Why I’m reclaiming my voice!
Something occurred to me lately. I’ve still got my inherited cockney attitude but I’ve been writing like Mary Poppins is impressing VIPs at a posh party! I think I’ve lost my writing voice. Let me explain.
In an endeavour to “get my writing out there”, build an audience, gain followers (true, quality followers not like the detestable Social Influencer way of begging for followers!) and so on, I decided to focus on issues that were important to me, that kept me awake at 4am. But, write about them in a voice that was more studious.
The result? Well, I gained some lovely followers and subscribers and received some fantastic comments which I’m so grateful for.
So, why am I dissatisfied?
I am proud of all that I write and I feel I’ve created some really interesting pieces for people to read. However, if I’m being honest here, I’m a bit bored reading them back.
You see, when I talk, every day, with no filters, I often find people grabbing something to hold onto, crossing their legs while bent over or howling in response to something I’ve just thoughtlessly let slip out of my mouth. Even my Doctor recently was wheezing on the phone to me!
Case 1: Re: Doctor. All I did was mention how utterly mortifying it was being pushed through a commuter-congested London train station in a wheelchair, like some bloody stroke victim! (I apologised to him that my humour is dark and I don’t mean any disrespect to actual stroke victims.) I was also being escorted by two policemen, like I’d just been released from prison!
Case 2: I was once at an event that my friend and I had arranged. I went over to tell her about someone who’d just arrived. I described him at length, but she then told me to “Fuck off”.
Rude.
“Please, Lois, just fuck off. NOW!”
She was huddled against a pillar, legs firmly crossed, tears rolling down her cheeks, unable to move because her piss was literally SAS-abseiling out of her with velocity.
“Just PLEASE fuck off!”
Her laughter sobbed out of her.
I just shrug. I talk, people tell me to fuck off and then they blame me for their wet knickers! What’s so funny?
If you try to be funny, you’re not being funny.
— John Gordon Sinclair
So, I think I need to be true to myself from now on. I’ll still write about serious issues, worries and life experiences that matter to me, but in my authentic voice. Not the voice I THINK will get me taken more seriously, or the one I imagine will attract more followers.
I need to treat my writing like I treat my dress sense. I like it, so sod anyone who doesn’t, I’m doing it anyway. And, as I’ve discovered with my silver David Bowie ankle boots, that attitude often gets me plenty of compliments!
I also think I’ve been policing my work too much. I’ve become obsessed with things like: “Don’t put a comma there.”, “Don’t start a sentence with And”, “Should I break that up with a semi-colon?”. And, “what’s with all the exclamation marks? Have you got anger management issues with your readers!”
With all this self-policing, by the time I’ve finished exam-marking my punctuation and grammar with the red pen, the humour in my pieces has lost its shine so on the 47th read I now deadpan smile and post it up. If I’m bored reading my own work then chances are you will be too.
But perhaps the real question is: who exactly am I trying to impress? You, the readers? Or, did I subconsciously create three imaginary judges who are armed with red pens, heavy furry frowns and internally damning my written voice? Is one judge tutting because I’ve started a sentence with “And”, another thinking my over-use of exclamation marks is treason and the third is wondering whether I’m intellectually challenged because I write about falling over in public or advocating gaming as a hobby!
My funniest moments in life have never involved carefully constructed sentences or a trio of literary judges. They’ve involved me opening my mouth and just letting whatever observational tripe come out!
I’ve started giving the Rules of Writing some two-fingered responses. I’m not writing an Oxford University thesis or a Booker Prize novel. I want to write about making an absolute cock of myself, like the time I once flew across my desk at work, Superman-style, after tripping over a step! My typewriter and my boss’ paperwork deafeningly crashed down towards the scratchy carpet tiles as I lay spread-eagled on my desk with all my colleagues either mute or howling!
Or I want to write about my spiritual love of hugging trees and connecting with nature, where birds shit on my head and dog walkers give me that mock-sad, “Ahhh, bless her” look, clearly thinking I’m “afflicted”.
Being authentic doesn’t mean my writing will always be funny 24/7. I can be thoughtful, serious, reflective if the subject needs it. I just don’t want to lose my personality in the process.
So, I’m going to try to stop writing like someone I’m not.
I’ll still tackle serious subjects, but I will tackle them in my own quirky voice.
That funny writer is still here, in me. She’s just been over-policed for too long.
What do you think?