Category: Voice

Posted in Historical Fiction, Voice

“Historical” Voice: Are We Letting it Go?

Posted on by beckylevine

I’m writing my historical YA in first person, present tense. I made a conscious choice to do this, way back when, because I am not fond of the dense, slow voice and pacing that can  be one of the markers of historical fiction. I hoped present tense might let me get to more immediacy in the writing. At the time, I hadn’t read any other YA historical written in present tense, so I told myself I was just experimenting, seeing how it all fell onto the page. But, really, I wanted to make it permanent, decisive.

And I was thrilled when, right after that, I read several YA historicals that used present tense. And worked.

Small dance of joy.

Still, it’s been a struggle. I find myself writing drafts where the language comes out stilted and formal, acres away from any way of thinking that a 16-year-old today would recognize and, I believe, pretty far away from how a 16-year-old in 1911 would think or speak. The language takes over, and the characters and action lose out–they’re given short-change by my attention. When I reread my scenes, it feels like stepping into a sticky mire, a hedge of brambles, and I’m trying to push  my way through and find the story.

So, as I work through the Maass workbook, I’m backing off from the language. I’m trying to get closer to Caro’s thinking, her way of viewing the world, and I’m letting myself write it in modern language. I’m even allowing slang to slip in, because I need to get in touch with her anger, her contempt, her determination and push–and I can’t quite get there when I’m stepping out of the sentence to find out how someone in 1912 would think “kick in the ass.” I know I’m going to have to change this, at least some of it, but I’m letting myself put that off for later. Until I know Caro.

I admit, I’m carrying a bit of hope through this process, hope that maybe I won’t have to change as much as I fear. Has anyone else noticed the lightning of prose, the shortening of sentences, the lessening of time-specific vocabulary in recent YA historicals? I just finished Kimberly Brubaker Bradley’s Jefferson’s Sons, and while the events and circumstances and details left no doubt that the story took place in the past, I was never bogged down in language or pacing. Similarly, Sherri Smith’s Flygirl, Kristin O’Donnell Tubb’s Selling Hope, Kathryn Fitsmaurice’s A Diamond in the Desert, and Ruta Sepetys’ Between Shades of Gray all beautifully capture and evoke the power of a specific time in the past, without having their characters speak in a long-winded, formal structure, without making the reader lose sight of the story behind the language. And I know there are others that aren’t popping into my mind right at the moment.

Yes, I’m setting my standards high. 🙂

Is it just me and wishful thinking? Or, if you read historical YA, are you seeing the change, too? And what do you think of it?

Posted in Point of View, Voice

The Brilliance of Point of View in Jennifer R. Hubbard’s The Secret Year

Posted on by beckylevine

When I was working on the critique book, I did a lot of research. (You didn’t think it all just poured freely out of my head, did you?) One of the many writing books I read was The Power of Point of View by Alicia Rasley. I’ve always loved books with a strong voice, and I already understood the basic technical pieces of the different points of view a writer can use. As I was reading Rasley’s book, though, I think I really saw, for the first time, how much point of view and voice interact–how much point of view can, in fact, direct and drive the voice.

In Jennifer R. Hubbard’s first novel, The Secret Year, the author puts on the page just what Rasley talks about. She’s created a character in Colt Morrissey who has, before the book even opens, proved himself more than capable of keeping secrets. In fact, Colt is a person, I think, who prefers–if not secrecy, definitely privacy, solitude, and other people with whom he can share silence.

And this comes through in his point of view and voice.

Colt’s voice is not one that grabs you on page one and yanks you in. Instead, it’s reserved and quiet. I don’t want to parade any spoilers, but you can read on the jacket cover that, for the past year, Colt has had a secret relationship with Julia Vernon, who dies suddenly early on in the story. As I started reading, I was thinking that Colt wasn’t having the reactions to Julia’s death that I would expect. It didn’t take many more pages before I realized that, no, Colt–the narrator–wasn’t sharing those reactions.

Some authors, some stories, would have Colt erupt somewhere in the book, would show the surface he presents to the world as a tight self-control that had to give. Colt does have his moments of extra pain, and they are intense and tense. He makes mistakes–choices that aren’t so great—based on his continued connection to and confusion about Julia.  Hubbard doesn’t take the easy way out, though. She doesn’t take Colt down the expected path and give him release. Because, really, release is not Colt’s way. And it is very probably not what he needs.

The voice of this narrator is a controlled one, but it’s a control that’s natural, not false. Colt’s point of view of the world is one that stands a bit outside, looking in quietly at all the action and talking, happy to be near it, but not needing to be of it. He acts from this point of view, doing a lot of quiet thinking and choosing people who understand his need for solitude. Yes, Colt can be pushed out of this point of view by seeing a friend hurt, or by needing a bit of extra problem-solving help, but never far out of it.

And, as I’ve said, Colt’s point of view directs his narrative voice. Honestly, there were times when I was frustrated with Cole, when I wanted him to tell me more, to let me–or one of the other characters–in to help. I am someone who talks out her problems, probably more than much of my family & many of my friends would prefer! Before I opened the book, I knew I was feeling a bit skeptical about the idea of this relationship that went on for a year without either partner talking about it. The skepticism didn’t list.

