Finding My Voice

And here's Phil, March's guest blogger. He can be found over at Tin Can Goat. Rumor has it he might be at the critique group meeting next week.

Here it is Saint Patty’s Day, the day before the day that fills me with angst; March the 18th.

You see, on the 18th I’ll officially age another year. I’ll tick another mark on the wall of my heart and plod on, chalk in hand, to the next year, ready to mark again.

Now, I’m not trying to bring anyone down. Lord knows I’m not one of those negative people who worry that I look older than I should. Or that my hair is turning gray (it is); that my skin doesn’t pull tight against my body anymore (only in a couple of places, most notably my chin); that I have hair growing where it shouldn’t, or longer than intended (ah, eyebrows, I curse at thee); or that I’m getting crow’s feet near my eyes (though the Carrion Crow are circling). Nope, I don’t worry about any of that, but I do wonder where all my time goes.

It seems the older I get, the more I slow down, but the quicker things need done. I need to finish the patio before it rains, or the days grow too hot. I need to play with the kids before they reach the age in which I embarrass them. I need to…blah, blah, blah. It’s all a foot race to my grave and I feel like I’m losing. Where is the time I need to keep up on my writing?

I’ve researched the writing habits of a few authors in attempt to sharpen my own writing. Most of these authors claim they write in the early morning, taking advantage of a time in which their minds are fresh, active, and alive. That during the early morning the imagination is fostered and the mind expounds creativity. Good for them, seriously, but I find it difficult to roll out of bed before 10 a.m. and stare aimlessly at the boob tube, let alone attempt to write.

The authors go on to suggest I carry a tiny notebook everywhere I go and jot down the surprising or interesting things I experience. Yeah, great in theory, but I’ve noticed as I age, so does my handwriting. I tried the notebook technique and jotted things for a couple of weeks, but I didn’t review the notes until months later and by then my writing looked Cantonese. Then again it’s probably just the floaters in my aging eyes.

I tend to write more effectively at the end of the day; a time when the wife and kids are asleep and their voices aren’t blasting through the vent system like a dusty, screen-covered megaphone. This is the time I find most peaceful and I can focus on the impactful things that happened during the day and I am compelled to write about.

I hold steadfast in my belief that all writers learn from other writers, good and bad. I tend to mimic the style of those writers I respect, as I think we all do. I think mimicking is helpful, as established authors help mold the style we eventually come to embrace as our own.

What I don’t believe is taking suggestions verbatim. Don’t get up at the crack of dawn just because someone else does. Don’t take entire pages out of a story just because one person doesn’t like it, re-write it and try again. Don’t paint a large pig black and white and call it a Holstein.

By the way, don’t worry about getting older, I don’t. Everyone grows old; it’s simply a matter of how we react to change, but change is good. Change helps us experience those things we normally wouldn’t, which helps us find our voice. Then once we have that voice we write and we write and then we write more; much, much more.

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