Critting: working in more voice

Nobody's sent anything to crit (that was a mistake on Sunday's post) so I will take the hot seat. I've been revising my science fiction novel lately, and one of the major goals was to work more voice into the narrative. I've highlighted my additions in red and crossed out the deletions. Feedback is welcome!

This scene takes place several hours before a big "rebel attack" on the enemy. We're in a spaceship with zero gravity at the moment. Caution: a bit of bad language ahead. 

Shen focused on snuffing the cigarette between his fingers as he coasted into the kitchen. Gentle squeeze and the embers died. Good. Fishing out his case, he slid the half-cig in next to his last two. Then he unclipped his empty squeeze bottle and stuffed it in the multiwasher.

A soft parting of lips caught his ear. Hadn’t noticed Neal and Cherette up against the steam cooker. He had her pinned, gently, and her dark hands were in his back pockets. Mouths still hovering close. Then her eyes flicked to Shen for a moment and she whispered something. Neal glanced over his shoulder, tensing up.

“Sorry.” Shen reached for the fridge door and pulled it open, stuck his head in. “Came for a drink.”

“Should take this down the hall anycase,” Cherette said.

Shen glanced up over the fridge door as they went and caught Neal’s eye. Threw him a little salute. Chuck’d been moon-eyed over her for weeks, and she’d been teasing.

In the fridge, there was one Bloody Mary left but Shen was looking for water. Had a nice buzz going and just needed wanted something to clear the tomato juice and nicotine from his mouth before getting a nap in. Needed to get back to Cassie and unclamp from Himalia Star before Neal started assigning strafing vectors. Assuming he didn’t oversleep after Cherette was done with him.

Lucky chuck. Chickie had an ass on her. 

Glenna landed softly against the corner of the fridge and Shen straightened up, cold water bottle in hand. When She didn’t speak or even smile for a long moment, he asked.

“Not keeping that chuck? Meyer, was it?” he asked.

A moment’s frown, and then she shrugged. “Keep him? Who says I didn’t already fuck his brains out?”

"Don't look like you're hunting your next victim." Shen knew what she looked like after a good fucking. “Chuck didn’t put up enough fight, then.” He closed the fridge.

Glenna grimaced, raked one hand into her blonde hair, and pulled off her headband. “Maggie hates me.” Its rhinestones glittered against the dark cloth as she drew her hair back into a fat tail and wrapped the band around it a few times.

“She’s said that before.”

“She Wouldn’t go with the Singhs.”

“Heard you arguing.”

“Everybody heard that, I'm sure clear enough,” Glenna said, ponytail finished. She lowered her hands and simply hovered in the zero gee.

Was more to it. After a moment, he nudged. “And?”

Her shoulder twitched. “Making me think.” Folded her arms under her breasts.

Shen took a swallow of water. Scratched behind his ear as he waited. No point pushing, he knew. Gotten in enough arguments already.

Without a nudge, Glenna said, “Could call this off,” Glenna said.

Their eyes met. “The attack?”

Her voice lowered. “Call it off, keep going, slingshot around Io and head out to the Trojans. Someplace far away.” Glenna’s gaze wandered away from his. “Be nobody again. Just be.”

She joking? Shen’s brows dragged together. Knotted themselves hard as he waited for her to laugh it off. Had to be kidding. She knew… everything, fuck, he’d told her why he’d thrown in with this. Confessed it. Shen said nothing, watched her.

Glenna glanced back to him, for a moment, then looked away and waited.

Shit, she wasn’t joking. Quietly, “Why.”

“They’ll still be dead, clear?” Her voice trembled. “Ma and pa.”

“Been building up to this for months,” Shen said, voice still low. “Everything we’ve done so far, and what’ve they taken seriously? What’ve we earned? They won’t be able to laugh this off. Or cover it up.”

“Know that, but…”

“But we let them keep taking from us? Your parents, mine, Danae. Four Corners. Your folks. My folks…” His voice turned ragged and stopped him.

Glenna let her breath out in a sigh. “No.”

Shen took a sip of water to clear his throat. “Where’s the line drawn, then?”

She stared into the distance. If she lost her spine, if she called this off… Shen kept his eyes on her. Maybe he could leverage Neal and Josh into doing it anycase. Long shot.

“Booters are fighting back, Glenna. Because of you,” Shen said. Please, don’t run from this.

Her gaze came back to him, with a thin smile. Then she said, “Keep her safe?”

He blinked. Who? “Maggie?”

A nod. “Something goes wrong, you come and get her out? No matter what.”

Easy. Maggie deserved that. Shen nodded. “I will.”