Hubbard has given Julia a journal, letters “to” Colt in a private notebook, that beautifully shows another side of Julia than even Colt saw. And this journal is totally believable, because Julia is not Colt; she needs some outlet, and the journal lets her keep her part of the secret. Colt, though, needs no journal. I love his surprise when he finds out that it exists–it’s not just surprise at the things Julia wrote, but that she wrote them–that she expressed them. Colt can keep the secret easily, it’s simply an extension of who he is.

If you haven’t found Hubbard’s blog, WriterJenn, take a look. She posts some of the most intelligent thoughts about the writing craft that you’ll find on the web. And if you want to see how that thoughtfulness plays out on the page—in story, characterization, and point of view, pick up The Secret Year.

Posted in Books, Reading, Tension, Voice

Reading for Writing

Posted on by beckylevine

This week I isolated one of my worries about my current WIP–the worry that I don’t (yet!) know how to convey the tension the story needs and deserves. I’m not the most comfortable person with tension. In fact, as far as I’m concerned, books were invented for me (yes, for me) to escape life’s stresses.

And then this character came along and told me in no uncertain terms that she was a strong and powerful girl, that she had to face some very bad things to bring that power out, to see it for herself. She also told that I had to write those things.

Yes, okay. Sure. No problem.

I’ve been plotting and writing and developing my characters, and I’m definitely making progress. In the back of my head, though, has been that worry–what about the tone of the story–it’s feel. This is, I think, partially a matter of voice, and partially a matter of things like sentence length, action and pacing, how long and how intently I as a writer and Caro as a hero dip into her reactions and emotions. The one thing I’m clear on is that–I’m not yet clear on all this. 🙂

So I’m going back to the basics. I don’t know who said this first, and I don’t know what number they used, but I’m thinking of the advice about reading X quantity of books in a genre to really know it. Yes, I know there’s a before in there, too–read X books BEFORE you try and write something. Well, I’m going to cheat. I care too much about this story, want to be writing it too much to wait until I’ve read 100 or 1,000 tough, edgy, painful YA novels. So I’ll be reading and writing at the same time.

I’m going to do a little osmosis–just read and read and read and let the words of the experts seep into my brain. I’m also going to do a little analysis–pick a few favorites and read them a few more times, though, then try to actually see what they’re doing, how they’re creating that tension. How they’re writing the words that hit me in the gut.

And, yes, I know I’m running the danger of losing myself so much in their styles that I start copying those styles on my own pages. It’s happened once or twice before–when I was reading a lot of historical novels, at the start of this project, I had to back off for a while. Also–and this one was a lot more fun–when I was on a binge of reading Meg Cabot’s Princess Diaries series, my 12-year-old male protagonist started talking way too much like Mia. So I’ll be watching myself for heading into derivative-land, and pulling out for a bit if I need.

But I’m going to read, and I’m going to write. And I’m going to trust in this combination that hasn’t ever let me down before.

Posted in Nonfiction, Voice

Voice in Nonfiction

Posted on by beckylevine

As I was thinking about this post today, I realized I haven’t written that much specifically about nonfiction. Which is odd, since that’s the genre that’s taking up the bulk of my writing hours these days. Maybe I’m buried so deeply in it that I’m not thinking so much about it from the outside.

One thing that’s become extremely apparent to me as I write, though, is that voice is as critical (if not more) in nonfiction as in fiction.  You may not be shooting for the latest in “edginess” or a laugh-out-loud funniness, but you do have to make sure you’re capturing the reader and keeping them hooked.

Think about it this way. A writer of nonfiction, especially of a how-to or self-help book, is setting themselves up as a teacher. Now go back a bit in your memory to your school days–high school, college, grade school.

Think about the teachers with the boring voices. The monotone as they read from a text or recited a lecture from their notes. The voice that said they were up in the front of the room, yes, facing their students, but they could just as happily been talking to rows of empty desks. Got it? Visualizing it?

Okay–where did you want to be?

In a coffeehouse inhaling a big mug of caffeine. At home in bed, sleeping with your teddy bear. In Hawaii. Anywhere but in that classroom.

How much easier was it to stay awake and present for the teachers who were energetic, enthusiastic about their subject, and excited about sharing their take on it with you?

When you’re working on nonfiction, though, how do you achieve this goal? You’re not talking, you’re writing. You don’t have an audience to interact with; they’re all in your imagination. How do you translate your emotions and personality into printed pages?

I think you do it the same way you do it in fiction. Loosen up. Be more free with yourself, with your opinions, your values, and the perspective with which you approach your topic. No, don’t shove your way of doing things down your readers’ throats, as the onlyway, but make sure they know you believe in it. If you’re writing a book about caring for a pet, let your love of animals through. If your focus is accounting, put some energy into “speaking” as a knowledgeable and understanding expert, rather than as a pushy know-it-all.

Be yourself. No, don’t let all the grammar errors which we speak slide through, and don’t let yourself cross the line into gushing or scolding. But relax a bit, remember why you were excited about this project in the first place, and share that feeling with the reader.

They may still take off for Hawaii, but they’re a lot more likely to take the book along!