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Your voice isn't yours

a lone squirrel on a wide green lawn, James Bay, Victoria 2022

One of the reasons I repeatedly fall off the writing wagon is that I get too far into the comparison trap.

I'll read Seth's blog every morning and wish I had his ability to riff on the same themes over and over, but from slightly different angles.

Or I'll get Bob Lefsetz's newsletter and admire his willingness to rant about darn near anything.

Or read one of Aunty Eden's stories and be stunned by how easily my heart soars or breaks, due to the honesty and clarity of her storytelling.

I fear that when I write, I'll mimic what they do because I admire them so much and that my mimicry will be pushed out in the world for all to see.

So I stop writing and go for a walk.

My walk yesterday helped me out, big time. I was walking and listening to The Artist's Journey by Steven Pressfield. His voice is perfect for my brain - any time I listen to him speak it's a wake up call and kick in the pants all in one.

I stopped walking when I got to the part about your superconscious, aka The Muse aka Your Voice.

Pressfield's belief is that our Voice comes from somewhere else. It's not us. At least not the 'us' that is walking down the road or trying to write like David Hieatt. It's on a whole other plane, man, and we're just the vessel.

Sounds woo-woo, but in my case, it helps.

I'm not writing to sound like Hunter S. Thompson or Bernadette Jiwa. I'm not even writing to sound like Mark Dyck.

I'm writing to sound like whatever my Muse wants to sound like. I'll just write it down and pass it over to you.