by Cat Woods
As a writer, finding that perfect word is almost as exhilarating as winning the lottery. Actually, in a way, it is winning the lottery--in a literary sense. You see, we writers take our words very seriously. We want to tell the perfect story with the perfect characters living the perfect plot that ends with the perfect resolution. We expect nothing but the perfect sentences flowing into paragraphs of perfection.
However, I don't believe that perfect writing is attainable. More importantly, I don't think it is desirable.
As a speech coach, I judge a lot of high school tournaments. I watch hundreds of talented kids recite amazing pieces week in and week out for three months straight. I admire the skill they have in memorization, characterization, blocking and inflection. They use facial expressions and body language to depict the emotions and elicit sighs of sadness or peals of laughter from their audiences. The better they connect to their characters and the better they help us connect to them, the better the speechies do.
Alas, however, I have seen technically perfect pieces executed in an over-rehearsed fashion that lacks genuine voice, effectively erasing all the hard work they've done.
This--this striving for perfection--is actually the problem with chasing it. We can, and often do, sacrifice quality, spontaneity and authenticity when we hash and rehash our work, kneading it, massaging it, substituting words and punctuation with a tenacity that is nearly obsessive.
In short, we risk losing genuine voice in the quest for perfection.
So, do you feel perfection is desirable or attainable in writing? If so, how do you pull it off? How do you keep your writing fresh despite the grueling hours of edits and revisions? Conversely, in what ways does the quest for perfection inhibit your storytelling? What do you do about it?
Curious minds want to know.
Cat Woods is a speech ninja five months out of the year. She helps junior high and varsity students hone their speaking skills--both on and off paper--a process that is eerily reminiscent of critiquing other writers. Feel free to critique her writing in Tales from the Bully Box, an anthology for middle grade writers from Elephant's Bookshelf Press. Or, check out her kid blogs at www.catwoodskids.com or www.thebullybox.com.
Showing posts with label voice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label voice. Show all posts
Monday, March 16, 2015
Monday, April 14, 2014
Avoiding the Voiceless Query
by Jemi Fraser
One of the biggest challenges in writing a query seems to be maintaining Voice yet this is probably the biggest key to grabbing the attention of an agent.
It works differently for everyone. Here are a few tips that might help:
One of the biggest challenges in writing a query seems to be maintaining Voice yet this is probably the biggest key to grabbing the attention of an agent.
- What makes a query stand out from the rest?
- What gives the agent the best feel for your story?
- What is your best marketing tool (after all, your query is your first attempt at marketing your story)?
It works differently for everyone. Here are a few tips that might help:
- use the same kind of sentence structure you use in the novel - echo your tone and style.
- focus on the Show not Tell - Tell sucks the Voice out of queries.
- forget the details! Think big picture. What's your character up against? What's his/her biggest fear? What's in the way? What are the stakes?
- practice saying out loud what your story is about. Don't worry about making it sound like a query at first, just find out what sounds good, what sounds draggy or convoluted. Keep it short, sweet and interesting.
- time yourself. Start with a one minute time limit. Then cut it back to 45 seconds. Then 30. 20. 15. This works well with pitches too.
- find the emotion. If your query doesn't evoke some kind of emotion in the reader then it's not doing its job. I think Voice elicits an emotional reaction in the reader and that's what you want here. A laundry list of plot points isn't going to attract anyone's attention. Punch them with some emotion instead!
Any other tips that you've used? How do you get your Voice into the query?
Friday, January 11, 2013
Voices in Time
by S. L. Duncan
When asked, most editors say what draws them to a submitted project is voice. Don’t you just hate that? Because, inevitably, when asked what defines a good voice they sort of shrug their shoulders, don their beret, take a large puff of cigarette and say, “Je ne sais quoi.”
Well, they do in my head at least.
There’s been a lot of excellent coverage of what voice can be here at FTWA, so feel free to review that for a moment. The kind of voice I want to talk specifically about, is the voice necessary to tell a story that takes place in a different time period.
So on the elements of what voice is, or can be, let me add this: authenticity.
I’m turning in my second book to my agent this week and the last thing I did was take a final read and make sure that the voice is authentic to the time period. A great way to see how the times affect voice is look at recent decades. Compare how kids spoke in the 80s to how they speak now. Slang aside, there are subtle differences in how they relate to each other. Do they lock eyes and twirl their gum when they speak, or are they focused on their iPhone, droning on like a zombie?
