Finding One's Voice

I find it odd, this thing called voice.  I read quite a wide variety of authors, both classic and contemporary, and with the good ones, no matter the genre, voice is always king.

Fellow Pacific Northwest native Tom Robbins, of which I've spoken before, has one of the most distinguishable voices there is.  His voice is magnificent!  It rises from whatever depths necessary to envelop the reader with pearls of wisdom, still wrapped in the gooey funk of the underdeep.  He grabs the reader by the stack and swivels, and woos you face to face with his wisdom and wit, whether you like it or not.  He's the only author I know who shatters George Carlin's plea on writing:

The only story I know of where clouds are important was Noah’s Ark!

- George Carlin

Tom Robbins does better than that.  "A rank of ample black clouds had been double-parked along the western horizon like limousines at a mobster’s funeral. Rather suddenly now, they wheeled away from the long green curb and congregated overhead, where, like overweight yet still athletic Harlem Globetrotters, they bobbed and weaved, passing lightning bolts trickily among themselves while the wind whistled 'Sweet Georgia Brown,'" he writes in Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates.  And in another novel, I forget which at the moment, he describes clouds as "nuns having a pillow fight".

That's voice, folks, pure voice.  Few others can equal that ability to trick images to leap into our minds from a few carefully placed words on a page.  None can mimic that exact cadence and poetry he employs.  And even if he's just talking about the weather - something writers are constantly advised not to do - you want to keep on reading.

Robbins isn't alone in displaying a unique, discernible voice.

Stephen King has a voice.  So much so that people called him out on his pseudonym Richard Bachman, because after a few novels they had it figured out, just by the sound of the voice.  His voice is one of the things that sets him apart from other authors, and one of the main reasons I believe he's had so much success.

David Eddings had a unique voice as well.  So much so that one could easily identify the author just by reading a few passages of his character's dialogue.  His dry, sardonic humor seeped into his characters so well that it made them easily recognizable and made them react in familiar manners when faced with obstacles in the plot.

And that, I think, is one of the problems of having such a distinctive voice.  All authors put so much of themselves into their work that it shows through in every character, every passage of narration.  But by doing that, they give it a sense of sameness, of consistency.  And while this is good for the overall tone of the book, it has a tendency, as we've seen with some of Eddings' writing, to give all the characters a similar voice.  And if they all sound the same, it's hard to make them unique.

A certain adaptation to character is needed.

It would be nice to have a certain way of adapting to whatever voice was needed at the time, a kind of Joss Whedon's Dollhouse way of slipping into a character and making it your own.  To create characters with a sort of schizophrenia, allowing completely different personalities to seep into each.  This is why perhaps, a pool of writers such as in a television series allows a more diverse group of characters.  It's easier for different writers to focus on different characters, instead of pouring themselves into each one.

And it seems some characters lend themselves more easily to voice than others.  I have one in particular who is so insistent on being an individual that he stands out easily from the others.  He's less subtle, I guess, which helps.  He's a little harder to write because he's over the top a bit, and yet I don't want him to come across as too much so.  It would create too much of a caricature out of him, when what I really need is just the emotional energy he provides.

I think a distinctive voice comes down to two things, and both stem from copious amounts of writing.

The first is experience, simple time spend pounding the words into story.  The more you do that, the more your voice begins to take shape and the less it imitates your sources of inspiration.  You begin to see how to hone your writing, to delete excess words, identify overused words, and craft tighter sentences.  All of this lends to your voice, making it more distinct and more identifiable as yours.

The second thing necessary is an understanding of your characters.  The more a writer knows about a character, the more distinctive their voice becomes.  When they're loosely shelled out, with vague goals and moods, they're harder to define.  They have no substance, no value behind what they do and say; they're simply doing or saying those things to advance the plot.  When that happens, they fall short as believable characters.

In the end, it's just hard work.

It takes time to hone one's voice.  Time spent cloistered away from living companionship, lost with those who live only in your own mind.  It takes hours and days and months and years sitting there, crafting words, blowing them up, and crafting them all over again.  Even a cursory look at the great writers will show that they put their devotion to writing above all else.  They prioritized it, even when they had to work other jobs to put food on the table.

They say it takes 10,000 hours of doing anything to master it.  I think I've easily surpassed that mark, probably years ago.  But I think that's just the first tiny step in the longer journey of honing one's voice and mastery of storytelling.  There is always much room for improvement, and still so very much to learn.

The Art of Profanity

Let's talk a bit about dirty words.  It's been on my mind lately, especially after a #kidlit chat on Twitter regarding swearing.  It's an interesting - and often polarizing - topic.  It's one quite fascinating to me.  Of note, be advised this post contains quite a few, so if you're squeamish or you aren't really old or mature enough for the higher caliber words, please see your way to the door.  This is a discussion for sensibly minded adults.

