Agents and editors often talk about how they love a manuscript because of the voice. But what is this nebulous thing called voice? And how do you give your story a stronger one?

“Voice” in storytelling can be hard to define, mostly because it’s so complex. On the surface, it’s the tone of a story’s narration, but it goes so much deeper than that. To cultivate voice, we must dive deep into our characters’ background, personality, and outlook and understand how these impact what they do, say, and think.

When considering voice, it’s helpful to analyze examples of strong voice. Here are a few of my personal favorites:

Kenya’s stank-eye reaches its highest level of stank. Denasia feels its sting and looks right at Kenya.

—The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas

May’s face got reddish and flushy. 
She started to raise her hand to tattletale. Only just then, the teacher called her name. 

—Junie B, First Grader: Cheater Pants by Barbara Park

Sitting at Prim’s knees, guarding her, is the world’s ugliest cat. Mashed-in nose, half of one ear missing, eyes the color of rotting squash. Prim named him Buttercup, insisting that his muddy yellow coat matched the bright flower… Sometimes, when I clean a kill, I feed Buttercup the entrails. He has stopped hissing at me.

Entrails. No hissing. This is the closest we will ever come to love.

—The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

Walking to school over the snow-muffled cobbles, Karou had no sinister premonitions about the day. It seemed like just another Monday, innocent but for its essential Mondayish, not to mention its Januaryness. It was cold, and it was dark—in the dead of winter the sun didn’t rise until eight—but it was also lovely. The falling snow and the early hour conspired to paint Prague ghostly, like a tintype photograph, all silver and haze. 

—Daughter of Smoke & Bone by Laini Taylor

Reading these passages, you wouldn’t confuse one of these point-of-view characters for another. They all have distinct voices, which makes the narration more interesting and draws readers in. So let’s analyze how these authors accomplish this.

One of the most obvious aspects of voice is word choice and syntax. For Junie B. Jones, Barbara Park uses childish words like “flushy” and “tattletale.” The sentences are short and a little choppy. While I’ve never read writing from an actual first grader that’s as entertaining as Junie B.’s narrative, Park does a great job of emulating a child’s language to make us believe a real child is telling us this story.

Thomas, on the other hand, uses language like “stank-eye” (and a lot of swearing) to reveal the culture Starr has grown up in. As a side note, Thomas also uses language differences in dialogue to show how Starr code switches when she’s with people in her “ghetto” neighborhood versus kids at her prep school.

For Katniss, Collins uses language that is blunt but perceptive, with sentence fragments sprinkled in. It fits her stand-offish personality and intelligence. In contrast, Taylor uses lyrical language like “snow-muffled cobbles” and long, flowing sentences for Karou’s narrative. Note that Taylor writes in third person, but the description is still filtered through Karou’s eyes. When Taylor says Prague is lovely, we know that it is Karou who thinks this, not some omniscient narrator.

So word choice, syntax, and sentence structure should all reflect the point-of-view character’s age, culture, education, personality, and interests. When doing line edits on your own work, consider carefully everything a character says, whether it’s dialogue or narrative. Are the words appropriate for a third-grade genius or a bubbly sixteen-year-old with ADHD or a grumpy businessman who’s been so focused on work that he’s neglected his love life? Does your character think and speak with long, perfectly crafted sentences or with brief, fragmented thoughts? (Do note, however, that there does need to be variation of sentence structure and length, or your writing will become monotonous.)

Notice, too, in these passages, that the word choices are specific and interesting, and they reveal the characters’ opinions. Katniss could end her description of “the world’s ugliest cat” with his nose and partially missing ear, but instead she goes on to say his eyes are “the color of rotting squash.” There’s nothing cliché here. The metaphor is surprising but fitting. The description also make Katniss’s viewpoint clear: she sees no beauty in this cat. If her sister Prim were narrating, the description of the cat would be vastly different, with positive imagery such as buttercups.

Similarly, Karou uses words like “paints” and “tintype photograph” when describing Prague early in the morning in January; it becomes immediately apparent that she’s an artist. (I have no idea what a tintype photograph is, but it seems beautiful and says something about Karou that she does know.) We can also tell that Karou loves this place even on a cold winter Monday.

