Jim Bouton gave me the best advice I ever got on developing voice or style as a writer.
Bouton, remember, was the New York Yankees pitcher who became a literary sensation in 1970 with his scandalous book Ball Four. Later in life, he became a protector of baseball’s truest values. I met him at a “vintage” baseball game–a game played with nineteenth-century rules.
I brought a couple of Little Leaguers to this game. They asked if they could get some pitching tips from Bouton, who won 20 games for the Yankees in 1963.
The challenge, Bouton said, was finding the best possible motion. No sport has such a variety of motions as baseball. Motions are the signature of great pitchers, e.g., Bob Feller’s high leg kick, Tom Seaver’s drop-and-drag, Luis Tiant’s body-twist, Bob Gibson’s falling followthrough, Chad Bradford’s dirt-scraping submariner, Fernando Valenzuela’s skyward gaze, Tim Wakefield’s push pitch, Hideo Nomo’s long reach, and Dennis Eckersley’s slingshot. So how can a young pitcher find his own best possible motion?
The answer, Bouton said, could be discovered in long-tossing.
To develop a motion, don’t even think of developing a motion. Instead, play catch from long distances. Toss the back and forth, with a friend, from the longest possible distance. Lean back and let the ball soar. Get in a rhythm. Then move a little closer and play catch again, getting into a new rhythm at that distance. Over time, get closer and closer. Eventually, you will be playing catch from the distance between the pitcher’s mound and home plate. That will be your natural pitching motion.
Likewise, as a writer, do not try too hard to develop your distinctive style. Just write, as naturally as possible. Pretend you;re writing a letter home or talking with a friend.
Write long, meandering passages and short, telegraphic passages. Use a cascade of simple words. Describe using specific details. Deploy sensual images, then evoke sound and touch. Usually write right-branching sentences but try some left-branching sentences too. Play with punctuation: try to use as few punctuation marks as possible, then construct sentences that deploy all the tools in your kit. Be literal and be figurative. Move back and forth, like a pendulum, between scene and summary, short and long sentences, and abstract and concrete lamguage.
Play with language, without any intent to develop your “voice.” When you have written something, edit it to make sure that any audience can follow what you do. Think carefully about where you “meet” your reader at the beginning of the piece and where you want to take them.
This is the equivalent of long-tossing. You are writing, in the most natural way possible. By not thinking too much about voice, your voice will emerge.
It cannot happen right away. Just as it took years for you to speak at a high level, it will take some time for your to write in a distinctive way. That’s OK. There is no rush.
Whatever you do, do not devise a voice artificially. It has to come from your best skills and habits as a writer (which means you need to develop those skills in the first place). You will never develop your own voice if you are slave to some else’s voice. Do not aim to be Fitzgerald or Gilbert, Woolf or Wolfe, Hemingway or Mencken. Imitations are annoying and distracting. Don’t imitate arch academic writing or policy language.
You be you.
As you work to find your truest voice, the great Steven Pressfield notes, do not write for your own selfish, preening, attention-seeking ego. Be a servant of the topic and the reader:
What voice does the material want? Find that. You the writer are not there to impose “your” voice on the material. Your job is to surrender to the material–and allow it to tell you what voice it wants in order to tell itself.
Throw your pitch to the catcher. When you do that–at whatever distance–you will find your best style.