“Swear it.”

His brow crinkled again.

“No matter what, you get Maggie out safe. On your honor.” Her blue eyes were focused, now, stern.

That was serious. But this attack on Kennedy was serious. Shen inclined his head. “On my honor. So long as I get my shots in.”

“You will.” Glenna lightened the moment with a smile. “Seal it with a kiss, too,” she offered.

He leaned in to take that offer, and caught a whiff of cologne on her cheek. Mid-kiss, he paused and sniffed. Male, spicy. “You did fuck his brains out, didn’t you.”

Glenna smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck. “He didn’t put up enough of a fight…” "And now for my next victim..."

Fourth Crit: The Word

The writer says: It's from a WIP called THE WORD, a YA paranormal romance (?) set in the Regency era. 1) Does the modern-sounding voice distract from the story, 2) Are the flashbacks jarring? Should I try to incorporate them another way? 3) Thoughts on the characters? 

Word around the house is that Mr. Weston suggested he return to London immediately that he might begin preparations for the wedding; but Mr. Kingsley refused, insisting that he stay a while longer, as he had only just arrived, and George would be sorely disappointed if he left so soon.   That night he writes a letter to his parents and friends in London, telling them of the good news and assuring everyone that he'll be home in a fortnight.   I know because I'm serving tea in the parlor, where he, George, and Harriett have gathered for the evening, Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley having gone off to bed.

After he seals the letters and tucks them away, he picks up a book, settling back in his chair while Harriett watches him from across the room.   Meanwhile George examines a clock with feigned interest, but it's all very plain that they're waiting for Mr. Weston to put down his reading.   He doesn't, and after a few minutes of strained silence, Harriett huffs and rises to her feet.

"Do tell me, Mr. Weston, are you always this dull?   Go on like this and I may have second thoughts about marrying you."

He doesn't even look up from his book.   "Why am I dull, darling?"

I start at the word.   A tea cup tumbles from my tray and shatters on the floor.   Darling.   It doesn't sit right with me, but I pretend not to notice and begin to sweep up the mess.

"You and your…your…"   Harriett waves at the novel, "…your  book.   Why don't you play cards with George and me?"

"No, thank you, dear."

"Hmph!"   She places her hand on her lip and pouts, but her eyes still maintain their twinkle.   "My husband will  not  spend his evenings  reading, when he could be doing something useful!   Like…like…How about you watch me perform on the pianoforte?"

I do my best to stifle a laugh, but it comes out a snort anyway.   Only Weston notices, and when he smiles, I can't help but wonder if he's chuckling at Harriett, or at me.

"Go ahead and play, love.   The beauty of books is that I can listen and read at the same time."

George butts in, for the first time turning away from the clock.   "Come now, Weston.   Play cards with us."   He crosses the room and slips the book right out from between Weston's fingers, snaps it shut and drops it on a mahogany table.

Weston purses his lips, but doesn't say anything as he picks himself up and settles at the card table. George shuffles the deck:   thith-thith-thith-thith…

…The wind beats against the cottage.   Through the thin walls I hear the trees rattle:   thith-thith-thith-thith.   I snuggle against Father's chest, so that his warmth will seep into my bones.   Nearby Mother sews up a hole in a pair of trousers.   Her fingers move rhythmically back and forth, and before long I'm in a trance that shatters only when she sets down her work to answer a knock at the door.

"I am sorry to intrude, Madame, but I am traveling and 'ope zat you might let me stay ze night?"   He speaks with a thick French accent, and later tells us his name is Bernard LaFontaine, and he has traveled all the way from Orleans.

I assume you've already established that her parents ran a boarding-house/inn/whatever? A little transition here from meeting Bernard at the door to feeding him would help -- I assume they invited him in, sat him down somewhere, etc. You want to save his dramatic reveal for later, that's fine, but just a little something so it's clear Mother isn't making him eat while standing in the door. 

Mother hands him a bowl of steaming broth and a crust of bread.   He thanks her, but before he eats he removes his coat, hangs it over a chair, and from his pockets draws a book.   A thin book, easy to hide, with a worn leather binding and stiff, uneven pages of a grayish yellow.   In the candlelight it seems to pulsate words, words, words, until I'm dizzy with words but can't pin any of them down.

Father notices the book, too, but doesn't say anything about it.   "Have you been long in Kent, Monsieur LaFontaine?"

"No, Monsieur.   I 'ave just come from London, actually…"

"Oh, London!   I just can't wait to go.   Do tell me, Charlie, that we'll visit there often once we're married?"   Harriett is again back on her favorite subject, and though I'm tired of hearing about London, her voice draws me out of my stupor.

