It's Your Voice

Man, am I struggling with this whole novel-writing thing. It feels unnatural. I don’t write fiction. I rarely even read fiction anymore. Instead, I’m drawn to spiritual, self-development work and feel it is my place to contribute to the world not a made-up story but lots and lots of true ones. And with my personal situation changing dramatically over the past week, I felt even more lost in the proverbial woods as I tried to beat this thing out of me.

“You know you don’t have to write that way,” Quincy said to me as I was fumbling around, getting ready to meet a write-in group at one of my campuses.

“But I really should. I need to prove to myself that I can.” I didn't want to give up NaNoWriMo entirely, not a second year in a row.

“What for?” he asked.

“I don’t know," I admitted. "Accomplishment? Recognition? Self validation? Insanity?”

“You don’t have to write anything at all.”

“Of course I do. I’m supposed to be a writer. And there’s so much in me that needs to come out. I feel like I have something to teach people—like you and Holly and Puff and all the animals teach me.”

“But haven’t you been doing that all along?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“And don’t you still consider yourself a writer?”

“Yes?” I asked tentatively. I wasn’t sure where he was going.

“And didn’t I tell you not to worry about planning all you were going to write and instead just write and trust what comes to you?”

“Yes. You told me that.”

“Good. Then have we found your voice yet?

“Uh…maybe?”

“It’s your voice. You can’t control it and make it fit what someone else thinks it should sound like. Be true to who you are and what you know is right.”

Still, I resisted. I spent another nearly two hours at a public write-in, trying desperately to force that children’s novel onto the screen. I attempted to make an outline, hypothesizing that my lack of direction was hindering me more than I expected. I even tried turning my font white so I could no longer see how horribly awkward my novel was coming, which had been paralyzing me with frustration and fear.

And then, in a sudden wave of clarity, I gave in. I officially declared myself a "NaNo Rebel" and began working on a series of blog posts like this one. And words seem to be flowing onto the page faster than my fingers can keep up.

Maybe there's still a children’s book waiting to pour itself out at some point, but it’s not ready now. This stuff is.