And it isn’t just vernacular. Society and culture influence voice as well. Take a 1940s London fourteen-year-old. The scarcity of that time and the living day to day in a harrowing environment grants a certain patience and appreciation for things, which should show up in the voice of the character.
So how do you get there? How do you make a voice authentic to its time? I looked at old newspapers, movies from the era, and radio recordings. The best are archived private journals. But, wait! What if your time period is waaay back? Keep digging! Look closely at all aspects of the culture. Crack a history book or two. Read, read, read, books from leading experts in the field.
All these things will play a part in the voice of the story and your individual character's voices. A good example is Sophie Perinot's work. She captures the tone and voice of her time period perfectly, but she does the research.
And I know I said it before, but you gotta read. Read stuff that's similar to what you want to write. Read in your genre. Read brilliant books, and just as importantly I think, read horrible books.
Authentic voice is a lot of things. There isn’t really any one way to master it, and more often than not, it kinda just happens after you've put in the work. Take the time, though, if you’re writing to a specific moment in history to really get in the head of that moment in history. You’ll be surprised at how it affects the voice.
S. L. Duncan writes young adult fiction, including his debut, the first book in The Revelation Saga, due in 2014 from Medallion Press. You can find him blogging on INKROCK.com and on Twitter.
When asked, most editors say what draws them to a submitted project is voice. Don’t you just hate that? Because, inevitably, when asked what defines a good voice they sort of shrug their shoulders, don their beret, take a large puff of cigarette and say, “Je ne sais quoi.”
Well, they do in my head at least.
There’s been a lot of excellent coverage of what voice can be here at FTWA, so feel free to review that for a moment. The kind of voice I want to talk specifically about, is the voice necessary to tell a story that takes place in a different time period.
So on the elements of what voice is, or can be, let me add this: authenticity.
I’m turning in my second book to my agent this week and the last thing I did was take a final read and make sure that the voice is authentic to the time period. A great way to see how the times affect voice is look at recent decades. Compare how kids spoke in the 80s to how they speak now. Slang aside, there are subtle differences in how they relate to each other. Do they lock eyes and twirl their gum when they speak, or are they focused on their iPhone, droning on like a zombie?
And it isn’t just vernacular. Society and culture influence voice as well. Take a 1940s London fourteen-year-old. The scarcity of that time and the living day to day in a harrowing environment grants a certain patience and appreciation for things, which should show up in the voice of the character.
So how do you get there? How do you make a voice authentic to its time? I looked at old newspapers, movies from the era, and radio recordings. The best are archived private journals. But, wait! What if your time period is waaay back? Keep digging! Look closely at all aspects of the culture. Crack a history book or two. Read, read, read, books from leading experts in the field.
All these things will play a part in the voice of the story and your individual character's voices. A good example is Sophie Perinot's work. She captures the tone and voice of her time period perfectly, but she does the research.
And I know I said it before, but you gotta read. Read stuff that's similar to what you want to write. Read in your genre. Read brilliant books, and just as importantly I think, read horrible books.
Authentic voice is a lot of things. There isn’t really any one way to master it, and more often than not, it kinda just happens after you've put in the work. Take the time, though, if you’re writing to a specific moment in history to really get in the head of that moment in history. You’ll be surprised at how it affects the voice.
S. L. Duncan writes young adult fiction, including his debut, the first book in The Revelation Saga, due in 2014 from Medallion Press. You can find him blogging on INKROCK.com and on Twitter.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Perspective on Our Times
by R.S. Mellette
My neighbor will turn 100 years old this month. She was as old as I am now when I was born. When she was one year old, the first drive-in gas station was built, bringing the total number of gasoline-purposed buildings up to 3 in the whole country.
I think of her every time I see commercials on TV for natural gas drilling in America, where they say that—using fracking—we have 100 years of gas reserves. By the time I'm my neighbor's age, the country will be halfway out of gas. By the time someone born today is her age, we will have no gas reserves at all, so I wonder what the gas lobby is bragging about.
Why do I bring this enviro-political hot potato up in a writing blog? Because of something a Turkish acting teacher told our class at North Carolina School of the Arts 30 years ago. "Know the politics of your character," she said, and followed up with, "the politics of most American characters is none at all, which is just as telling."
And I think of Steinbeck, who was 10 years old when my neighbor was born. He told stories of families and working class individuals against the backdrop of the only economic times worse than those we are living in today.
