Voice
September 7th, 2009
My daughter and I visited the library onSaturday. She wanted something Stephen King (I shudder at that. The first few pages of Salem’s Lot scared me off his books forever, which I mean as the deepest compliment to Mr. King. He is indeed a GREAT writer). I had a long list complied from various book-loving websites. I didn’t find a single author on my list, so settled for one I’ve long heard of but never read.
The author I came home with has a distinctive voice. I’m not sure I like it yet. In fact, I haven’t yet read any pages the past two days. I’m still deciding.
But I doubt my voice is that distinct. I doubt my tone can bring a reader to fear and awe (any kind of fear and awe). Make them wonder if I’m worth the time investment—uh—yeah. The thing is, I’m afraid they’ll decide not, and there goes my reader.
I’m still developing my voice. Once in while I’ll go back to read something I wrong long ago, and hear the voice I didn’t know I had. I’m not aware of it as I write. Not sure I like it when I am.
Then I read this post (http://www.murderati.com/blog/2009/9/6/confidence.html ) and I begin to see some glimmerings of truth. She writes about something I’ve always lacked but am slowly grasping hold of.
Yesterday’s Gospel reading spoke about how Jesus healed a man who was deaf and mute. He gave him a chance to communicate, a voice. He gives us all our voices. I pray I use mine well.
