| I'm In The Mood For... | by Glenda Bellaire |
| Voice Lessons | by Kristi Goldberg |
| Dangerous Dialogue | by Belinda Bass |
One beautiful Saturday morning, when my housework was finished and my husband was in the garage overhauling the lawnmower, I turned my computer on, daring anyone to try and stop me. The rest of the weekend was mine and I was going to write.
Bringing up my story I finished a scene calling for an argument between my hero and heroine and printed it. As I walked through the house, reading aloud, I stopped and stared in horror at what I had written. The scene read as if they had been tip-toeing through the tulips. Where was the anger?
I went back to the "drawing board" and started to add the anger the scene desperately needed. As I started to type, my husband cranked up the lawnmower, and boy was he ever proud of the noise it made. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate, but couldn't. I went outside and shouted unheard obscenities. Unable to get my hands on a grenade at the moment, I went back inside and tried to work figuring the distraction was punishment for wanting the weekend all to myself.
After printing my revisions, I tried to ignore the noise outside my window as I walked through the living room, again, reading aloud, and was shocked when I read an entirely different scene. The anger was there and my hero had even grabbed and bruised my heroine's arm. It was exactly what I wanted. Where did this come from?
My frustration turned to confusion before I realized what had happened. I wrote the first scene while I was cheerful and didn't have an angry thought in my mind. But, during the revisions, I felt anger because of the disturbing sound coming from the noisy, grass-eating machine. I had trasposed that anger into my scene and made it work. Wow!
I gave what had just happened a great deal of thought. The noise of the lawnmower had put me in an "angry" mood during my revisions. Did I need to become an actress, changing my moods to suit each scene? Yes, that's exactly what I was going to have to do in order to show, and not tell, emotions to my readers. It couldn't make me any crazier than I already felt.
Thinking I was really onto something, I grabbed a sheet of paper and listed as many emotions as coame to mind and under each heading I wrote a few words that I know would work for me. I could use this list to take a look into my past and, hopefully, it would put me in the mood for any given scene in my story. A noisy lawnmower made me feel "anger"; divorce reminds me of "heartache"; whereas, my grandchildren bring me "pleasure" and for "lust", it was a close tie between my husband and Don Johnson. The emotions kept flowing and the examples, for me, were endless.
Now, I leave you to make you own "mood" list, whether mentally, or on paper. If it brings out the "actress" in you, then all I have to say is, "Break a leg."
Once upon a time I wanted to be Petula Clark. Yes, my secret's out. When I was about eight, my sister and I would stand atop my mother's cedar chest, brush-cum-microphone in hand, and lip sync "Downtown." Alas, that fantasy died (thank heavens, you say). I soon discovered some people are born with melodic voices, others aren't. Believe me, I wasn't. Sadly, I've given up my dream of having a beautiful voice and moved on. But then, maybe not. I'm experimenting with a mew kind of voice these days, one that I hope shines through when I write.
I'm sure you've heard someone say, "I love that author's books. She has such a wonderful voice." Chances are that was probably another writer's observation. Most readers don't really understand what constitutes a writer's voice. They only know that their favorite author's works capture their imagination with description, characters and emotions rolled up like a ball of twine that binds them to a story. Those elements are usually present in every book, but it's the way an author strings her words together--her own unique turn of phrase--that sets her voice apart from all the rest.
Structure con't take the place of voice. I've read my share of technically correct manuscripts, but they were lifeless. They lacked a strong fresh voice. I've heard it said many times that voice can't be taught. I agree. Voice is that intangible something that separates great from good, marvelous from mediocre, best seller from banal.
So how do you hone your voice? By writing. The more you write, the more you develop your own unique voice. Of course, we all know you have to learn how to construct a proper sentence, how to plot, how to make a memorable character. But after you've done that, then tell the story you'd want to read. Use your life experiences. Draw on the sensory details you remember from childhood, or that first kiss. In other words, spill your guts onto paper. Develop you own style; don't try to emulate someone else. Otherwise you'll end up like me as a child, standing all alone on a piece of furniture with a faux microphone pretending to be someone else, and failing miserably.
Remember, voice is more than creating a few unique similes. Voice should breathe life into your characters and dialogue. More importantly, voice requires you give of yourself. Write from that part of the anatomy romance writers are so fond of discussing--the heart. Then, if you really work at it, one day someone just might say, "You left the header off your manuscript pages and I didn't know who it belonged to... until I read the first papagraph, then I knew it was yours." That is one of the greatest compliments, provided they've recognized your voice, not poor skills.
Above all, trust yourself. Sing your own tune and eventually someone will recognize your efforts. And if one day an editor tells you, "you have a wonderful voice, keep writing," even if the compliment is hidden in a rejection letter, celebrate. You've scaled a big hurdle because no one can teach voice. And you can't really teach yourself. All you can do is let it happen. And you do that by writing, writing, writing.
Often conversations between the hero and heroine cause more problems than they solve, or they could if the author has done her research. Manipulating the difference in conversational style is a tool which used effectively reveals yet another layer of characterization.
Conversation between the hero and heroine shows that they are involved and how they feel about that involvement. The way the characters talk tells us about their relationship. Not so much by their words, but what they convey in their attitude toward the other.
Is it any wonder then that the hero's sentences are clipped? When a man decides he wants to be with a woman, he doesn't want to think or talk about it. He's ready to act on that decision. Whereas a woman's enjoyment comes from the building of anticipation through conversation and sharing her excitement with her friends or daydreaming how wonderful the date will be. Man focus more on the information conveyed in conversation while women are more concerned with how it's said. Relationships are established, maintained, monitored, and adjusted through conversation.
If the hero says, "I'd love to go shopping with you," but his jaw is clenched, and his words are forced, you won't believe him. Words convey information, but our delivery--the loudness, speed, tone, and emphasis--communicates what we believe we're doing when we speak (i.e., teasing, flirting, explaining or chastising). It tells whether the speaker feels friendly or angry, or whether he wants to get closer or back away. The manner the information is communicated reveals characterization.
We pace, cuss, and mutter seeking the perfect word for our hero. It must ring true to his character. But how can it? What I say today will depend on what has happened up to that point. Tomorrow I will not react the same way because the circumstances leading up to that moment will be different. However, certain things will remain constant (i.e., fear of getting involved with the heroine). What we must remember is that how and why the hero speaks and what he really means is just as important if not more so than what he says.
In That's Not What I Meant!, Deborah Tannen discusses the differences in the way men and women interpret things. "Despite good intentions and good character--our own (which we take for granted) and others' (which we easily doubt)--we find ourselves caught in miscommunication because the very methods--and the only methods--we have of communicating are not, as they seem, self-evident and 'logical.' Instead, they differ from person to person, especially in a society like ours where individuals come from such varied cultural backgrounds. A lot of seemingly inexplicable behavior--signs of coming closer or pulling back--occurs because others react to our style of talking in ways that lead them to conclusions we never suspect. Many instances of rudeness, stubbornness, inconsiderateness, or refusal to cooperate are really caused by differences in conversational style."
If you struggle with characterization, I recommend that you read any of Deborah Tannen books.
