In the midst of Neil Gaiman’s Masterclass on The Art of Storytelling is a module all about “Finding Your Voice” as an writer. One of the exercises was to practice writing using another author’s “voice.” Here is the result.

E.B. White (Using Stuart Little as inspiration.)

Spot had always been quick on his feet, and liked the feeling of the grass on his paws as he ran around the yard with the children. After a good chase, he would find a sunbeam in the house and settle there to lick the dew from his paws, enjoying the warm golden light on his fur, which quite often, inspired him to take a nap. 

Daphne du Maurier (Using The Scapegoat as inspiration)

Although I could hear the plaintiff cries of the children who were following me, I didn’t slow my pace, and dashed along the cobbled streets of the village as fast as my legs would carry me. I was nothing but a blur of white and brown, streaking along the lengthy stone walls that led to the towne square and I wondered if there had ever been a beast who could run as fast as I. I rounded a corner, past the great grey church with its impressive turrets looming over me, and took joy in the clanging of bells which echoed through the streets, taking in the sweet aroma of freshly baked bread that wafted from the nearby bakery, every bit of it inspiring me to go faster.

Stephen King (Using The Langoliers as inspiration)

Running.
He was running as fast as he could.
Spot was faster than the mob of children behind him, and he knew it. He turned his head slightly, glancing over this shoulder, marking how many paces there were between his pursuers and himself. Why were they chasing him? He had little desire to find out.
The boy cried, “Stop, Dog! Stop!”
Spot thought, briefly, of his own boy, with the kind face and the mop of mousy brown hair that tousled carelessly into his eyes. The boy that tasted like salt and sugar, who slipped him scraps under the table when his mother wasn’t looking. The little dog dipped his head down as he quickened his pace. He was going home. And no one was going to stop him.

Vanessa Kinzey (Inspired by…me?)

The little white dog, with the gray saddled spot on his back, frolicked around the yard, closely followed by two young children, a boy and girl who seemed close in age. His thick tongue lolled out the side of his mouth, giving him the appearance of smiling. And he was happy. Was there anything in life more pleasurable than playing with your family? Spot had decided, long ago, that he liked the children best, as they seemed to enjoy running and playing as much as he did. Though he could have easily outrun the tiny humans, he slowed down just a bit so that they could catch him. He felt their lithe arms encircle his belly, as they fell into the grass with him, a mess of giggles and paws, topped off with one furiously wagging tail. The little dog quickly righted himself and joyously smothered his children with sloppy, wet kisses. Their squeals of delight only made him want to kiss them more. He was the luckiest dog in the world.

I don’t know if I feel that this exercise truly helped my find my voice, but it was GREAT FUN to put on the mantle of some of these authors. If I were to do this exercise again, I would write my paragraph first and then try my hand writing as other personas.

What do you think? Did I capture the essence of these writers?

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