Although my focus is on learning the craft of picture book writing, I occasionally genre-hop during writing practice/brain dump sessions. It seems my brain has ideas of its own.
The other day I was brain dumping, and the following character plopped out: (excerpt)
Diary Entry - Date and time
...They say it was a miracle I survived. I say it was a miracle I was ever born, that God saw fit to reward Peter Pony (real name Jango Lipschitz – yes, that’s right, my real last name is Lipschitz) and supermodel Mette Svingerviposidedeneyen with a child. Or maybe it wasn’t meant to be a reward. Maybe I was meant to make their lives unpleasant. I think perhaps it’s the latter. Neither Mom, when she was alive, nor Dad have ever been able to look me in the eye. Not since I was a toddler, anyway. I think my eyes are the only mirror they ever encountered through which they weren’t catapulted into narcissistic Valhalla by means of their own reflection.
Bitsy, aka Grandma, Dad’s Mom, says I haven’t been right or “raht” as she would say it, since the accident. It was for that reason she suggested I stay with her and her “inmates” as Dad calls them, at Bedford House, instead of accompanying Dad and Nanny Naughty Nurse on the Pulsating Pony Absolute Final (For real this time!) World Tour.
Diary Entry - Date and time
It has been decided. I will be allowed to stay at Bedford House for a period of 6 months. If all goes well, I will be able to continue the school year (REAL school!), but if I blow chunks and frick up the whole deal, I will be expected to return to Beverly Thrills, under the tutelage of my long-time nanny turned Stepmom, Nanny Naughty Nurse.
This, of course, is not her real name. Its appearance coincided with her shift from loving nanny and devoted overseer of my health and well-being to Stepmom extraordinaire, complete with new boobs, new lips, perky Brazilian buttocks, and a sudden devotion to three-martini lunches. Naughty nurse, indeed. It was said that nobody goes through that many tennis racket strings without ever setting foot on the court unless a little hanky-panky is involved.
Blech. The thought of her and Dad as a couple still makes my stomach want to crawl down my intestines and hide. Not that Dad’s all that normal himself. He may be a bit of a freak, but he’s my freak and my daddy to boot. Let’s just say that I love him, but I don’t always like him.
I know the writing, organization and grammar are doo-doo, this is just a brain dump. My main concern at this point is VOICE. I wrote over 1,000 words, but I couldn't bring myself to pursue or revise. I kept wondering: Is this the authentic voice of a 17 year old girl? Is her thinking too negative? Are her words too big? Is it all too heavy? How can I get the feedback I need in order to make an informed decision and grow?
I'm thinking this is one of the many uncertainties of creative writing. You can't tell, don't know, and you probably won't get the feedback you need in a timely fashion without forking out big bucks to an editor or writing mentor. And who wants to do that unless you have a pretty good idea that there's something "there"?
I was able to procure some indirect help, though. When I was scratching my bum and pondering all of this, Mary Kole wrote a post over at KidLit.com that she finished by asking if anybody had any burning writing or publishing questions. I wasn't about to let that opportunity slip! I asked her about YA voice, and she was freaking awesome enough to respond in her post "Mature Voice for the YA Market".
There is some invaluable general information there. I have read that it's best to save first-person voice for romance, mystery, etc., but I hadn't thought to expand the notion per her suggestions. Voice and action should be complementary. Makes sense. It's still hard, though, to get outside of yourself and tell if your female YA voice is actually coming across like that of a 56 year old longshoreman.
Conclusion: I picked the wrong day to stop sniffing cat food.
All brain dumps © Heather Kephart.