I've been cleaning up this same teacup for ten minutes now, but nobody has noticed except for maybe Weston.   Every few seconds he glances my way, and when I lift my eyes to his, he doesn't avert his gaze.   Which terrifies me.   I am invisible.   A ghost among gods.   The Kingsleys only see me when they  want  to see me, and that's only to give orders.   But what really scares me is the way he seems to look not so much at me but through me.

As though my mind is an open book, and he just read it.

I swipe up the rest of the mess and rush out of the parlor, the tea service rattling on the tray.   In the hall I slump in the shadows, my back pressed against the wall as my heart drums, so loudly I swear they can hear it in the next room.

"What's wrong with you, Pippa?" I breathe aloud.   A chorus of laughter erupts around the card table.   It rumbles over the carpet, crackling and thunderous…

The card table's crackling and thunderous? On a carpet? Well, maybe, but all the antique card tables I've seen were pretty lightweight things.

…A flash of light, and he's only a silhouette in the doorway.   I begin to tremble, but Father hushes me and rubs my arms, until I'm still and safe in his embrace.   Mother waves for LaFontaine to come inside, but he just stands at the threshold, his hat in his hands despite the oncoming rain.

Maybe you should mention the storm more clearly in the first part of the flashback. You mentioned wind, but that doesn't necessarily mean a thunderstorm, to me.

Highlight: this pronoun is risky, because the actual antecedent is Weston... but I think the context is clear enough that it's not Weston... Judgement call, for you. :)

"You should know, Madame, zat I am a cursed man."   He whispers it, but the wind picks up the words and carries them to my little ears.

Mother glances at Father, and he takes over.   "Nonsense!   Cursed or not, we couldn't turn away a traveler, and definitely not when there's a storm on the way."

"I'm serious, Monsieur.   I'm a cursed man…"

I try to shake away their voices, but they stick, loud and heavy.   So clear my parents and Monsieur LaFontaine might have been in the next room, talking over tea and biscuits.

"What's happening to me?"   These are fancies fit for nightmares.   Memories only able to slip into my mind when unconscious takes over and my fortifications crumble.   Always I've managed to push them from my head by thinking of other things:   my work, my books.   Happier memories, like Father's lessons or my afternoons with Jonathan.   Not particularly easy, but it works.   Usually.   So why now?

I had no problems with the voice up until here -- it's somewhat antiquated, but not overbearingly so, and I think it works. (caveat: I don't read Regency, and I understand it's a demanding genre.) The unconscious is, of course, a Freudian concept that post-dates the Regency. The highlighted part sounds especially modern, to me, in its word choice and pacing.

Chairs scrape across the parlor floor, reminding me of my duties.   Soon Harriett will retire, and I'll have to help her make ready for bed.   I rush the tea service back to the kitchen, all the while praying that the memories don't get worse.

Are the flashbacks jarring: a little, but given the context I think they ought to be jarring. Just be careful with the pronouns and rigorously consistent with those ellipses. 

Thoughts on the characters: well, LaFontaine sounds interesting. :) Pippa, it depends on how seriously she takes the "ghost among gods" idea -- it's not one I would find endearing. Everyone in the parlor sounds kinda dull to me, but we didn't meet them very much. Weston comes off a bit predatory. 

As indicated by my general lack of complaining, I think this is pretty good!

Voice lessons for the writer

How unfair is it that one of the most important skills a writer can have is also one of the most vague? VOICE. It seems like almost every agent is looking for "voice" and if you've ever been told you need "more" or "better" voice, you might be feeling kind of....huh? Some people believe that "voice" can't be taught, and that's sort of true. In many ways, good voice is synonymous with good writing and natural talent does play a part. But I believe that people can "find" or enhance their innate writing voice. And here are a few ideas:

1) Think of your character's voice, not your voice - So does "voice" mean the voice of the character or the voice of the writer? Well, really it's both. But a good writer can alter their "voice" based on the chosen character POV, genre and age-level they're writing in, flavor of the novel, and so forth. Different novels may have different voice, even if it's the same writer. So to simplify things, when thinking of voice, think of the voice of your character and the particular project you're working on.


2) Write in multiple POV - If you write your novel from more than one character's point of view, it forces you to make the voice of each section distinctive (at least it should!). Unless you're writing in an omniscient distant POV (which I don't recommend) each character's section should have word choice and personality specific to that character. If you don't write multiple POV, you can do this as an exercise by writing "deleted scenes" from another character's POV or trying suggestion #3.

