Divergent Thinking

When the first sea-creatures braved the shores of a primitive Earth and pulled themselves on to dry land, their attempts were probably not the prettiest thing to look at. They were still getting to grips with, and even inventing, the basic mechanics of locomotion with rudimentary limbs in the open air. They were aeons away from the grace of a gazelle leaping confidently through the grasslands, but eventually they’d get there, once they’d figured out which over-developed fin to push forward before the other, to manage some semblance of direction without the enveloping water.

As writers and new explorers of communication with the written word, we too are often merely getting by, more involved in the basic mechanics of language and expression than attempting grace. In time, as the mechanics of writing become second-nature and we can consign the nuances of verbs, clauses and grammar to a well-trained subconscious, we begin to wonder about grace and personality in what we write, and thus we set out to find our writing voice.

A writer’s voice is a sum total of many definable things, but in itself eludes simple definition. While mechanical structures like grammar and vocabulary, and patterns such as pace and tone can be pinned down in words to varying degrees, the writing voice is the emergent character that results from all those features, a personality, a certain cadence to our words and the ideas they weave. This general writing style in time becomes a writer’s most distinguishing mark in a realm where we all have the same words to work with. It also becomes the most powerful aspect of a writer’s craft because the non-analytical reader, the vast majority who read for pleasure, will pick up on the voice in your writing before they ever do your technique. Your voice is what they will learn to love or hate, admire or dismiss; Your voice in your writing is what the average reader will come back for.
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