what makes your writing yours

Sometimes, it feels like all the stories have been told. This is OBVIOUSLY not true but it's a good lead into what I've been thinking about going through NIGHT SOIREE.

Even with all the tropes and the predictable books that feel like books we've read a hundred times, the story that hasn't been told is YOUR STORY in your voice.

That doesn't mean it has to be a story about you or your life. The characters don't have to have lived your experiences. It can all be made up or gathered from research (/reading). But whatever story you tell, you, as a writer, have your own voice. No one else has that voice, so it should be easy to simply WRITE in that voice that only you have.

Alas, it's not that easy. Because in our quest to tell unique stories that are clever and interesting and unique, we may lose sight of our voice. I don't think there is anything wrong with that, per say, but the idea of writing in my own voice made NIGHT SOIREE such a un book to write. And, now, reading it back for the second draft, I see how chaotic and funny and tender the characters are, how fun the story is (at least in my extremely biased opinion). It feels like me, not what I thought I should write or what I was trying to write, but what I WANTED to write. As simple and not simple as that.

Anyway, I hope this helps when you're sitting down to write. I'd love to hear what works for you!

Now, a snippet of NIGHT SOIREE in which a vampire (Val) shares a beverage with a dangerous warlock (Lord Umbra) while they commiserate about the sisters driving them mad.

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Lord Umbra took a sip. The golden mask hid his face, but his eyes danced with pleasure.

“Is that how I look when I'm drinking blood? It’s dreadful,” Val observed. He would need to be more mindful of allowing pleasure to get the better of him.

Unbidden thoughts of Clove floated into his mind, then. Her blue hair was a much deeper shade than this drink but he wondered how she’d look in a shade of cerulean…

Suppressing a growl, Val roughly grabbed a needle from the top of his ear and stabbed his palm over and over until all thoughts of Clove were gone, and all that remained was the pulse of blood and pain.

“That’s how you look when you’re thinking about, Clove, vampire,” Lord Umbra smiled. “The drink is one that was served at my Engagement Soiree. It was Bly’s favorite. It’s called a Sky Fizz.”

Val wanted to make a snide remark about the girl that had caused all of this. An entire Realm of cursed towns and people and suns that stopped rising. But, in a very short time, he too had fallen under the spell of one of these sisters.

Maybe they were better off destroyed. These dangerous sisters who had enchanted a violent vampire and mad warlock.

If only Lord Umbra could be persuaded.

Val took a sip of the drink, and felt the tension wound tightly inside him begin to loosen. His veins fizzed in bursts of sweet tartness as the drink coursed through him, bringing warmth to his usually chilled hands and feet.

“Better than blood,” Lord Umbra already was on his second glass.

“Blood is what’s keeping you alive,” Val responded. “But I suppose it is pleasant.”

“Good thing I don’t live for your praise,” Lord Umbra said. “Or I should be dead already.”

“Save your theatrics for the next challenge. Which will be?”