Finding Character Voice

Finding Character Voice

“Character voice” is rather self-explanatory, simply being the unique way a character speaks or narrates. Every character has a voice, some may just stand out more than others, and part of becoming a better writer is learning to work with voices that are unlike your own. Here are some ways to get started on finding a character’s voice once you have a character concept in mind:

Look into their background. What’s their education level? Does the area they come from have any specific sayings? Speech patterns are influenced by a surprising amount of external or upbringing-related elements, especially when it comes to slang and some aspects of grammar, so learn to look beyond the “now” for finding voice.

Personality and mood affect voice. A laid-back person is unlikely to speak or narrate in a snippy tone, unless that subject matter is super important to them. Likewise, a critical person may judge other characters more than another narrator. 

Everybody has quirks of speech. Can also be known as ‘verbal tics’, though ‘quirks of speech’ refer to general unique speech patterns as opposed to a specific sound. 

Voice is more than just tone. It’s related to perspective and how the character comments on the things they notice. Two characters may see the same tree, but the artist may describe the tree with specific colors whereas a nature-lover may know the species and its stage of life. The information that’s given to the reader through the narrator is a form of voice. 

Some techniques for teasing out potential voice are:

Interview your characters with a series of simple questions that get harder and harder. Get personal. See what comes out in how they respond.

Write a letter as if by their hand, about a subject they’re passionate about.

Try acting things out as if you were that character. Have imaginary conversations or test different tones spoken out loud to test the effects. 

Create a scene, then test it witch each different character. What do they notice that’s different from others? What’s the order of things that they notice?

Throw each character into the exact same problem. How do they each handle it differently? 

Good luck with your work and if there are any questions, drop them in my ask box and I’ll see how I can help. Just please read my Rules and Considerations page to make sure I’m the best resource, and consider a Gift of Coffee to grant me an energy boost, if you’re feeling generous.

#letRomapeoplelive

SPEAK UP AGAINST THIS BULLSHIT

It’s 2017 and the Hungarian government is legitimately taking about putting us in “camps”. I never want to hear another gadjekane fuck tell me that our people don’t suffer in Europe and all over the world.

I believe L started in his late teens, simply because many people expect L to be a middle-aged man. Explanation: L has been working as a detective for a very long time, so the reasoning of the police was that he either started in his twenties and now is middle-aged or he started middle-aged and now is a lot older. His deductions are quick and to the point so many people found it more probable to believe in the first option. We know that L is in his mid-twenties so returning back in time leads us to: late teens

L Headcanon

L’s parents abandoned him because he was autistic and they couldn’t deal with it. They left him near a church, hoping that somebody would find him, and the last thing his mom said to him was: “We’ll be back soon. Just you wait.”

He never had wanted to change his outfit because he was wearing a white shirt and jeans that day and deep in his heart he was still hoping that his parents would still recognize him.

Wow you're so talented. Love the hair 😁

I don’t have freaking adjectives for describe this game °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

Okay, so I just saw this and I couldn’t help but ANGST (because old-looking photographs make me sad, OKAY??)

Suffer Enjoy

Roy was sitting down at his table. First day of work, after, well, everything. He took in the view of his office and started to feel it’s emptiness and size. There were so many memories laid upon the shelves of this room, yet he recalls none. He looked down at his table, noticing the cup of coffee that was seated upon it. Must be Fuery, that caffeine-addicted comrade. Roy took a sip, only to notice (maybe for the first time in forever) how bitter and unpleasant is the taste of coffee. He added some sugar. It didn’t help. Even if Hawkeye was never making his coffee, Roy had to admit that without her it will never taste the same. Whatever she was adding into it is gone forever, gone with her. It was an understatement to say that Mustang was not feeling well. Because ‘not feeling well’ is not something you say to a person that feels emotionally torn over a cup of coffee. Coffee was the colour of her eyes. Coffee was the colour of the dirt she was shot on. Roy could see it as a vision, her pale face, filled with pain and defiled with her blood. That memory was all that was left of her. He spilled the coffee in the bin next to his table and got up. As he was putting on his coat he decided to leave the Headquarters. The alchemist prepared an excuse of being sick, but he knew his subordinates would pardon him anyway. After all, he was terminally ill with loss. He got up, proposing to himself to drown the sorrow with something stronger than coffee. Mustang will never know what was the volume that would fill the emptiness because, at that moment, his friend came trough the door. His friend Maes Hughes was looking worried, which made Roy straighten up a bit. Hughes knew very well what his friend was doing. He also knew there was no way talking about it would make this easier for Roy now, would it? Instead, he fumbled around his pockets and decided to get to the point:

“I have something for you… I found it in some old files. It’s, well, it won’t fix anything, Roy. But I feel like you’re the person that should have it. Like you’re entitled to it.”

Hughes handed him a white piece of paper, no wait, it was a photograph. Roy looked at it and felt his heart shake. On the photograph was none other than Riza Hawkeye. Her ocean-like uniform was covered with less medals than Roy had remembered or, at least, less than she deserved. He looked at her posture, as proud as always; he looked at her hair, as golden as always. For a split second he felt her being there with him and the image of her lying on the ground, soulless, became non-existent. Because for that split second, he looked at her face.

“It’s perfect.”

He could feel his eyes letting go of the tears that were pilling up.

“Thank you.”

His gratitude could not be heard from his tone, because these words were said in a rushed voice that tried to outrun the emotions, the kind of emotions that make people unable to speak.

Maes silently looked at his friend, with an expression one could find humorous. Roy was never the crying type. Maes was sure that his friend didn’t even have tearducts. He always joked that if he ever saw Roy cry, Maes would be prepared to get up, even from his grave to witness it. Now that he actually convinced himself of Roy’s humanity, the soldier felt that he had seen something incredibly private, and therefore felt the need to get going. He simply walked away knowing that Roy wouldn’t mind his bad manners.

The Hero of Ishval was still looking at the Hawk’s eye he held in his hands. He was able to remember her again, properly. Her voice, her walk. Her smell, her strength. Her virtues, her faults. No this was not the woman he saw bleed out in pain. This was an angel. An angel that gave everything for him. How can an angel promise to follow him into hell? He took the photograph and held it close to his heart. He held it gently because he didn’t know how frail this Riza was. And he didn’t feel like losing her again. After a few moments he stopped with his emotional episode to proceed with the intention of leaving Headquarters. But now he didn’t have alcohol in mind. Now he found the strength to move on. He, no, They had a dream. A dream worth fighting and dying for. Just like she did. Just like he will.

Thank you for reading,

I don’t feel like polishing or editing this so please forgive me gramatic errors, repetitive wording and the lack of well-educated vocabulary. This was something I thought spontaneously and so spontaneously written it shall be. Thank you again!

“Let’s just make a quick drawing to cheer ourselves up”

*Me, three hours later* “Fuck.”

Yesterday I was looking at the FMA artbooks by Arakawa (I desperately want to buy the 3rd one but the shipping is so expensive to Chile T_T ) and there’s one photo with Riza and a huge smile? I was like “Bless this picture forever” like, we don’t get to see her smiling that much, most of the time she’s serious.

Also, I thought that maybe Hughes was carrying around a camera to take photos and he was the one who took some of them. (It’s very plausible, I mean, look at all the photos he has of Elycia)

Bless her smile.

Learning never exhausts the mind.

Leonardo Da Vinci (via quoteandinspire)

Leonardo was a 100% Ravenclaw a no one can prove me otherwise @ravenclawravings