"Some guy hit my fender, and I told him, 'Be fruitful and multiply,' but not in those words."

- Woody Allen

That quote shows - not tells - a scene far more effectively than if it were written exactly how it happened. We know in one sentence what Allen actually said. We know he swore at the guy, even though he mentioned nothing about swearing. It's a great example of how to create a mental image of the profanity without saying anything bad at all. Masterfully done. If Allen had said he'd told the guy to go fuck himself, it wouldn't have been funny, and furthermore the scene would have been instantly rendered mundane and forgettable - just some guy yelling profanities after a car crash.

So very obviously, we often don't need to swear to get our point across.  Many times the point is made even better without profanity. Actor John Ratzenberger, best known for his role of Cliff Clavin in Cheers, reportedly once said about a project, "There are times over different projects when I've asked the writers why people are swearing for no good reason. I tell them that it would be funnier if there weren't these swear words." That's true. Cussing for cussing's sake is stupid. Sometimes less is more.

But sometimes it's not. Sometimes we need a larger shock to the system. Sometimes our intention is not humor as in the quote above, but rather horror, or revulsion, or any number of the baser emotions. And sometimes the "dirty" words are just the best damn tools for the job.

Consider the scene in Planes, Trains and Automobiles, where Steve Martin's character, after a horrible debacle trying to find a nonexistent rental car and a journey from the middle of nowhere, across highways and even a runway, returns to the agency counter and has to deal with a smarmy agent who has no desire to help him at all. Watch:

If it wasn't for that barrage of eff-bombs, this scene would have been nothing.
It would have been a forgettable part of the movie that pushed the plot along, and tried perhaps unsuccessfully to endear us to Martin's character and his plight. The swearing not only personalizes his problems to the viewer, but also positions the dialog to enable him to tell her how much he doesn't appreciate the way her company treated him. It also sets the scene up perfectly for that succinct and very vital punchline: "You're fucked." Without it, the scene falls limp, destined to be forgotten with every other harried airport/car rental/bus station/train station scene out there. It doesn't, precisely because of the obscenities. Could the scene have been rewritten to conform to "PG" standards? Certainly. Would it have been as funny and memorable? Hell no!

Gunnery Sergeant Hartman (Lee Ermey) in Full Metal Jacket would not have been nearly the character he was if not for his colorful language. Without the carefully constructed obscenities, the character of Tony Montana (Al Pacino) in Scarface would have been just another two-bit gangster. Profanity was one of the traits that made both those characters living, breathing people instead of cardboard cutouts. The use of colorful vocabulary is not vital to round out every character, but for those it was.

"Obscenity is whatever happens to shock some elderly and ignorant magistrate."

- Bertrand Russell

Obscenity is what we make it. A word is only as inflammatory as people take it to be, and that varies from circle to circle. One person may interpret a word very differently than another person. And obscenity can be starkly different culture to culture. Swearing in most Eastern European cultures is fairly acceptable, and most Slavic languages have a wide range of very colorful swear words. In many parts of Asia, however, it is not. Many Asian and Pacific languages don't even have a direct translation of some of the more vulgar terms.

Really, dirty words are just "dirty"; no word is inherently a dirty word because they're all just words. Though to some we assign more value than others, giving them varying degrees of power and influence. They're given power by those who use them in certain ways, and have power taken away by others who use them differently. If a word offends, it's because of the experiences and prejudices of the reader or listener that it does.

"Vulgarity is the garlic in the salad of taste."

- Cyril Connelly

This quote serves to show that profanity is a vital part of language. Like garlic, it adds spice, and like garlic, a little usually goes a long way. There's a fine line between use and over use of any word, and this is particularly the case with words that aren't acceptable vernacular in all parts of society. The more inflammatory the word, the more punch that word delivers, but only if used right. If used wrong, it has the opposite effect, which is a bad thing.

Another aspect of vulgarity is its propensity to lend itself to unique and imaginative forms. Run of the mill profanity is mundane, and as a result, often falls into the category I mentioned above, "cussing for cussing's sake". You can take it out and subtract nothing from plot, scene, atmosphere, or character. The imaginative stuff you can't. Describing someone as an ass-clown, or saying they were engaged in some kind of asshattery or another, evokes images which can't easily be explained with other words. Saying "tomfoolery" instead of "asshattery" isn't quite the same. It's too innocuous, too innocent. Saying they were juveniles engaged in delinquent behavior is similar, but not nearly the same. Not by a long shot. It may convey meaning, but it does shit-all for the tone. And inventive swearing makes for the best insults, by far.

