As a writer, I have to constantly fight against my natural instinct, which is to please everyone, everywhere, at all times.  I have come to realize, per my therapist’s suggestion, that that’s impossible.  Yet, for some self-defeating reason, I still strive to do it.  This has led to a somewhat strained relationship between me and my voice as a writer.

When I say “my voice as a writer,” I’m referring to that ineffable writer-ly trademark, that distinctive quality of style or diction that makes you say, “oh, yeah, that’s so-and-so.” 

You might not realize it right now, Nobody, since I’m going for a more conversational tone, but my instinctive writing voice is a tad unusual.  Most would say undesirable.  I would call it ephemeral. 

If I don’t stop myself, my work is bound to be saturated with description and metaphor.  I’ve been known to dwell on one topic for a shockingly long time, and can fall into the overly philosophical quite easily.  Essentially, my uncensored writing is long-winded and niche.  I think it would even make Tolkien groan. 

Which is fine.  Some of my favorite writers have a very similar style (which is probably where I picked it up).  So long as I edit, as everyone must, I’m usually good.  But it does make it a little more difficult to find the right audience.

Case in point: here’s my favorite piece of feedback that I have ever received.  After I read an excerpt from a piece I was unusually pleased with in a writer’s workshop, someone said the following: “I’ve never been high, but I imagine that’s what it’s like.”

Now, Nobody, I’ve never been high either, because I clearly don’t ever need to be.  I can experience precisely what it’s like by simply letting my weird-ass brain run wild. 

I joke, but frankly, I didn’t mind the feedback.  I would much prefer it to being called boring.  My dilemma, however, does remain: my writing is far from everyone’s cup of tea.  Should I rein myself in, or not?

I feel like the answer’s no, right?  It’s generally agreed that you should always be yourself, always trust your own voice, always know that only you can write like you, blah, blah, blah.  But I wonder if there ought to be any caveats to that.  What if who you are isn’t what anyone’s looking for?  Should I write honestly, and be too out-there, or write more “normally,” and be insincere?

I guess the answer is, “Fine-tune your own voice.”  Be your best self!  Find the middle ground between giving your reader an acid trip and a sleeping pill.  But…I don’t know.  It can be difficult being different.  What if my voice will simply never be good enough?  Maybe I would really be better off with a new one altogether.

I’ve tried dabbling in other styles.  And what I have learned is that when I try to copy other people’s voices, the results are disastrous.  My writing positively reeks of “You like this?  Right?  Please?!”  I’ve shared a couple of those pieces, ones I spent hours picking apart, trying to make them sound as unlike me as possible.  It’s safe to say they were universally detested. 

Whenever I do get compliments on my writing, it’s for stuff that’s original.  More often than not, it’s for the stuff I had the most fun writing.  That same stuff is also disliked.  My therapist, of course, was right; you really can’t please everyone.  But I suppose that you can please someone.  And, really, isn’t that all any writer could ever hope for?

So for right now, I’m sticking with what works sometimes, rather than what never works, and inevitably leaves me wanting to crawl into a hole with all the other talentless hacks.  As long as I’m enjoying what I’m writing, I think the healthy thing would be to keep at it.

Besides, I could always just say that I’m simply ahead of my time, that I’ll tragically never be understood until after I’m long gone.  That’s what makes for a good writer, right?  No one having any idea what they’re trying to say?

Talk again soon, I hope.