3) Rewrite scenes from another perspective - Take a scene in your novel and write it from another POV. When you're done, the scene should be more than different in content, it should really feel like it's from another character's perspective. Each character should speak, act, think, and view the world slightly differently.

4) Don't make yourself the MC - In both of my major manuscripts, I have started writing from the perspective of the leading lady and both times I decided to switch to the perspective of the leading man. And when I did, it was almost magical how much my writing improved. Does this mean I'm secretly a dude living inside a woman's body? I'm not sure, but I'm going to go with no. I think it works because I'm writing as someone different than myself. At least for me, writing as someone whose voice is not like mine, makes it easier for me to notice it and make it stand out.

5) Exaggerate voice - This would only be for a voice exercise, not for your final draft MS, but if you're shaky on voice, try going over the top to flex your muscles. It might make for ridiculous writing, but it will help you discover what voice is and how to make it work.

6) Write as a crazy character - This is similar to #5. Choose the most wacky, over-the-top, exaggerated character in your novel and practice writing some scenes from their perspective. Or create a character just for the exercise. Again, choose someone absolutely nothing like you.

7) Turn off your internal editor - This one was important for me personally. In my first attempt at a novel, I was so insanely focused about following rules like not using passive voice and using active verbs that I basically edited out my voice. Now I'm not saying you shouldn't follow good writing practices, but try writing your first draft like you've never heard of these rules. It may help to lower your inhibitions and let your voice shine. You can always edit later.

8) Check your work - Write two scenes with the voice of different characters, and make sure you remove any obvious give-aways, and have someone who knows your novel guess whose voice is whose.

or

Use two scenes from your novel with the voice of different characters and have someone who doesn't know anything about your novel tell you what they think are the characteristics of each speaker.

9) Be yourself - I've been telling you this whole time to be your character, so what I mean by this is, is loosen up. Like when you're going out on a first date and someone tells you to "just be yourself". Voice is the FUN part of writing. It's the creative, artistic part. And that's what we're good at right?  Don't try to write like anyone else. Be fearless and trust yourself. If necessary, write a few scenes drunk. I'm only half-joking. Obviously if you're under 21 or a recovering alcoholic, don't try this at home. But if recreational drinking is something you do anyway, try writing a scene a two with a buzz. I've done this before with a sex scene I was nervous to write. I obviously had to do some editing later sober, but I think the fearlessness still shined through.

10) Make sure you understand what "voice" is - So maybe this shouldn't be number #10, because it's pretty important, but this section takes up a lot of space, so I put it down here. :)

Here is my definition:

Voice is the personality of the writing.

Types of voice:

Voice is like snowflakes or cow's spots, no two are alike, but to give you a general sense, here are some broad categories of voice:

-Humorous
-Serious/dark
-Poetic/flowery
-Romantic
-Formal
-Casual
-Age specific (writing for MG, YA, NA, etc.)
-Technical/scientific
-Medieval
-Modern
-Sarcastic
-Genre specific (literary, commercial, romance, etc.)

Example:

Okay, so I'm going to be a little egocentric here and use my own writing as an example of voice. :) Mainly because it's easiest for me and it's mine to use. Here is a somewhat random excerpt from my forthcoming novel, THE CHARGE.

With voice:

It was 5am and still good and dark, so he couldn’t determine the weirdness level of California just yet.  The highway was extra smooth from recent repair and they had new U.S. green highway signs alongside the old Texas Empire blue ones.  Eventually he had to pee, so made his first stop on Texas Empire soil.  The gas station sold guns and liquor, plus a lot of Texas Empire themed knick knacks which were either to entice tourists or frighten them into turning around.  One T-shirt had the entire North American continent colored in with the Texas flag and said “We’re coming for you.”   Another one said simply, “Screw you, America.”  Other than being verbally abused by T-shirts, peeing at a Texas Empire gas station wasn’t that different from peeing in an American one.  They had M&Ms and Doritos and Coca-Cola and Purell dispensers in the restroom. 

With less voice:

It was 5am and still dark, so he couldn't tell what California was like yet. The highway was extra smooth from recent repair and they had new U.S. green highway signs alongside the old Texas Empire blue ones. He needed a bathroom break, so he made his first stop in the Texas Empire. The gas station was different because it sold guns and liquor and Texas Empire themed souvenirs. One T-shirt had the entire North American continent colored in with the Texas flag and said “We’re coming for you.”   Another one said, “Screw you, America.” Other than the different T-shirt messages, the Texas Empire gas station wasn't that different from an American one. They had the same types of snacks and sodas.

