Tracy Wolff gave a wonderful talk on understanding yourself and your market for the new or aspiring writer last night at my local RWA chapter’s monthly meeting. Among her many pearls of wisdom 
, she recommended knowing your voice and then playing to your strengths to determine what genre you should write. That, naturally, had me thinking about my own voice. I’ve been told that it’s a strong one at least, but just because you can holler over the crowd doesn’t mean people want to hear what you have to say. So I wondered: how would I describe my voice?
Man, it’s gotta be a bad sign that it’s this hard to answer.
For my romantic comedies, of course, my voice tends toward humor, but that’s a lazy answer. If I couldn’t write in a humorous voice, then I wouldn’t write humor. Kinda defeats the purpose, I think. So what else? In the handouts Tracy kindly presented, she listed several adjectives to describe voice including, but not limited to: comical, humorous, dark, edgy, upbeat, peaceful, and desperate. Well, I think it’s safe to claim “upbeat” as a good description for my voice. I am, after all, a self-proclaimed practical optimist. I’m not all sunshine and rainbows, but I believe that, in the end, everything will work out all right. Shit happens; life goes on, and it is what you make of it. I think that attitude comes out in my writing. It’s also safe to claim, I think, that “edgy” is not a term for me.
It’s the rest I’m on the fence about, even with the “comical”. Is my writing humorous? I like to think so. Comical? I’m not so sure. Truth be told, I’d like to avoid that label, but in saying that, I must admit that with my first romantic comedy manuscript, I chose to try and walk the line between the believable and the “no way that could happen” brand of funny. Does that make it “comical”? Possibly, even probably, and considering I balk at that label, perhaps it’s time to start revising a little and test out some other options.
Part of the problem, I think, is the fact that I have two separate manuscripts that I’m taking into consideration. The first, the RC, I’d describe as light-hearted, upbeat, humorous/comical, maybe even a little dry. But the second manuscript, my possibly YA/possibly fantasy (there’s got to be a definite genre this fits into!) is different. My voice is more lyrical, more emotionally wrought. In this ms I have several dark moments, and I play with the idea of the abuse of power and the close-mindedness of a society. I certainly couldn’t describe it as either humorous or comical, though I do try to add a few light-hearted moments, and it’s much less upbeat and more of the gritty “you don’t always get what you want in life, but you make the best with what you have” attitude. But where I strip the fun, I’ve added more detail in the word usage. I use a lot of alliteration in this work, a lot of rhythmic sentence structure. I’d based this story on a dream, and I attempted to pull the reader into that dream with me.
To fall in a bit of a cliche, comparing the two manuscripts is like trying to decide on two separate pairs of shoes. On one side, you’re staring at a pair of poppy red heels, the arch high and the ankle ribbons begging you to tied a big floppy bow. These shoes were meant to be noticed right away and fairly scream “sassy”. Then on the other side, you have a pair of black flats, comfortable and practical, and you don’t really notice them on first glance. Heck, you’d passed by them twice before a faint sparkle made you look closer, and you see that there’s a much finer attention to detail than you’d expected. The inside gleams metallic pink, and the ruching along the edges lends a femininity that should normally be lacking in a understated flat. You buy both (or would in my case at least–I’m a reason why this cliche is a cliche) and bring them home to proudly show your mother/sister/friend.
“Ooh, I like those.”
You model one on each foot, standing first on your left and then on your right, admiring them yourself. The flats are classy and elegant. The heels are fun and sexy. “Yes,” you say proudly. “They’re great aren’t they?”
“Which one’s your favorite?”
And that gives you pause. Favorite? You bought them both, didn’t you? They each have their own individual use; they’d each been created for a purpose, and you’d bought them just for that purpose. Can you pick a favorite?
In your surprise, you put both feet on the floor. Look down when you nearly topple over from the height difference. And realize that they don’t look like the same person’s wearing them.
And now I’m beginning to realize that I may have just answered my own question.
