Splash No. 119 - Voice

Voice

I’ve been writing semi-consistently for three years, but I generally avoid reading my old work, knowing that it’ll make me cringe and want to rip it apart (literally). In a fit of nostalgic escapism, I decided to dive into some of my older newsletters, just to reflect and marvel at how terrible it really was. However, instead of cringing, I was impressed— not by the quality of my work at the time (I did, in fact, want to rip it apart) but at the gap between my writing then and now. 

These early newsletters felt less like personal essays and more like high school English essays, written from a soulless third-person perspective reminiscent of an overpriced textbook. Even as I described emotional moments in my life, the feeling was lost in a sea of qualifiers and exposition. I wrote what I knew! At the time, I predominantly read Medium articles about how to become a better designer, so my brain operated in listicles that simplistically explained relatively complex ideas. Rather than focusing on the emotional aspects of an experience, I focused on clarity, embracing the blog-format with visuals accompanying each post. I would affix links to the bottom of each newsletter, sometimes hoping that they would serve as a consolation if someone didn’t like what I had written. 

I read a book called Steal Like an Artist, where artist Austin Kleon explains that the best way to find your voice is to copy a bunch of your favorite artists. The unique combination of artists you copy is what makes the voice yours in particular. And so I did. I started to read more widely in search of writers whose style matched what I wanted to create. I read memoirs and novels, comedies and tragedies. And I discovered a lot of amazing books and authors. I slowly worked to implement different pieces of their styles into my own, stealing words or phrases or sentence structures and beyond. 

It didn’t always work. It turns out that Stephen King’s extended metaphors and Murakami’s descriptions of the mundane were poor fits for me. Though I appreciated reading them, they felt boring to write and never felt natural. And so I adjusted my strategy. Not every writer I liked would be an influence. I could pick those out, based on what matched my values. The most freeing thing for me was realizing that I didn’t need to be a serious writer, that I’d never be James Joyce or James Baldwin. 

When I discovered the comic novels of John Steinbeck and the hilarious memoirs of David Sedaris, I realized that writing didn’t need to be depressing and introspective to be powerful. I started putting more effort to add humor to my work, the way I communicate in real life. These influences felt right— they matched how I thought, how I talked, how I felt. And as my writing style developed, I grew more confident and started letting my essays speak for themselves. 

I’m proud of how I write. Every time I write, I hope to write in a way that anyone can read and understand, to keep things short enough to hold a Gen-Z’s attention, and with enough humor to keep things light. I’m sometimes envious of those who weave gorgeous tapestries of words in a meandering way that say a million things at once, but I’m content saying one thing at a time in my own, straightforward way. It’s just the way my voice sounds.

The fight against systemic racism continues. With each day, we move closer to a more equitable world. Reminders:
 

Ways you can help Find your Local SURJ Chapter  

Anti-racism resources

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Float gently,
Nikhil