Question: How do I separate voice from ‘self’
In workshopping recently, voice was demonstrated to carry action through the depiction of quirks and contradictions in cultural observations. This could be achieved, for example, by dialogue or exposition focalised through the voice of another character. It caused me to consider voice in the short story I am working on. I began to wonder how I could create a voice distinct from ‘self’ whilst adopting empathy which would allow characters to be fully formed enough to carry their own story.
I understand that voice needs to be separate from my voice. Even in life writing, a voice must be created. What came to be discussed was the idea of fusing the voice of the character with that of the narrator. Ashley suggested that I need to cut the strings, let God pare his nails, as Joyce suggests. How does fusing the voice of the narrator and the character actually cuts the strings? It seems a paradox. The implication of the reference in context is that once the writer’s imagination sets up the narrative in terms of personality of voice, there is a point at which they can step back. So, I need to set up a voice and trust with confidence the ability of the character to flow and take on a life of its own. But how do I achieve this? Where does this all begin?
At my group’s suggestion I shifted the entire narrative of my short story about the piano tuner to first person through the eyes of the female protagonist. The original narrative felt hard to surrender. I had been trying to establish a see-saw equivocation and was hung up, I think, on the his and her giving me the opportunity to express two equally weighted perspectives. It was suggested that a story of this length didn’t offer the space to fully develop the notion of two third person points of view.
I can see that in short fiction clarity is essential to make the most of all the elements and to convey depth of character. The group suggested the woman’s questioning voice invites greater engagement. Switching to first person made the story feel so unfamiliar. This change was challenging, as it served to highlight the loose sense of character I had created and the narrative abstruseness. There was a danger in focusing too much on trying to convey the sensual experience of the piano being tuned and the tension in the encounter with the expectation that this alone would convey character.
Looking at the story from a different narrative angle made me think about how I might exploit ambiguity as a positive element. Depicting the sensual experience of the character in relation to the action, through the lyrical and aural qualities of language and fusing the voice of the character as narrator, might be the point at which character and style all become part of the same movement. This is similar to melding rhythm, pitch and tone to create musical personality.
Ashley suggested that the entrance to this story hadn’t prepared us for the character’s abstract way of thinking through poetic observation. The workshopping of group member’s writing forced me to note successful use of the vernacular voice. Employing a more conversational tone in my story has helped me to prepare the reader for a sense of what is to follow as a stream of abstract thought.
Clarity of language, syntax and sentence structure and the subsequent alteration to the use of the first person, has helped to prevent all the White Noise obstructing story and character. By playing with the idea of the woman pondering her own struggle with self expression, I have noted a distinct shift in my relationship with the narrator: it’s simply that I’m no longer telling her story, she is telling it herself; she has her own voice. Her character has fused as the voice of the narrator.
I think, perhaps, I might just have cut the strings. And now I can sit back and pare my nails. And it is good.
Carrie Patten 