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We’re a little behind the curve, but my husband and I have been watching Only Murders in the Building, and I am obsessed.

But maybe not for the reasons you think.

I’m obsessed with Selena Gomez’s voice. I love the way she seems to speak a little bit on top of her larynx. I love the way her mouth hardly moves when she talks, and her almost flat but still nuanced delivery.

My husband likes to tease me about the fact that I get voice crushes and voice grudges. Many of my favorite musicians are favorites because I can’t get enough of their voice. Sam Smith’s buttery tone and sweeping range liquefies my innards. I feverishly air-conduct along with the soaring drama of Sia’s vocals, and sling serious lip-synch attitude to the saucy retro delivery of Meghan Trainor.

Conversely, while I greatly admire the music of the Grateful Dead, the Talking Heads and Dave Matthews, their respective lead singers’ voices are like the proverbial nails on the chalkboard of my soul. (And don’t ask me about Beyoncé or we’re probably going to fight.)

Voice Is More Than Vocals

“Voice” is much broader than just actual vocal tone—it encompasses an artist’s sensibility and style, the way they communicate and express themselves, their recurring topics and themes.

Recently we got hooked on the Apple TV show Shrinking—which I cannot recommend highly enough—and I bet my husband that it was the same creators of a show I loved that has a similar feel and sensibility, Cougar Town.

Sure enough, it was—creator Bill Lawrence was behind both, and I wasn’t surprised to learn that he also created Scrubs and Ted Lasso, or that Brett Goldstein—the actor who played Roy Kent on Ted Lasso and was also one of that show’s writers—was one of the writers for Shrinking. Those shows, too, share a similar feel.

In fact, “name that director/writer/singer/songwriter” is one of my favorite ridiculous games to challenge myself with (along with “name that actor”)—to see if I can guess a creator based solely on the voice and style of the creation.

You may already know that Bruce Springsteen wrote Mannfred Mann’s most famous song, “Blinded by the Light”—listen to it and you’ll realize it sounds just like a Springsteen song (and originally was). It may not surprise you that the BeeGees wrote Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers’s smash hit “Islands in the Stream”—doesn’t that have BeeGee sensibilities, if you listen to it?

Voice isn’t always something you can describe or even pinpoint, but like the infamous Supreme Court justice’s definition of porn, you know it when you see it—or feel it.

It’s what sets an artist’s work apart, what elevates it and gives it its style and feel, and often the reason you gravitate toward the same authors, musicians, and filmmakers over and over—you’re drawn to their particular voice.

That’s why it’s one of the most valuable skills you can develop as an author. The writers whose fans line up for preorders the moment they release a new book aren’t usually doing it because the plot sounds so exciting. Superfans don’t even need to know what the plot is—they’re buying the book on the strength of the writer and the way they vibe to her writing.

Agents and editors may decide if their interest is piqued based on a thumbnail description of the story—but it’s the voice that will or won’t keep them reading. Even think about how people often choose a book off the shelf: First they read what the story is on the back cover copy, but then many start reading the first page or thumbing through. What are they looking for? They want to see whether the voice captures them.

What Is Voice?

When we’re talking about voice in writing, we mean three things:

• Author voice
• Narrator voice
• Character voice

Character voice is how your characters speak and express themselves, and should vary among each distinct one, reflecting who they are and have been.

Narrator voice is the style and feel in which the story is told—which may be the same as character voice in first-person or deep-third POV, where the character is the one recounting the story—and can vary from story to story, even section to section within a story in the direct POVs (first and deep third), where different characters are taking over the narrative.

Author voice, though, comes from the truest, most authentic heart of you. Your voice began to be formed even before you were born, and it has been shaped increment by increment by every single circumstance and element of your life since: where you were raised, by whom, how, in what circumstances; your socioeconomic level, your education, your frames of reference and your experiences; your personality, sensibilities, values, and passions.

It can be affected by age and perspective, state of mind and mood. It encompasses your vocabulary, your phrasing and rhythm, your diction and word choice, your verbal tics and habits. It’s reflected in the speed at which you communicate, the way in which you find and express your thoughts, whether you are direct or circuitous, literal or figurative, humorous or serious, and every permutation of all the above.

Your voice is a complex pastiche of everything that makes you “you”—but that doesn’t mean that every story has to sound the same. You can access different aspects of voice for different stories, turn the spotlight in a different part of the “stage” of your psyche—witness Stephen King, the great voice chameleon, whose many books have a different feel across the many genres he writes in: horror, fantasy, nonfiction, YA, etc.

I hear many authors say they don’t know what their voice is, or how to create one. And my advice is always the same: Don’t.

I always think of an author’s comprehensive voice as various rooms in the mansion of your mind. Maybe you write some stories from one particular room but move to another for the next story, and another for the one after that. They’re all within the same house, but each room might have its very own décor.

Yet I hear many authors say they don’t know what their voice is, or how to create one.

And my advice is always the same: Don’t.