Check my work as I suggest in #8. From the first excerpt, what can you tell me about my main character and novel from this section alone? How old is he? What time period does he live in? What is his world like? What is he like? How do you know? What do you learn from the voice example that you wouldn't learn from the less-voice example?

Vocal exercises and definitions from other people:

http://www.rachellegardner.com/2010/07/what-is-writers-voice/
http://wiki.answers.com/Q/What_is_voice_in_creative_writing
http://grammar.quickanddirtytips.com/understanding-voice-and-tone-in-writing.aspx
http://fictionwriting.about.com/od/glossary/g/voice.htm
http://theadventurouswriter.com/blogwriting/what-is-writers-voice-creative-writing-tips/
http://www.write101.com/lethamfind.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Writer's_voice

Use your Words

Hey. What’s going on here? It’s like she doesn’t have anything else to do besides spend all fucking day online! I’ve been stuck in that stupid generator room for two weeks!

Now, Anoria, Dear. You know she’s busy. Let’s just calm down. Would you care for some tea?

Tea? Are you joking? *sigh* Fine. I’ll have some some of your stupid tea. Who the hell are you anyway?

My name is Private Detective First Class Owen Straff. Very pleased to meet you, Anoria Lee. Now please. Have a seat. We have quite a bit to discuss.

And how the hell do you know my name, Mr. First Classawhosit?

Private Detective First Class Owen Straff. I would imagine that would be obvious. I’m a detective. Of the First Class. And your language is atrocious for a lady.

Look. I didn’t even want to fucking come. Bard made me. He figured it would be easier for me to answer your stupid questions. So. Can we just get on with it?

Do you have someplace you’d rather be? Back in the generator room with Mimi perhaps? I didn’t think the two of you were getting along.

What the hell did you put in this tea? It tastes like peppermint. And lemon.

*Cough* Mint Leaves. And Lemon.

Oh. Well. It’s ok.

I am so glad you approve. Now. Perhaps we can focus on the task set to us?

I suppose.

Wonderful. I'm pleased to have your permission.

***************************

What happens when you take all the distinguishing tags out of your writing?

 Can you distinguish between who's talking? Can you tell your characters apart? Do they have a distinctive voice? A distinctive personality? Can you picture their facial expressions when they say the things you script for them to say?


Did you answer No to any of these questions? If so...slap yourself upside the head and pay attention. 


These characters that we put in our stories, that carry our stories, that ARE our stories...They are three dimensional. They have stuffed up noses, bad hair days, cars that don't start (or dragons that don't fly...). They have histories. They have baggage. They get angry, sad, happy, scared, confused...every emotion you have felt. They have too.

When you write your characters with one voice, one emotion all the time...your reader will get bored and move on. If your "Good Guy" is always Confident and Smart and Strong and Beautiful and wins at everything he does. Gag me with a spoon. Same with the "Evil Guy".  Only, you know...in the evil way.

We've talked quite a bit this week on characters...getting to really know your characters. And hopefully...you can take that knowledge and use it here. Find what makes your character unique. Give them a voice that really stands out. And by proxy...


Give you a story that really stands out.

The Hunger Games, Genre, and Confusion

As most of our followers know, the movie version of Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games opens in theaters today. If you haven't read the book, you are missing out on a helluva roller coaster ride.

My confusion stems from the book’s genre. 

In my opinion, the genre doesn’t fit. Yes, the age of the MC is correct for YA. But the Voice? 

IMO, ah, not so much.

Others would say the violence, teens killing teens on ‘reality TV’, is a point against the YA designation. But with so are many examples of drug use, explicit sex, and murder in other popular tomes, I don’t see this as an argument.

According to several agents, Voice is the key to whether a book is adult or YA. The MC in Hunger Games, Katniss, speaks in adult tone and manner and therefore the book is not YA. What do you think?

I’ll see Hunger Games next week after the crowds thin out a bit. One thing I’m curious about is how it made the transition from page to screen. The books were *sigh* fantastic but after a director gets a hold of a book and the screenwriter and the producer and the actors, well, boy howdy things can go downhill fast. 

Twilight is an excellent example of this kind of face plant. I loved the books. No. That is too ordinary. I lived and breathed those books. Yes I realize as a debut author, Ms. Meyer’s writing was not all it could be. Which she acknowledged. But I never skipped pages/paragraphs as I do with nearly all books. I read every word. Several times. Actually double digits even.

But the movies. *groan* Horrible acting combined with a stumbling script equals Cee R A Pee.

The Harry Potter movies are the other extreme. Great acting. Excellent direction. 

