What Is Voice in Story?

If structure gives a story shape, and style gives it texture, then Voice is the soul behind the words.

It’s not a technique. It’s who you are as a writer, folded into the story.

Voice is that invisible thread. It weaves itself through everything we write. This occurs not because we placed it there on purpose. It happens because we couldn’t help but leave traces of ourselves behind.

And yet, for something so deeply personal, voice can be surprisingly hard to define or trust.

For years, I thought finding my voice meant deciding on one. I thought I needed a consistent tone, a signature style, a sound that said, “This is me.” But the more I wrote, the more I realized voice isn’t chosen. It’s revealed… slowly, imperfectly, through trial and error.

Your voice is shaped by everything you’ve lived through. The books you’ve loved. The conversations you’ve had. The parts of life that shook you awake.

It’s found in the words you keep coming back to…

It’s found in the tensions you can’t stop writing about…

It’s found in the emotional truths you risk putting on the page…

And here’s what I’ve found about mine:

My stories almost always center around strong women, not flawless heroines, but women who are deeply human, quietly or boldly fighting back against the disadvantages of a patriarchal world…

Whether she’s a pool technician uncovering ancestral secrets, La Piscina Inn, or a girl navigating grief in the aftermath of personal loss, Wi-Fi Interrupted, she’s always wrestling with something larger than herself, and often, something society would rather she stay silent about.

Spirituality and grief show up again and again in my work because they’ve shown up in my life.

I’ve written from the truth of widowhood. I’ve written from the ache of watching my children walk through the unthinkable at far too young an age. They faced losing a parent way too early.

That pain shaped not only my characters, but the compassion with which I try to write them. I explore questions of God, religion, faith, philosophy, doubt, and the tension between belief and experience. Sometimes I try to answer them. More often, I just give them space on the page.

My stories often explore the intersection of science and spirituality, like two sides of the same coin. There are always threads of philosophy, especially through characters who wonder… Why are we here? Who gets to write the rules? And what happens when we stop believing the version of the world we were given?

There’s also this recurring theme I can’t seem to let go of:

The truth we’re told is often just history written by the winners.

So my characters dig, question, and unearth. They resist what they’ve been handed and seek something more real, more human, and often more painful.

So yes, voice is found in syntax and rhythm, in pacing and tone.

But for me, voice is found in what I can’t help but write about, again and again.

But that doesn’t mean I’ve always trusted it.

Some days, I second-guess every word.

Other days, I try to shape-shift into someone else’s prose.

Because voice isn’t just about expression—it’s also about vulnerability. It requires courage to let yourself be seen.

So maybe the better question isn’t, What is my voice? Maybe it’s, What am I afraid to say?

Or even more honestly: What have I already been saying that I haven’t yet recognized as my voice?

If you’ve been searching for your voice, maybe start there:

What kinds of characters do you always come back to?

What’s the emotion beneath your favorite scenes?

Where does your writing feel most “alive,” even if it’s messy?

Your voice doesn’t need to be loud, polished, or perfect.

It needs to be true for you.

And sometimes, truth starts quietly.

Your Turn:

Freewrite for 5 minutes:

What have I already been saying in my writing without realizing it was my voice?

Or try this one:

What am I afraid to say, but know I need to write?

You don’t have to post it. You just have to write it.

Because your voice doesn’t start when you’re confident; it starts when you’re honest.