After 13 novels and novellas, you’d think I’d found what I wanted to write. What I was good at or at least what I was interested in.
I did a writing class about finding an agent the other day. It was a good class, but what the writer said about finding their voice stuck with me. They limited what they wrote because, for some reason, they didn’t say. But it came out that those restricted things that they were doing dialed it back for publishing reasons. It limited who they were and what they wrote. It killed their voice.
I have written a vampire novel, a post-apocalyptic novel, a YA novel, an urban fantasy, two fantasy novels, a haunted house novel, a military/political thriller, and others I’ve forgotten.
You’d think I’d understand my voice by now. That I’d know what I should sound like on the page. I don’t know that I do. This is the hardest part of it. I loved writing all of those books. I enjoyed every page, and each character holds a special place. I’m not sure any of them are my voice. The urban fantasy or the military/political thriller comes the closest.
I love writing horror, but most of all, I love writing. I’m unsure what the future holds, but I’ll keep writing.
I’ll publish three books this year: two novellas and a collection. I have the covers and am dialing in the edits for all of them. I’ll post more when I have more to say.