And Holy Cannoli, could you find anyone other than Alan Rickman to play Snape? I tell ya, he shoulda received an Oscar nomination for his performance.

My question to our followers who have read Hunger Games:

Is it YA? Or adult? Are you going to see it? 

Voice #3

“So why are we sneakin around?” Geri asked. She daintily held up her dress to keep from muddying it as they scooted back down the side of the stables. She almost swore when a bush snagged her.

“I don’t want security to get suspicious and bother us,” he whispered back to her.

Slouching in the bushes won’t make them suspicious at all, she said to herself sarcastically. (heh heh) “Why are you so interested in the stables?”

He turned around and looked at her. She fluttered her bright green eyes back at him, sparkling and mischievous. She knew how to turn on the charm, it was hopeless for him to resist. “You are going to stay with me all night, aren’t you,” he said. (For some reason I read this as a question the first time. Like he was pleading with her to stay. Then I realized it was more of a statement. Try changing 'you are' to 'you're staying'. Could just be me though. :)

“Not lettin you outta my sight,” she said with a big smile. “You are too intriguing, J.L.” (I haven't been able to find the answer on the lettin' or lettin question. I'll keep looking. Anyone else have any luck?)

“Then I’m going to have to tell you,” he said. He turned his back to her and started walking again. “I’m a private investigator,” he whispered over his shoulder.

“No!” she said, pretending to be shocked as she smirked behind his back. (I'm curious why she reacts this way.)

“Yes. I’m sorry I deceived you. I had a client who was concerned about his missing boss. One of those mysterious disappearances. He tried to find out what happened and got paranoid, thought he was being followed. At first I didn’t take him seriously. Now he’s dead.” He paused to scan the area.

“Oh my goodness!” Geri gasped and put her hand to her mouth.

“While I’ve been investigating, another ‘accident’ happened, my secretary has gone missing, and yesterday I caught some guy following me with a gun.”

She grabbed his arm to pretend she was shocked. “Did he shoot at you?” Geri felt sorry for him. Poor guy. He probably never saw so much action in all his life.

I think the voice is great in all of this, but not knowing the background, some of the dialogue and the girl's reactions seems off. He sounds serious, but she's not taking him seriously. I'm sure all of it makes sense in context with what comes before. 

Voice #2

I thought the voice was great in this piece too, so I commented on other things as I went. Really, not a lot to complain about, this was great!

Title: Black Rose
Genre: Urban Fantasy

Inside the crowded club, the smell of humans hung heavy in the air. Behind the counter, I stood with my back to the customers waiting for service, bit my finger and held it over my coffee cup.(My only thought here is that you have two sentences in a row that start with a prepositional phrase. You may want to switch one of them.) Three round red drops of blood plopped into the dark liquid below. I licked my finger, sealing over the two puncture marks and turned around to watch the room. As I sipped the coffee, the scalding liquid hit my stomach with the force of a cyclone. The infusion of blood would make sure it stayed there. (So far I love everything.)

People swung (? maybe swayed would be better?) and gyrated on the dance floor to the hypnotic sound of salsa music. Sweaty and panting, they came and stood at the counter demanding water, beer, munchies and just a bit too much attention. Their scent permeated everything. My clothes, my hair, even the gleaming mahogany of the bar. The monster inside me threatened to uncurl, wanting to luxuriate in the smell. Inhaling deeply from my coffee, I shut my eyes, concentrating on the slightly acrid odor. You don’t feed from humans, I told myself, the ever-deriding voice inside my head stern and edged with anger. (I love all of this) The voice—sounding way to much like my master—taunted me, telling me I was a fool to think I could run a club catering to humans.

When I opened my eyes, Nikolai reclined on a bar stool across from me—a trick only he could pull off and make it look comfortable. His black hair, slicked away from his face, brushed the upright edges on the collar of his floor-length leather coat. He couldn’t look more like something out of a B-grade horror movie if he tried. Sometimes I thought he dressed like that for the reaction he got from people. He smirked at me, only reinforcing my supposition.

I loved this submission. There are so many things I want to know. The hook for me was here: "I was a fool to think I could run a club catering to humans." I love stories where the MC has to battle with their inner demons. 

