Finding one’s voice as a writer is not as easy as it sounds. But, since most of the books I’ve purchased on writing include a chapter on this topic, I’ve embarked on the process of discovering my authorial voice.
I’ve done most of the things suggested: dressed up like one of my characters, flooded my senses with potpourri and Manheim Steamroller, interviewed myself, and meditated on the meaning of life while staring at my navel. But still, my training as an educator of some twenty-five years inhibits the free-flowing prose I dream of achieving. My explain-everything-so-the-kids-can-understand-and-pass-the-test inner teacher doesn’t seem to want to let go of the controls.
However, this past week I stumbled onto something that just might prove worthy of note. I’ve taken up pretending to be a five year-old. I play solo hide-and-seek in my back yard, I sing nursery rhymes at the top of my lungs on my back porch, and I complain when my husband breathes on my food. The upside of this is that it has engendered a new level of fun into my writing experience. The downside is that it has made some of my more nosey neighbors look at me oddly.
When I do discover my Voice, I’m sure I’ll revel in it. But until then, I’ll keep on exploring possibilities. Tonight, I think I’ll try to channel Bugs Bunny. Now there’s a voice I might enjoy getting into.