene that exists so vividly in your mind come to life on the page.

And then you have to accept that you are simply not capable of writing it that way.

Sure, J.K. Rowling could. J.R.R. Tolkien could pull it off. Even Franklin W. Dixon , Carolyn Keene or Roald Dahl would handle it with ease.

But not you. That's not to say you can't write the scene effectively. It's just to say that, in order to write it to the best of your own abilities, you have to write it your own way. You have to play to your strengths rather than attempt to adopt an approach that, even if it seems perfectly suited for the scene as you imagine it, is not in your wheelhouse.

I went through that precise, difficult process this morning with the opening scene of my new middle-grade novel. I had written a first page earlier this week, using short, choppy sentences to establish a quick pace, blunt, one-syllable adjectives (used sparingly, of course) to create atmosphere and rapid, almost break-neck movement to create suspense.

I don't think it was bad, what I produced. No, not bad at all. But it wasn't me. And, as a result, it wasn't great. It felt to me like I was trying too hard to be what I'm not and, as a result, the scene felt fake.

So, while I was out walking the dog this morning, I told myself: Even if you don't think the approach is the absolute best for this scene, you have to write this in your own voice, in your own way.

I started again, out there in the neighbourhood, and created a first line that was more me. Perhaps not so quick of pace, not so sparse of diction... but me. And, I think, really good.

I knew I was on the right track when I sat down at my little netbook and input that first line, only to find the second line flowing immediately into my imagination. Then the third. And the fourth.

Before I knew it, I had three full pages of writing with which I am really pleased. Sure, it needs editing. Sure, I need to revise and rethink.

But it's a great start. And it's me there on the page.

The earlier draft was an important step in the process, no doubt. By writing and rejecting it, I gained a clearer idea both of the events as they should be presented but also the way in which I wish to present them.

And now I have a better start to my novel and that tingling feeling in my stomach that says I'm going in the right direction.