Pinpointing Creative Voice

The bonus round of my self-entertaining “name that artist” game I mentioned above is that I try to analyze what elements of what I’m reading/watching create that artist’s voice.

I’m digging Nadia Hashimi books right now, for instance. I know I can count on her stories to convey everyday elements of Afghan life in a deeply realistic way, with usually female lead characters facing some kind of oppression or injustice inherent in her society and culture who ultimately win some measure of autonomy against the odds, and which are written in a voice that’s seasoned with the rhythms and language and culture and imagery of Afghanistan.

Yet each of her stories is very different: a woman in modern-day Afghanistan facing trial for the murder of her husband; two women generations apart navigating gender roles and limitations in small Afghan towns; a family fleeing Taliban rule; an Afghan woman raised in America after her family was slaughtered in a communist coup who returns to Kabul to uncover the truth.

We’re watching The Diplomat on Netflix (brilliant, BTW), created by Debora Cahn. This series bears some of the same hallmarks of her previous work: the same type of fast-talking, fast-moving, thick political web of The West Wing and Homeland; the crisp banter, strong characterization, fast pace, and constant conflict common to all the projects she’s been involved with.

As with so many other elements of story, I often suggest to authors that the single best way to learn craft is by analyzing the stories of other creators like this—where you have built-in objectivity most of us lack in our own work.

Start paying attention to what you read, what you watch, what you listen to—even podcasts tend to have a unique voice and feel and sensibility. Ask yourself some questions:

• What is the “feel” or vibe of this story? E.g., overall funny and irreverent? Intense and fast-paced? Romantic and ornate? The range is infinite.
• Specifically what makes you feel that way? The themes or subject matter? The characters? The narrative style? It will usually be multiple factors.
• How exactly does the author convey that sensibility? Is it the sharp, edgy dialogue? The way the director shoots in extreme close-ups of the characters, or quick cuts, or long panoramic shots? The lyricism of the words or images? Etc.

Finding Your Own Voice

Your author voice isn’t something you have to manufacture or “do”—you already have a voice. All you have to do is uncover it.

I know that sounds a little like saying, “The Fountain of Youth is all you need to keep you forever young! You just have to find it.” But just like the only real fountain of youth already exists inside you if you access it, so does your voice if you uncover and free it.

In my book Intuitive Editing I talk about a number of ways to access and define what your voice is: by reaching deeper than default descriptions, avoiding cliché to discover your own unique perspective, monitoring the music of your natural speech and your writing. It can help you circle in on who you are—as a person and an artist—to explore questions designed to dig down into yourself:

• What element of story most draws/speaks to you? (E.g., character, plotting, etc.) Why—what about it?
• What drives you? What are your passionate interests? What are your core beliefs about people, the world, love, fairness, war, spirituality, etc.?
• What ideas, themes, topics, questions do you wrestle with or feel drawn to over and over?
• What’s your communication style—what kinds of words do you use, what rhythms? Are you succinct or ornate? Direct or oblique? Humorous or sarcastic, or serious or straightforward? Literal or figurative?
• Without thinking, write down three adjectives describing yourself.
• Write down three adjectives of how others would describe you.
• Write down three nouns summing up who you are as a person in your life/career—e.g., “helper, educator, editor.”

Play with Voice

There are many exercises you can use to identify other storytellers’ voice and continue to unlock your own.

Try some freewriting exercises, where you simply sit and write on a timer in brief bursts, without thinking or stopping to edit or revise. Try it with a variety of prompts:

• Write a scene from your own WIP in the style of your favorite author (or celebrity).
• Rewrite a passage of another author’s story in your own voice.
• Try different prompts: You have just won the PowerBall—first three things you do with your millions? What is your favorite (or most hated) movie or TV show or book you’ve been watching lately and why? Toilet paper roll up or toilet paper roll down, and why? What did you think of Will Smith slapping Chris Rock at the Oscars?
• Pick out a person when you’re people-watching, or select a casual acquaintance—a neighbor, a store clerk or server, etc.—and fast free-write a paragraph describing who this person is, based on what you see about them. Write a paragraph as this person about herself. Write a paragraph about them in the style of your favorite writer.
• Write a letter to your younger self telling them what’s awesome about them, and what you wish they knew about themselves.
• Write a letter to your elderly self telling them what you hope for for them, and what you fear.

I’ve been thinking a lot about voice lately as I develop my all-day preconference presentation at this year’s Writer’s Digest Conference in NYC, “The Supporting Elements of Story,” where we’ll dive into how to define and free your author voice with hands-on exercises like these, and copious examples. (The workshop also explores effectively using suspense and tension; momentum and pace; point of view; and showing and telling to elevate your writing and your stories.)

If you want to join me in NYC for it on August 17—either as part of the conference or just for the daylong workshop on its own—you can get a $50 registration discount now using code SPEAKER50.

How about you, authors—do you know what your author voice is? Are you conscious of it as you write, or do you let it come out naturally? How much of your voice is spontaneous and how much is crafted—and why? Do you have any tips or techniques you use to ensure your voice filters organically into your work?

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