I think of Mark Twain, who died just two years before my neighbor was born. He recorded the voices of America from his youth, when this was not a free country for many of the people who built it.
And I wonder what young Twain might live in Arizona? What Steinbeck might now be on the road to a North Dakota oil boomtown? For the first time in world history, we have to change our economy from a high-density fuel source (fossil fuels) to a lower one (hydrogen, solar, wind). Will we have a writer to take us through this change the way Charles Dickens (died 42 years before my neighbor was born) took us from wood to coal, or Upton Sinclair (34 when my neighbor was born) from coal to oil?
Sure, you might not write about these world changing events, but if your stories are contemporary, they should be included. They play in the background. They are the undertow to the waves your characters face. And we, as authors, owe it to our society to record their effects.
We writers are all Tom Joad. He promised to "be there" and so should we.
R.S. Mellette is an experienced screenwriter, actor, director, and novelist. You can find him at the Dances With Films festival blog, and on Twitter, or read him in the Spring Fevers anthology.
My neighbor will turn 100 years old this month. She was as old as I am now when I was born. When she was one year old, the first drive-in gas station was built, bringing the total number of gasoline-purposed buildings up to 3 in the whole country.
I think of her every time I see commercials on TV for natural gas drilling in America, where they say that—using fracking—we have 100 years of gas reserves. By the time I'm my neighbor's age, the country will be halfway out of gas. By the time someone born today is her age, we will have no gas reserves at all, so I wonder what the gas lobby is bragging about.
Why do I bring this enviro-political hot potato up in a writing blog? Because of something a Turkish acting teacher told our class at North Carolina School of the Arts 30 years ago. "Know the politics of your character," she said, and followed up with, "the politics of most American characters is none at all, which is just as telling."
And I think of Steinbeck, who was 10 years old when my neighbor was born. He told stories of families and working class individuals against the backdrop of the only economic times worse than those we are living in today.
I think of Mark Twain, who died just two years before my neighbor was born. He recorded the voices of America from his youth, when this was not a free country for many of the people who built it.
And I wonder what young Twain might live in Arizona? What Steinbeck might now be on the road to a North Dakota oil boomtown? For the first time in world history, we have to change our economy from a high-density fuel source (fossil fuels) to a lower one (hydrogen, solar, wind). Will we have a writer to take us through this change the way Charles Dickens (died 42 years before my neighbor was born) took us from wood to coal, or Upton Sinclair (34 when my neighbor was born) from coal to oil?
Sure, you might not write about these world changing events, but if your stories are contemporary, they should be included. They play in the background. They are the undertow to the waves your characters face. And we, as authors, owe it to our society to record their effects.
We writers are all Tom Joad. He promised to "be there" and so should we.
R.S. Mellette is an experienced screenwriter, actor, director, and novelist. You can find him at the Dances With Films festival blog, and on Twitter, or read him in the Spring Fevers anthology.
Monday, April 16, 2012
It's All About The Zing
by Lucy Marsden
As usual, I’ve been finding the posts of my compatriots here at FTWA both thought-provoking and timely. In particular, I’ve been musing on RC’s post about Balancing on the Edge of Your Comfort Zone, and Jemi’s discussion of Writing What You Read.
What I heard both of them saying is this: stretch yourself, and play with different aspects of writing if they call to you and they enhance your process, but don’t sacrifice your authenticity or your integrity as a writer. (And by integrity, I’m talking less about morality, and more about “the state of being whole and undivided.”)
What I think it comes down to, is that we risk diluting, confusing, or really alienating our Voice as writers when we push ourselves to create in ways that aren’t true to us. Voice is ... well, Voice is a lot of things. I think of it as the absolutely unique flavor of our writing. Some of it is world view, and some of it is word choice and cadence, and some of it is our take on the story we’re telling—the list of intangibles goes on and on. I’d argue, though, that inextricably linked to Voice is a sense of vibrancy and vitality in our writing, a zing that has everything to do with being truly engaged with what we’re working on. We’ve all read books or watched movies that charmed us despite the many Craft goofs therein, and we’ve all encountered works that were technically perfect and as lifeless as the moon.
