I read a post this past week by Lois Lavrisa
at The writers guide to e-publishing
She cautioned
writers not “to change” your “true voice to fit some perceived social pressure
(i.e. what’s selling.)
I’ve been
pondering this for some time now—how to allow your true voice to come
through—and what is it anyway? I have a clue, if not the whole enchilada.
Last year, I took
a stroll through As I wandered the mile-long path, imagination fully active, I remembered some of the fairytales I used to read so long ago and could envision them happening in that place. I wanted to take a piece of that magic back home so I looked around until I found the rock that “spoke” to me. You rock lovers know what I mean.
In the days that
followed, I did a series of posts in my journal, entitled, “musings of the
rock” as I “listened” to the wisdom that came through. I know, I know, some of
you are saying, “That's just a rock! I’m outta here, this woman is looney.”
Too bad for
you.
You are missing
the point—looking at life with childlike simplicity, allowing the creative mind
to speak to you, brings out your authentic voice. Have you so lost your inner child, your belief in all the
things that tap into your creativity, that all you feel is dry and uninspired?
My advice—don’t
kill the dream. Don’t become too grown up—always leave a piece of childhood
alive, or if you’ve lost it, go back and find it.
What is this state
of childhood I am talking about that’s so special and what does it have to do
with voice? It is the ability to believe in the impossible and pretend with
abandon, to try new things or old things in new ways.
Not all children
have the option to be childlike when that innocence is stolen or ground out of
them by the insensitivity of others around them while growing up. As soon as the ‘adult’
voice comes in with, “That’s silly, immature, naïve,” or is dismissive and
critical with, “You're too adult for that,” then that sensitive child within
withers and, eventually, will die if it is not revived and nurtured.
I’m convinced that
H.G. Wells, and Jules Verne had their inner childhood intact. That was why they
were able to make the leaps they did.
Einstein said,
“Logic will take you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere”
and
“I am enough of an
artist to draw freely upon my imagination,”
and
“Imagination is
everything. It is the preview of life’s coming attractions.”
You may argue,
imagination is not child-like wonder, but don’t you have to have a child-like
wonder in order to allow your imagination to do more than pass ideas through
your mind, don’t you have to act on it—that takes a certain trust, belief in
the impossible, the incredible, the crazy?
I think you have
to believe in yourself, love yourself and allow the child-like wonder stay
alive. When you are not afraid to bring out your inner child, or at least allow
it to come out and play a bit, you may just get closer to bringing out your
writer-blogger voice.
When we write our
novels we have much less of a filter due to the distance from creation to
publishing when we have time to edit, but we are much more critical when it is
going out into cyberspace on the next click. I'm not talking about inappropriate
content as Kristen Lamb warns in her article, Deadly Doses-Politics, Religion and Our Author Platform. I am talking about being yourself fully, and as
Isaiah said, "a little child will lead them.
What about you—do
you think I’m crazy?
Or do you think I
might be on to something?
Or, here’s a safe
question, do you collect rocks?
#magic #rock-collecting #sci-fi #voice #writers #writing
10 comments:
I LOVE rocks. So many cool ones and like you, I see stories and memories through them.
I alos think you are on to something. My kids think I'm part crazy, but allowing a piece of the fun of childhood to linger doesn't make one immature -- we're not talking about the responsibilities of adulthood. It's about seeing life through a different perspective. I prefer it.
Yes, I collect rocks when I feel a special draw to a moment or place. I have one I treasure from the Yucatan--it was a piece of coral washed up on shore. Thanks for your supportive comment.
I totally agree that we have to retain at least a piece of our natural childlike wonder. I am lucky that I get a daily reminder of what it looks like in action with my youngest daughter. Playing is her number one priority every day and she will tell you as much. Imaginative, pretend play is her favorite thing. I love witnessing it and being a part of it. Thanks for reminding all of us to bring that into our writing voices.
I went to a class a friend put on and she had us draw a picture we would have drawn when we were six or seven. I knew I had to draw rainbows, unicorns, or hearts. The exercise was to get you back to that time and remember what it felt like to be able to do anything.
Yes, watching small children pretend play can help us get in touch with that openness we can lose as we get older and more jaded.
Sounds like a good exercise. I recently got that feeling through a pottery class. I always wanted to take one and finally did. Playing in the mud/clay was very freeing-and the free-spirited teacher didn't hurt either.
I think finding the balance between the words of my heart and what the rest of the world wants to read is one of the most difficult parts of this game. I don't collect rocks, but my goofy dog Burnsie reminds me on a daily basis what unbridled enthusiasm and love look like.
You bring up a good point, Liv. It's quite a challenge to know your audience and what they want and still write from your heart when it doesn't fit. I'm leaning toward half and half. Don't know if I can achieve that balance, but I'm working at it.
Aren't dogs wonderful?
This is a great post, Cora! It's nice to be reminded that as writers, we have permission to stay childlike--to hush up the inner (and outer) critics sometimes--to remember what we loved about writing in the first place. Thanks!
Thanks for writinng
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