Voice #1

Title: Brake Fluid, Blood and Body Bags
Genre: Contemporary
***

So, While Triss was warming warmed up Spence and Fay, I was stuck on drunk-duty with Kate. I’d have to say, it was not wasn't (just sounds more natural) a lot of fun. The girl was ripped-out-gone, even though Fay had been shoving her full of bread, banana and bottled water. She would slowly blank out and then just kind of keel over to one side, and every time I’d catch her, I’d be rewarded with a sharp, vomit-baked laugh and a stream of gibberish. She couldn’t sit up on her own and the weight of her hot skin pressed against me was revolting, like I had disturbed a nest of insects and they were skittering up and down my arm. (I love the way you show us everything from the MCs eyes. This is great voice in these sentences too. The last two sentences are wonderful in that regard, but both are long compound complex sentences. You might want to try breaking one of them up, but maybe not.)

When she started crying a couple of times, I almost left her for the wolves right there.

And we were surrounded by them, guys, I mean. Ones bored with video games and tanked up on enough cheap beer that their morals were about as loose and clumsy as their hands. I could have left her there, but I promised Triss, so I sat guard beside Kate and let her wheeze questions and complaints into my shoulder. She asked my name eleven times and was only able to repeat it back once correctly. Most of the time she just broke out in hysterical laughter and gushed about what a nice person I was and how she had always liked me. I wish I believed her.

When Kate asked, for the twenty-third time, when we were going out for pizza, I saw Jackson speed past into the kitchen. Less than three seconds later, Triss had her hands on my shoulders.

“Okay, dump the drunk and help me get Fay upstairs.”

I looked at the eight guys sprawled over the other couches and back to Triss. “You said not to leave her.”

Triss’ eyes narrowed, just a little, as Kate sank into my chest and mumbled something about spandex, gym class, and g-strings. Triss’ tongue shot in and out, quick and purposeful. “And now I’m saying it’s time to dump her. C’mon, we have a bet to win.”

So I left Kate in a heap and didn’t look back.

Other than a few things at the beginning, there really was nothing to critique here. Your writing flows beautifully and the voice is THERE. As I mentioned above, you are also a great example of how to show the world through the MCs eyes instead of telling. Good internalization. 

Thank you for sharing!

Do the rest of you agree or disagree? Did you catch things I missed? Please chime in with a comment.  

The Problem with Accents

Yesterday we started talking about how to give our characters a unique voice. I didn't talk about accents at that time, so let's cover it now.

There is a fine line between giving your character voice by writing accents and dialects and completely killing your story. For instance, I remember reading a certain "classic" as a teen where I spent more time in the back of the book looking up translations of the dialogue than reading the story. I hated that book.

This is not that story, but another example I found online:

“W’en old man Rabbit say ‘scoot,’ dey scooted, en w’en ole Miss Rabbit say ‘scat,’ dey scatted. Dey did dat. En dey kep’ der cloze clean, and day ain’t had no smut on der nose nudder.” Uncle Remus – A Story About Little Rabbits

Feel free to shoot arrows at me for not liking the way Uncle Remus wrote that. I'm unapologetic. And most readers today don't have time to figure out what language you're writing in. They want to sit down and disappear into a readily accessible world.

Here's an example that I like and could read without tearing the pages out of the book:

Think Eliza Doolittle singing, "Just you wait, 'enry 'iggins! Just you wait!"

The accent is a bit more subtle. A little bit will go a long way. If you focus on the rhythm and speech patterns instead of the phonetical spellings, things will work better.

For example, we have a few phrases where I come from that may not be used elsewhere.

"I'm a fixin' to go to the store. Do you need anything?"
"I'm gonna..."
"Well, bless her heart..."

And so on. Most of the time you can suggest the accent in other ways and the reader will hear it even though you don't 'write' it. For example, “her honeyed accent melted off of her tongue, slowly, sweetly, and with the same elongated syllables that her mama used.” (from Writing Dialogue, see below.)

One quick note. Listen to your characters. Sometimes they all ready have a voice of their own and you don't need to figure out what it is. And sometimes it doesn't make sense. I'm working on this first draft and my male MC keeps saying ma cherie. I love it when he says it, but it bugs me too. You see, the whole novel has a Celtic vibe running through it, and he does use several Celtic phrases, but ma cherie is so French. *sigh* That's something I'll have to figure out and address before I call this new WIP finished.

Are you ready to share some of your Voice segments? Remember they don't have to have an accent. Just share something that sounds like your character.


Email them to unicornbellsubmissions@gmail.com with Voice in the subject line.


Helpful Links:
Grammar Girl: Writing Accents and Dialects
Writing Dialogue in Accents and Dialects
Using Slang and Accents When Writing Fictional Dialogue

Finding Your Character's Voice

Happy December! Many of you survived November and Nanowrimo. Even if you only started writing (like me) and still need to finish that November novel, you deserve a treat. Sarah Belliston is hosting a 12 Days of Christmas Giveaway and Blog Hop. You should head over there and check it out. There are lots of great prizes to be had, but you can only enter now through December 12th.