I raise this point, because sometimes, in an attempt to be more successful (however we’re defining it), we kid ourselves into trying on some facet of writing that is not really “us.” Or maybe we do the reverse—aware that it has no resonance for us whatsoever, we don’t leap on the latest hot commercial trend in publishing, and we feel guilty and anxious about it. At these times we need to remember that what our readers (including editors and agents) are hungry for is the piquant, chewy goodness that only we can provide. But we can only bring the zing when we’re truly excited about the story that we’re telling.
And in the end, it’s all about the zing.
Lucy Marsden is a romance writer living in New England. When she’s not backstage at a magic show or crashing a physics picnic, she can be found knee-deep in the occult collection of some old library, or arguing hotly about Story.
As usual, I’ve been finding the posts of my compatriots here at FTWA both thought-provoking and timely. In particular, I’ve been musing on RC’s post about Balancing on the Edge of Your Comfort Zone, and Jemi’s discussion of Writing What You Read.
What I heard both of them saying is this: stretch yourself, and play with different aspects of writing if they call to you and they enhance your process, but don’t sacrifice your authenticity or your integrity as a writer. (And by integrity, I’m talking less about morality, and more about “the state of being whole and undivided.”)
What I think it comes down to, is that we risk diluting, confusing, or really alienating our Voice as writers when we push ourselves to create in ways that aren’t true to us. Voice is ... well, Voice is a lot of things. I think of it as the absolutely unique flavor of our writing. Some of it is world view, and some of it is word choice and cadence, and some of it is our take on the story we’re telling—the list of intangibles goes on and on. I’d argue, though, that inextricably linked to Voice is a sense of vibrancy and vitality in our writing, a zing that has everything to do with being truly engaged with what we’re working on. We’ve all read books or watched movies that charmed us despite the many Craft goofs therein, and we’ve all encountered works that were technically perfect and as lifeless as the moon.
I raise this point, because sometimes, in an attempt to be more successful (however we’re defining it), we kid ourselves into trying on some facet of writing that is not really “us.” Or maybe we do the reverse—aware that it has no resonance for us whatsoever, we don’t leap on the latest hot commercial trend in publishing, and we feel guilty and anxious about it. At these times we need to remember that what our readers (including editors and agents) are hungry for is the piquant, chewy goodness that only we can provide. But we can only bring the zing when we’re truly excited about the story that we’re telling.
And in the end, it’s all about the zing.
Lucy Marsden is a romance writer living in New England. When she’s not backstage at a magic show or crashing a physics picnic, she can be found knee-deep in the occult collection of some old library, or arguing hotly about Story.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Voice—It's not just for manuscripts anymore (actually, it never was)
by Sophie Perinot
Query letters (*sigh*). Most writers would rather gnaw off their own arm than write one. But, if you want to make a run at acquiring an agent and getting a traditional publishing deal, there is no escape—write one you must. There’s a lot of chatter out there in writer-land about “the rules” of querying. Don’t believe me? Peruse the archives for any of the dozens of excellent agent or author blogs, or head over to one of the on-line writing communities (AgentQuery Connect is my personal favorite) and count the number of threads/posts devoted to crafting, critiquing and editing query letters. But one of the most important elements of a successful query is often overlooked in those numerous and lengthy discussions—voice.
This is a major oversight. I would posit that snagging an agent with a good query is NOT merely about what you say but is equally about HOW you say it. For those of you who have seen “The King’s Speech” (and if you haven’t, forget reading my post and get yourself that DVD) think of the moment at Westminster Abbey when Geoffrey Rush (playing speech therapist Lionel Logue) asks Colin Firth’s George VI of England, “Why should I waste my time listening to you?’ The King’s answer. . . “Because I have a voice.” If you want agents to listen to you, to pay attention to the punchy mini-synopsis of your oh-so-clever plot that you spent a gazillion drafts perfecting, then you’d better let the voice that imbues your manuscript sing out from your query letter as well.
Why is voice the forgotten step-sister of the query letter discussion and, consequently, MIA in so many structurally sound query letters? I think there are a couple of reasons.
Voice is not easy to define. There is no nice little check-list of steps that I (or anyone) can give you to follow in order to make certain that your query letter has voice. But I think every writer can learn to recognize the presence or absence of voice. As Justice Stewart said (in his concurring opinion in Jacobellis v. Ohio) “I know it when I see it”—okay, okay Justice Stewart was talking about obscenity not voice, but substitute the word and the point is the same. You can spot voice even if you can’t define it. You just need a little practice. Next time you sit down to read query letter examples (you can always head to the threads full of queries posted for critique at various writers’ sites for this exercise) don’t fall into line-edit mode. Don’t look for the flaws in the hook; point out the missing comma in the second sentence; or immediately notice that the writer has mentioned too many characters by name. Read the entire letter beginning to end rapidly to get a “feel” for it. Does the letter set a mood? Does it have a distinctive tone? Is the author’s style of writing consistent from beginning to end? Does the query create a world that you are sucked into (even if it is only for three brief paragraphs)? If the letter does any of those things, then—ding-ding-ding we have a winner—the letter has voice.