In your own writing, consider how you can take advantage of descriptions to reveal information about both the person/setting being described and about your point-of-view character. Descriptions should be specific both to the character’s outlook and mood. For example, a rainy day might be comforting if you’re in a peaceful mood, while a sunny day might be grating if you’re angry or upset. One person might look at a woman and see extraordinary beauty, while someone else might look at her and see fakeness because she’s wearing too much makeup.

Here’s a paragraph from my contemporary YA fantasy that’s currently on submission:

I’m sitting next to a pasty-skinned guy who smells like soap and BO. I think his name is Phillip, and he’s going to be a senior, like me, but he’s homeschooled. I have a vague memory of him chasing me around church and trying to lick me in second grade. In the front, there’s a Chinese girl named Lila with bleach-blond hair leaning into the perfectly tanned gel-haired guy sitting next to her. She’s trying to sing or rap or something, and she’s completely offbeat and off-key. My fingernails are gouging my palms. There’s sweat dripping under my bra. My hair is clinging to my scalp, and for the first time I regret chopping it too short to put in a ponytail. Directly in front of me is Genevieve Jackson, sporting her usual curly Afro puff, and my stomach sizzles at the thought of being trapped with my former friend for the next four days.

From this passage, you can get an idea of what these people look like. More importantly, you can tell McKenna, the main character, doesn’t like any of them. She uses negative words like “pasty-skinned” and “offbeat.”  “Perfectly tanned” could be a compliment, but McKenna uses it derogatorily. It’s equally apparent she’s in a foul mood. The details she focuses on are unpleasant: fingernails gouging, sweat dripping, hair clinging, stomach sizzling. It all works together to highlight McKenna’s angst but also build some degree of empathy for her discomfort. In other words, it creates voice.

Voice also reveals a character’s personality. Are they deeply contemplative, or do they just accept things at face value? Are they an optimist or a pessimist? Do they use self-deprecating humor to diffuse the depth of their emotions? Consider how can you show all of this in their thoughts and reactions, as well as in their word choices and descriptions.

Other factors that impact voice are general concepts for strong writing:

• Use active voice most of the time and use passive voice sparingly and with a specific purpose. (The car rammed him. vs. He was rammed by the car.)
• Don’t overuse adjectives and adverbs, especially if they’re repetitive or can be replaced by a stronger word. (He walked slowly and lazily down the street. vs. He meandered down the street.)
• Avoid clutter words like started to, just, and suddenly. These words have their place and don’t all need to be removed. However, they’re often crutch words that don’t need to be there. Remove them if they aren’t serving a purpose.
• Watch out for filtering. These are words such as feel, think, see, and hear. For example: I hear the birds squawking. vs. The birds are squawking. The first sentence filters the sound of the birds through the point-of-view character’s thoughts, drawing attention to the idea that they’re hearing this. The second is more immersive because it allows the reader to experience the squawking directly. Filtering can have its place, but it typically decreases the immediacy of the description.

So how can you implement this in your writing? Personally, I find the first draft is where I explore a character’s voice, and line editing is where I refine it. If I obsess over word choice and syntax too much when drafting, I never get anything written. Since I’m already a slow drafter, I have to force myself to keep going if the words aren’t perfect. There’s a lot of voice that comes naturally in that first draft, though, and that gives me a starting point for revision. After I complete developmental/big-picture edits, I focus on the nitpicky aspects of voice. It’s my favorite part of the writing/editing process. I love when I get to play around with the nuances of language!

Overall, voice isn’t some nebulous aspect of writing. It does, however, take attention to detail and careful consideration of how character impacts language. To cultivate voice, you have to be intentional in your revisions and hone your words and sentences so they reflect the uniqueness of the characters you’ve worked so hard to develop.

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Jodi Herlick is a freelance editor, writing mentor, teacher, and author. She lives by a quaint pond in Minnesota with her husband, children, three cats, and a bearded dragon. Yes, she really does need all those cats.