Voice has been my issue today, while writing Chapter 3 of the novel. Voice, voice, voice.

What voice do you hear? I'm listening to Lady Gaga, personally...

I haven’t yet developed a writing style that I feel satisfied with for a novel. I’ve got this blogging thing down, and if I’m relating a real-life occurrence in short story form for friends to enjoy, I’m pretty happy with the voice I’ve developed, but this…is different.

I know that I shouldn’t feel the need to conform to the styles of writing I’ve seen in the novels I’ve read, but I fear that if I let completely go and just do it my way, that I’ll be the only one ever capable of reading my novel and, well, getting it. I don’t want that to be the case. I want lots of people to get it. Thus, I feel the need to use a style that most people “get”.

Confused Robot = Readers. Heart = My book.

I think I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to pretend that this long, made-up story that I’m telling has actually occurred. Just convince myself that this is a completely true story, that I’ve met all of the characters, that they told me this story some years after everything went down.

And yet, there’s a problem with that. When I tell/write a story, it’s one that I have actually lived and experienced myself, sometimes along with friends. I’m not in this novel. I mean, there might be aspects of my personality in some of the characters, but they certainly are not me, and I don’t make a guest appearance.

This is hard.

I never could figure these things out...

However, while struggling to find my voice today, there was but one glimmer of hope when I wrote the following:

Mikhail looked at the empty space on the grass next to Ria where Axel usually sat, a literal space that the breakup had just figuratively opened up for someone.

“Someone like me,” Mikhail thought to himself. He didn’t sit in the empty space, though. He wasn’t ready for it. 

Go for it, Mikhail! Go for it!