Voice is very individual. Once you’ve learned to sort query letters into “voiced” and “voiceless” piles you can’t merely use the queries that have a clear voice as a template for your own. Rats. You need to go back to the roots of the story you are trying to pitch—your manuscript. What tone and style of writing do you use to tell your story? If you were writing a blurb for the back cover of your novel how would it read? DON’T over think this (yes, I can see your brow furrowing already from my desk in cyberspace)! Just grab your keyboard and pound out one or two draft cover blurbs. Do they have voice? If so, imo, you are well on your way to a great query. All you have to do is massage those blurbs to make sure the critical information (hook, mini-synopsis, closing paragraph w/stats) agents expect in every query are all there. Remember, however, this “voice” approach does not mean writing your query in the same POV or tense as your book. Queries need to be third person present tense. It does mean creating the same ambiance.
Nothing kills voice like committee. Read that again. This is the most heartbreaking of my points. You’ve learned to spot voice. You’ve gotten back in sync with the voice that drove your manuscript and you’ve drafted a query letter that you believe employs that same voice. But you can still blow it by editing the voice out—often with the help of others.
Now it is wonderful (truly) that we writers have so many on-line resources today. Besides asking our faithful critique partners to take a look at our draft query, we can post it and get dozens of opinions from fellow writers. We can then re-post a newer version of our query and get opinions all over again. And somewhere along the way, in trying to incorporate all those suggestions (yes, even the excellent ones) we can stamp out all the voice our poor little query letter ever had. If you can bear one more quote, as Lady Bracknell says in The Importance of Being Earnest, “I do not approve of anything that tampers with natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a delicate, exotic fruit. Touch it, and the bloom is gone.” Now this time you need to substitute “voice” for ignorance. When improving your letter (and I am NOT suggesting that you cannot learn from others, or that you cannot edit a letter in a way that is beneficial) take care that voice is not trampled under foot.
Don’t let other writers re-write your query for you in their own style (I am sure I am oft guilty of this in my query critiques and I take this opportunity to publicly offer a mea culpa for such behavior). Err on the side of voice. Be prepared to ignore people. If you feel that making your letter fit a format or satisfy a majority of those who commented will destroy the voice of the letter step slowly away from the precipice. Thank everyone politely and then stop checking that darn comments thread. And remember that every comment should be “gut” checked. Trust your gut. Your gut (and your brain) wrote your manuscript. That puppy is probably 80k words so your gut and your brain can manage 200-300 words worth of query. I guess the position I am ultimately taking is: maybe a little feedback is better than a lot when you are trying to develop and project your author-voice. I would never have wanted 10 or 20 (let alone 30 or 50) opinions on my query. I got four. If that is heresy so be it.
What do you think—is voice as crucial an element in your query as in your manuscript? Is it as important as a clear synopsis of the plot? More important? Can voice alone can generate requests? Do you have a useful test/method to share for identifying writing with voice?
Query letters (*sigh*). Most writers would rather gnaw off their own arm than write one. But, if you want to make a run at acquiring an agent and getting a traditional publishing deal, there is no escape—write one you must. There’s a lot of chatter out there in writer-land about “the rules” of querying. Don’t believe me? Peruse the archives for any of the dozens of excellent agent or author blogs, or head over to one of the on-line writing communities (AgentQuery Connect is my personal favorite) and count the number of threads/posts devoted to crafting, critiquing and editing query letters. But one of the most important elements of a successful query is often overlooked in those numerous and lengthy discussions—voice.
This is a major oversight. I would posit that snagging an agent with a good query is NOT merely about what you say but is equally about HOW you say it. For those of you who have seen “The King’s Speech” (and if you haven’t, forget reading my post and get yourself that DVD) think of the moment at Westminster Abbey when Geoffrey Rush (playing speech therapist Lionel Logue) asks Colin Firth’s George VI of England, “Why should I waste my time listening to you?’ The King’s answer. . . “Because I have a voice.” If you want agents to listen to you, to pay attention to the punchy mini-synopsis of your oh-so-clever plot that you spent a gazillion drafts perfecting, then you’d better let the voice that imbues your manuscript sing out from your query letter as well.