Don't get me wrong; this type of colorful wordsmithing can be done without the use of profanity.  Tom Robbins, one of my favorite authors, applies colorful, imaginative forms to all his writing, but it is truly an art to do it the way he does. Not many can imitate him successfully, and profanity often does in one word what takes a paragraph of polite words to do.

Use, of course, varies between not only characters, but authors themselves. When you get to know a writer, you start figuring out what you're going to get when you read their books. You understand the words they use, how they use them, and how they work for that author. Consider Chuck Wendig, an author who wields curse words like a samurai wields a katana. It's largely because of his irreverent love of profanity, and dark, twisted writing style that his books are so great to read. Constant swearing works for him, and quite well. It doesn't for everyone, and if it doesn't work for someone, then trying to force it will probably end badly.

No matter if certain words are off limits for you, whether uncouth, blasphemous, racial, or otherwise obscene, they all have a purpose.  As long as they serve their intended purpose, they're a necessary part of a story, even the "dirty" ones. I think so anyway, but that's just one idiot's opinion.

Thoughts?

Fun with Words: A Wee Rant

"You keep using that word.  I do not think it means what you think it means." - Inigo Montoya, The Princess Bride.

Seems all the time I think similar thoughts, seeing people use words the wrong way.  They're powerful things, words.  Just a single one can make a huge impact on a story, a speech, a conversation.  They can raise you up, and they can cut you right back down to size.

But words, like the character of Inigo Montoya stated so eloquently, do not always mean what one thinks they mean.  We often use words wrong, for wide variety of reasons.  And because we use them wrong, others learn them wrong and perpetuate their wrong use.

Now I'm not talking about words like "then vs. than", or the spectacular failure that seems to be our understanding of "their, there, and they're", or any other malapropism.  I'm not even going to go there, because I don't want to get that worked up.  I can do without the aneurysm.  No, I'm talking about words we mistake the meaning for, those we think we're using correctly but aren't at all.  It's irritating, because the more they're used wrong, the more their wrong use is perpetuated.  And don't give me that lame "but language is always evolving" excuse.  I know how languages work, thank you very much.

And by the way, a hearty thank you to Alanis Morissette, for the wonderful, unintentional lesson on the misuse of irony.  Irony.  That's a very good place to start, don't you think?

Irony.  i·ro·ny [ahy-ruh-nee, ahy-er-] noun, plural -nies.  Several of the dictionary definitions include: The use of words to express something different from and often opposite to their literal meaning.  An expression or utterance marked by a deliberate contrast between apparent and intended meaning.  Incongruity between what might be expected and what actually occurs.

Good job there, Alanis.  You very aptly described coincidence, not irony.  And the misuse of it here isn't really ironic, either.  It's unfortunate.  It would be ironic if Ms. Morissette were an English teacher instead of a singer.  As to the lyrics, hardly any are the least bit ironic.  The fact you called the song Ironic however, is quite ironic.

If I was afraid of flying and died in a plane crash, that would be a coincidence that fulfilled my paranoia.  If I was afraid of flying and took a bus because it was safer, only to die in a bus crash, that would be ironic.  If I was an aircraft safety inspector and I died in a plane crash, that would be coincidental.  If, as that aircraft safety inspector, I died in a plane crash in an attempt to show just how safe the plane was, after inspecting it myself, that would be irony.

Literally.  lit·er·al·ly [lit-er-uh-lee] adverb.  Dictionary definitions include: In the literal or strict sense.  In a literal manner; word for word: to translate literally.  Actually; without exaggeration or inaccuracy.

Something literal is "word for word".  It's the actual, really real definition of something.  The way it in fact is.  And it's used in place of the word "figuratively" more often than it's used correctly.  Stop it.  Literally, just stop it.

"I literally died laughing at that joke!"  No, you didn't.  You died figuratively.  If you'd have literally died, I'd literally be on my way to the morgue with your cold corpse.  Or the hospital.  How much I liked you could quite literally affect my destination, if I was figuratively that cold-hearted.

And just now, I mentally threw a book at your face for saying that.  Mentally.  Figuratively.  Not literally, because it would have been impossible to literally throw a book at you, seeing as you're not even in the same room as I.  You could use the word "figuratively" in the example above.  There's nothing wrong with that word.  You could even say "I died laughing at that joke," without any modifier, because that would be simple - and obvious - hyperbole.

Penultimate.  pe·nul·ti·mate [pi-nuhl-tuh-mit] adjective. Definitions: Next to the last.  Of or pertaining to a penult, the next-to-last syllable of a word.

This word is often misused in sports.  "They had the penultimate season!"  No, they had the ultimate season.  The team they beat in the final game had the penultimate season.  Penultimate, in this context, isn't a grand accomplishment, eclipsing all others, it's the agony of defeat, ultimately failing after getting oh-so-close.  The Seahawks won their penultimate game in the 2005 playoffs, resoundingly, only to become the penultimate team of that season.

