Photo by Anton Kraev
David Napthine writes:-
My colleagues John Foxwell and Angela Woods recently conducted a survey with hundreds of writers (a follow up to one in 2014 at the Edinburgh International Book Festival). Framed within a precise methodology it has elicited fascinating insights into the role of “the voice” in writing. It is well worth reading.
On the other hand my approach is distinguished by a lack of rigorous methodology, its hallmark being a series of bald questions to provoke conversation.
I asked the question “how do the voices speak?” Writers have interpreted this in different ways (which is what I hoped for). For some, like C.H., the first indication that a voice is about to “speak” comes through sensation “like a breeze through my mind, a drift of ideas apparently randomly juxtaposed”. Then “the words jostle to be noticed, compel me to work with them”. In a similar vein R.C. describes “a trickle, an underground stream that disappears for a while before resurfacing” which at other times becomes a torrent to which “I have to surrender myself completely.” and “drown in their torrent”. These voices then become demanding and challenging “random fragments of characters, conversations, ideas, words and phrases.”
For FH “They speak quietly in volume but with an intensity that makes it hard to ignore them. It is a continuous urging.
Uncomfortable though the babble of voices may be they do seem to serve a purpose. They bully the writer to write. It’s almost as if these voices are crying out to be heard by others and they ‘use’ the writer to give them expression. There could be a more prosaic explanation. Writers need to write just as runners need to run and mothers need to mother. Writing is a part of who they are, their identity as people, so there exists a predisposition to be open to as much as possible so that they can be who they are.
Others do not talk of voice. SC:-
“In ‘Robinson Crusoe’ (I adapted this for radio) Defoe describes Crusoe as ignoring or obeying the dictates of his conscience – an inner feeling of rightness. I think my sense of ideas is akin to this notion. Not a voice as such but a feeling.”
This “inner feeling of rightness” finds echo with RH:-
“The sudden surprising thought/ feeling/conviction. I don’t call it a voice as I don’t hear anyone speak. But it has the clarity of a voice. It encourages a particular decision. It feels quite different from the usual more gradual process towards a decision.”
This idea of the “inner sense” that guides, be it conscience, conviction, or feeling, though not an auditory hallucination as such indicates, perhaps, a heightened consciousness that manifests when we are in a state of focused thought (creative or otherwise). The emergence of that feeling or sensation into the realm of interpretation and action has “the clarity of a voice” without it being a vocal presence
EP is very specific as to how the voices speak, distinguishing between poetry and other writing:-
“(the voices speak) like me, if it’s poetry, like a particular character if it’s prose, so depends on the gender and culture of the character. I wrote a novel in poems, many in first person voices of characters living in Byker, so teenage Geordie slang or Scottish nana or a refugee mother with broken English. I heard them all with their accents and vocabulary in my head.”
Here we have character voices, conjured by the imagination of the writer, speaking clearly within that imaginary or fictional world. KF records the same experience:-
“The writing voices speak inside my head in the voice of a character.”
But as the statement implies she hears other voices and these “are outside me, around two to three feet away and from different positions and more than one voice.”
KF makes a very clear distinction between the two voice-hearing experiences with one being much more pleasant and bearable than the other. The writing voices are heard in, and in the vicinity of, the writing room whereas the others can be heard anywhere. The writing voices stop when KF has finished writing (or soon after) and has left the writing room. I pretend no answer to this but I wonder if the mental state a writer is in (e.g. in “the zone” or preparing to be in “the zone”) creates a framework of expectation that lets the voices speak.
For CP the experience of a voice speaking was vivid:-
“I saw the character in my house following me around as I did things, such as make myself coffee or check email. He spoke using the same voice as he does in the story, but unlike normally he addressed me directly. He speaks with a cultured accent, very much one of an Oxford Professor type. Measured, calm, which made it all the more shocking when he became irate, which didn’t happen until I said I wasn’t understanding some of his points. My characters don’t normally leave the story world, and he was in my world. It wasn’t frightening, but it was unsettling. I knew something different was happening and I had no idea why.”
This voice is very specific in its speaking. A product of the writer’s imagination, the character is so strong that it can step out of the storyworld and act in this world (1). The writer goes on to say that his conversation with the character began:-
After he held up a copy of the manuscript and said “We need to talk about this.” I felt it was my entering the room, as if it was my arrival that triggered the beginning of the conversation.
It is interesting to note that here the writer is still the initiator of the conversation and that it was triggered by a physical action. This phenomenon of the character stepping out of the storyworld is the subject of a significant study by project members (2).
As a counterpoint to all of the above I will leave you the words of BK:-
I don’t “hear” voices in my head. I can just do dialogue in different voices. I don’t know why.
“I don’t know why” is perhaps an appropriate ending for this post
- Relationship of writer to character is explored in future post
- See for example “Uncharted features and dynamics of reading: Voices, characters, and crossing of experiences” by Ben Alderson-Day, Marco Bernini, Charles Fernyhough in https://www.journals.elsevier.com/consciousness-and-cognition