Why is voice the forgotten step-sister of the query letter discussion and, consequently, MIA in so many structurally sound query letters? I think there are a couple of reasons.
Voice is not easy to define. There is no nice little check-list of steps that I (or anyone) can give you to follow in order to make certain that your query letter has voice. But I think every writer can learn to recognize the presence or absence of voice. As Justice Stewart said (in his concurring opinion in Jacobellis v. Ohio) “I know it when I see it”—okay, okay Justice Stewart was talking about obscenity not voice, but substitute the word and the point is the same. You can spot voice even if you can’t define it. You just need a little practice. Next time you sit down to read query letter examples (you can always head to the threads full of queries posted for critique at various writers’ sites for this exercise) don’t fall into line-edit mode. Don’t look for the flaws in the hook; point out the missing comma in the second sentence; or immediately notice that the writer has mentioned too many characters by name. Read the entire letter beginning to end rapidly to get a “feel” for it. Does the letter set a mood? Does it have a distinctive tone? Is the author’s style of writing consistent from beginning to end? Does the query create a world that you are sucked into (even if it is only for three brief paragraphs)? If the letter does any of those things, then—ding-ding-ding we have a winner—the letter has voice.
Voice is very individual. Once you’ve learned to sort query letters into “voiced” and “voiceless” piles you can’t merely use the queries that have a clear voice as a template for your own. Rats. You need to go back to the roots of the story you are trying to pitch—your manuscript. What tone and style of writing do you use to tell your story? If you were writing a blurb for the back cover of your novel how would it read? DON’T over think this (yes, I can see your brow furrowing already from my desk in cyberspace)! Just grab your keyboard and pound out one or two draft cover blurbs. Do they have voice? If so, imo, you are well on your way to a great query. All you have to do is massage those blurbs to make sure the critical information (hook, mini-synopsis, closing paragraph w/stats) agents expect in every query are all there. Remember, however, this “voice” approach does not mean writing your query in the same POV or tense as your book. Queries need to be third person present tense. It does mean creating the same ambiance.
Nothing kills voice like committee. Read that again. This is the most heartbreaking of my points. You’ve learned to spot voice. You’ve gotten back in sync with the voice that drove your manuscript and you’ve drafted a query letter that you believe employs that same voice. But you can still blow it by editing the voice out—often with the help of others.
Now it is wonderful (truly) that we writers have so many on-line resources today. Besides asking our faithful critique partners to take a look at our draft query, we can post it and get dozens of opinions from fellow writers. We can then re-post a newer version of our query and get opinions all over again. And somewhere along the way, in trying to incorporate all those suggestions (yes, even the excellent ones) we can stamp out all the voice our poor little query letter ever had. If you can bear one more quote, as Lady Bracknell says in The Importance of Being Earnest, “I do not approve of anything that tampers with natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a delicate, exotic fruit. Touch it, and the bloom is gone.” Now this time you need to substitute “voice” for ignorance. When improving your letter (and I am NOT suggesting that you cannot learn from others, or that you cannot edit a letter in a way that is beneficial) take care that voice is not trampled under foot.
Don’t let other writers re-write your query for you in their own style (I am sure I am oft guilty of this in my query critiques and I take this opportunity to publicly offer a mea culpa for such behavior). Err on the side of voice. Be prepared to ignore people. If you feel that making your letter fit a format or satisfy a majority of those who commented will destroy the voice of the letter step slowly away from the precipice. Thank everyone politely and then stop checking that darn comments thread. And remember that every comment should be “gut” checked. Trust your gut. Your gut (and your brain) wrote your manuscript. That puppy is probably 80k words so your gut and your brain can manage 200-300 words worth of query. I guess the position I am ultimately taking is: maybe a little feedback is better than a lot when you are trying to develop and project your author-voice. I would never have wanted 10 or 20 (let alone 30 or 50) opinions on my query. I got four. If that is heresy so be it.
What do you think—is voice as crucial an element in your query as in your manuscript? Is it as important as a clear synopsis of the plot? More important? Can voice alone can generate requests? Do you have a useful test/method to share for identifying writing with voice?
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