Proverbial.  pro·ver·bi·al [pruh-vur-bee-uhl] adjective.  And the dictionary definitions: Of, pertaining to, or characteristic of a proverb.  Expressed in a proverb or proverbs: proverbial wisdom.  Of the nature of or resembling a proverb.

Again, used heavily in sports broadcasting.  I don't know how many times I've heard about being on "proverbial cloud nine", or throwing the "proverbial perfect pass", or that "proverbial monkey on one's back".  It's uttered about once a game, or race, or match from some broadcaster or another.  We hear it all the time in television.  And in movies.  And it's wrong.  "Idiomatic" is usually the word they're looking for.  When they say the "proverbial perfect pass", what they really mean is the "quintessential pass".

"Cloud nine" does not come from a proverb.  It's an idiom.  And there are no proverbs that speak of throwing a touchdown, or making a daring pass on a race track, or any other sporting events for that matter.  Jesus never spoke about making that hard-to-throw spiral.  Aesop never recounted a tale about the awesomeness of being on the ninth cloud.  And a "monkey on one's back" comes from nature, not parable.  It comes from observing baby monkeys of many species, how they ride on their mothers backs, and don't come off, no matter how the mother jumps around.  It's an idiom for something you just can't shake, no matter how hard you try.

Myth.  myth [mith] noun.  With dictionary definition: A traditional or legendary story, usually concerning some being, hero, or event, with or without a determinable basis of fact or a natural explanation, especially one that is concerned with deities or demigods and explains some practice, rite, or phenomenon of nature.  An imaginary or fictitious thing or person.

We owe at least a little bit of the misuse on this one to the television show Mythbusters.  Now don't get me wrong, it's a great show.  I absolutely love it!  But they're only sometimes busting myths.  Sometimes it's just misconceptions.  Snopes.com doesn't always bust myths either.  Mostly they bust inaccurate perceptions and misconceptions, based on rumors and inaccurate information.

And those constant advertorials proclaiming to have the answers for the "10 Myths about Drinking Alcohol", or 10 Myths about Mental Illness", or whatever other misconceptions there are, aren't really myths either.  There is, to my knowledge, no fictitious or imaginary being known for touting the dangers of that demon alcohol.  Say it with me now, people:  those are misconceptions, not myths.  Dionysus was a myth.  Pan was a myth.  And those are the closest things you'll ever find if you're looking for myths about drinking.

Sentient.  sen·tient [sen-shuhnt] adjective.  Having the power of perception by the senses; conscious.  Characterized by sensation and consciousness.

As a science fiction writer, this one strikes near and dear to my heart.  We see and hear it all the time.  "Ooo, a sentient being!"  Well, no shit.  There are a lot of sentient beings besides humans on the earth.  In fact, our world is teeming with them.  Your dog is sentient.  He's self-aware; he knows he exists.  He knows those are his own balls he's licking right now.  That's why he's licking them: they're his, and he can lick them all day if he wants to.

And while sometimes yes, sentience is what someone means when they're talking about a self-aware machine, what they are often referring to is sapience.  It comes from the same root as homo sapiens.  Sapiens, meaning "to be wise", or "to have taste" in Latin, refers to an ability to make decisions based on wisdom, experience and judgment.  Yes, it's very much human-like, a trait we humans share with almost nothing else on the planet.  While some animals can learn, and associate certain events with others, higher deductive reasoning and judgment is peculiar to humans.  At least until we let those mad scientists in the genetics labs go nuts.  Kidding, folks, kidding.  Only a few of us really want to see giant lab rats with super-human intelligence and cognitive reasoning.

Nemesis.  nem·e·sis [nem-uh-sis] noun, plural -ses  [-seez].  In classical mythology, the goddess of divine retribution.  An agent or act of retribution or punishment.  Something that a person cannot conquer, achieve, etc.  An opponent or rival whom a person cannot best or overcome.

A nemesis isn't just an antagonist or an enemy.  He's not the bad guy the good guy defeats in the end.  He's more than that.  He's the one foe that knows and can exploit someone's Achilles' heel; the one thing they cannot conquer.  A nemesis is the unbeatable, that agent of retribution which one cannot defeat.  So chances are, unless the hero dies in the end, it's unlikely they met their nemesis for the last time.  They were probably the antihero's nemesis instead.  In fact, an "agent or act of retribution or punishment" sounds much more like the hero of most stories, meting out retribution to wrongdoers, instead of the villain.

Ok, I'm finished.  That's all I can produce off the top of my head.  I'm sure a few more examples will come raging to the forefront of my mind once I've posted this.   Oh well, it's probably a big enough rant for now anyway.  Now back to your regularly scheduled programming.