As a teacher of writing, I hear a lot of talk about finding the authentic voice. How do we help students find their voices? Especially without imposing our own? This kind of speculation leads to exercises, worksheets, and so on. It makes a lot of work both for the instructor and the students. And, if viewed from the wrong angle, such a quest - the quest to find the Authentic Voice - can harm student's interest in writing and cause a lot of heartbreak.
Since that heartbreak remains avoidable, I suggest that those who want to "Find their voice," especially in writing or some artistic medium*, start by not chopping out the voices that "don't sound" like his or her voice. According to Mikhail Bakhtin (Бахти́н), the identity - he uses the term "consciousness" - does not exist except in dialogue with one another. That is, we don't exist except for what we've consumed. To put it bluntly, I can't write if I've never read.
This explains the number one advice aspiring writers receive from professionals: read, read, read. It also makes sense on an instinctual level. How can anything come out if nothing has gone in?
In an essay I once read by James Whitehead, a beloved creative writing professor at the University of Arkansas and author of Joiner, a New York Times bestselling novel, the author explains what a terrible time he had, once, explaining to a student the difference between plagiarism and imitation. The student could not, or would not, see the difference. If I try to write like Hemingway, the argument goes, then aren't I just a copycat, a Hemingway ghost?
No, no. To write exactly like Hemingway would be impossible. No matter how much a young writer tries to imitate his or her favorite authors, he or she will always come up with a unique piece of writing. Always. This is especially so if the writer has read a lot of well written books. The voices become a synthesis, an amalgamation of voices.
To help a student find his or her voice, I would encourage patience and practice drawing all the voices together; I would hate to say "crystallize" the voices, although that's what comes to mind. Of course, the voices must move fluidly together, a seamless Amalgam, shifting in tone appropriate to whatever the student is writing. What is important is there is no cutting away, no stripping down, and no "turning off" the white noise. Instead, put the white noise in a bottle and see what happens.
For an exercise, I would have students read samples of authors they love, then write a story in that style. A story in the style of Nathaniel Hawthorne, for example, or in the style of Isaac Babel or J.K. Rowling. Or Stephen King, or Henry James. It doesn't matter. Then, I would have them write another, basing their work on a different author. And another, until they've worked with at least three. Then I'd tell them to keep reading, and leave the rest up to determination and hard work.
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*Whatever anyone says, writing is an art. Composition professors tend to willfully overlook this, since talk about art tends to lead to talk about Art (with a capital "A"), but drawing professors have somehow found a way to strip away the mystifications, haven't they? I don't see any reason to deny that writing is an art, unless its a political reason, and jockeying for position at the university (we deserve a bigger budget, because we're a science with a paradigm shift, and not a boring, nonessential art class) bores me and, worse, makes me a little angry.
Since that heartbreak remains avoidable, I suggest that those who want to "Find their voice," especially in writing or some artistic medium*, start by not chopping out the voices that "don't sound" like his or her voice. According to Mikhail Bakhtin (Бахти́н), the identity - he uses the term "consciousness" - does not exist except in dialogue with one another. That is, we don't exist except for what we've consumed. To put it bluntly, I can't write if I've never read.
This explains the number one advice aspiring writers receive from professionals: read, read, read. It also makes sense on an instinctual level. How can anything come out if nothing has gone in?
In an essay I once read by James Whitehead, a beloved creative writing professor at the University of Arkansas and author of Joiner, a New York Times bestselling novel, the author explains what a terrible time he had, once, explaining to a student the difference between plagiarism and imitation. The student could not, or would not, see the difference. If I try to write like Hemingway, the argument goes, then aren't I just a copycat, a Hemingway ghost?
No, no. To write exactly like Hemingway would be impossible. No matter how much a young writer tries to imitate his or her favorite authors, he or she will always come up with a unique piece of writing. Always. This is especially so if the writer has read a lot of well written books. The voices become a synthesis, an amalgamation of voices.
To help a student find his or her voice, I would encourage patience and practice drawing all the voices together; I would hate to say "crystallize" the voices, although that's what comes to mind. Of course, the voices must move fluidly together, a seamless Amalgam, shifting in tone appropriate to whatever the student is writing. What is important is there is no cutting away, no stripping down, and no "turning off" the white noise. Instead, put the white noise in a bottle and see what happens.
For an exercise, I would have students read samples of authors they love, then write a story in that style. A story in the style of Nathaniel Hawthorne, for example, or in the style of Isaac Babel or J.K. Rowling. Or Stephen King, or Henry James. It doesn't matter. Then, I would have them write another, basing their work on a different author. And another, until they've worked with at least three. Then I'd tell them to keep reading, and leave the rest up to determination and hard work.
-----------------------------------------------------------
*Whatever anyone says, writing is an art. Composition professors tend to willfully overlook this, since talk about art tends to lead to talk about Art (with a capital "A"), but drawing professors have somehow found a way to strip away the mystifications, haven't they? I don't see any reason to deny that writing is an art, unless its a political reason, and jockeying for position at the university (we deserve a bigger budget, because we're a science with a paradigm shift, and not a boring, nonessential art class) bores me and, worse, makes me a little angry.
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