Now, on to our topic for the week.

Voice. What is it that gives our characters unique voices? Here are a few things I learned at MuseCon (check it out, its a free online writer's conference) in October.

1. Are they visual, verbal, or kinetic/feeling? Their speech patterns will reflect this.

Examples: If your character wants to agree with someone they might do it this way:

"I see what you mean." (visual)

"I hear that!" (verbal)

"I'm with you." (kinetic/feeling)

2. What do they notice? If four people are standing in a room where something happens, they will give you four different accounts of the action. What does your character notice? This seemingly little thing will reveal a lot about their character.

Example (Internalization from Talia in Sendek):

Jaron's spacecraft. It was nothing like Sendek’s shuttles. Talia’s eyes roamed over its surface. Sleek and low to the ground, it looked more like a steel egg than a spaceship. There were no windows, doors, or detectable rockets or magnetic thrusters to lift it off the ground. How did it fly?

Now, I didn't think much about voice when I wrote that, but see how her mind moved straight to "there are no rockets, how does it fly?" She also builds her own satellites and appreciates efficient designs. That's also present with the sleek and low thought.

I didn't write what Landry saw, but maybe his thoughts would have been something more along these lines:

The ship was sealed tight. Impenetrable. Two thin bands circled the girth. Each band contained two knobby protuberances fore and aft. Burn marks radiated from the edges. Impenetrable, and defensible.

They are both looking at the same object, and yet they see it differently. Personally, I think I can strengthen Talia's voice, but you can see they focus on different aspects of the ships functions. A strictly scientific view, and a military view.

3. What is their career or main hobby? This will affect their word choices. A lot of time people read Sendek and point out a word or two and say, "would she say that?" My answer is always yes because she's a scientist. Just because you don't use a word on a regular basis, doesn't mean your character won't use it.

Examples of careers that would use different terms: Doctors, military, politicians, lawyers, journalists, zoologists, anthropolgists (really any of the -ists), policemen, garbage men, farmers, truck drivers, actors, professional sports players, etc... A lot of this is a difference in education and or perspective.

My above example fits with this idea as well. I could/probably should go back and add more scientific observations from Talia. 

4. Finally, what kind of attitude do they have. Are the generally happy, positive, negative, worried, scared, angry? This inner emotion will flavor the way they react to the world around them.

Sometimes this aspect of your character might change as the story progresses. For instance, in my new WIP, Ryanne starts out very cynical about love.

"Yes. And no, I do not wish to get married. I’m barely out of high school. Graduated today in fact, and I have a lot of living to do before I ruin my life.” Ry turned her nose up at him.--Chapter 1

Here she's starting the shift toward a more hopeful/wishful attitude. (And yes, after chapter 1 I switched POVs. Hey, it's a first draft, give me a break.)

I could hear his voice in my head. Ma Cherie. I ached to hear those words aloud, but what did they mean to him?--Chapter 9

And by the end, Ry has decided getting married is exactly what she wants with Carter.

"You would give up Abhaile for me?" I looked up at him while the Greater Council watched us.

"My Anam Cara, without you there is no Abhaile."

The void left at my parents leaving filled with his warmth. I reached up and touched the new fire tattoo on his forearm. "Do you remember that day in the balloon?"

"Yes."

"I think I've found that hope you were talking about." 

"Castles and true love?"

I smiled up at him and spoke the words of the promise, "I swear by peace and love, to stand heart to heart and hand in hand with you, Carter Frey. My Anam Cara and my Gra mo Chroi." 

I guess the big question is, does it still sound like Ry? Hopefully the progression will be gradual and realistic enough that the reader won't go, "What?"

Now I'm rambling, so let's wrap this up.

You've probably noticed that I didn't talk about accents. Let's save that for tomorrow. Right now I want you to think about one of your characters. How does their conversation(dialogue) or inner thoughts reflect their unique voice?

Start looking through your WIP and get ready to share some of your favorite voice worthy snippets. 

Email them to unicornbellsubmissions@gmail.com with Voice in the subject line. It can be as short or long as you wish up to 500 words. Please include title and genre.

*****

The above is a summary of Karina Fabian's workshop at MuseCon, but the examples are mine. With the exception of the first one. Please check out her websites if you want to learn more about her or from her.

Her writing: http://www.karinafabian.com/

Her blogs:

Fabian Space is her general writing blog.

Rocket Science for the Rest of Us is about the space industry.