The Sound Of Silence: covered by Keith Harkin (Celtic Thunder)


10 Key Points In How To Voice Your Writing

1. Write all the time! Develop a strong style.

2. Get opinions from other people, get their input

3. Write and rewrite until you love it

4. Don’t let anyone change your style of writing, keep with it but take suggestions

5. Use you! Use everyday occurrences, incorporate your own life to make it more relatable

6. Have thinking periods. Sit and think about how you perceive the world through your own eyes

7. Love, and be loved. Use emotion! Incorporate every emotion you’ve ever felt, draw them in

8. Use ideas, dreams, or thoughts you’ve had that mentally intrigue you

9. Explore, go out and look at scenery, describe it and dream about it. Imagine your story taking place there, how would you describe it in your style? Try writing a rewriting until you’ve found how it works best for you

10.  Find music. Listen to different types of music that you like and find the lyrics. Same with books. Look at how they are written, why do you like it so much? What is it about the writing you love? Use that to identify your own style

Articles On Writer’s Voice

Things To Improve On In My Writing

Well seeing as writing is never perfect, I would think write a few things. Even perfect writing is never perfect. Perfection is not a reachable thing, there is always room for improvement. I think, though, that the thing I’d need to improve on the most is consolidating my style. Style is not a very hard thing to develop, it is simply just how you write. Making it better, improving it, and elaborating on your style are the things that people have the most trouble with.  I find my writing pretty self explanatory, and others either find it unique, exciting, and very interesting, or if they don’t understand, they find it very nebulous. Nebulous is my style though, I’ve always found myself to be a more in-depth and abstract perspective writer. I suppose to fix it and to reach out to any reader, I should incorporate some fine detailing and solid plot. Making a shell of my writing to give a reader a good grip on the points I’m trying to get across. I started developing my style in grade 2 because I was in an advanced program and was reading at a grade 12 level with full comprehension. Style is something that is unique to every hand, yet very hard to grasp. To improve on style, I have been using this website    for good writing prompts, and then creating a mini scenario and re-developing it until it reaches the standards that I approve of. Afterwards, I get other people to read it and add in things so that I can appeal to other senses of intellect. This helps me integrate thoughts of real people and real readers. Developing and improving my style has always been difficult, but I will push myself to the limit!

Quote Explanation

You must find your own quiet center of life, and write from that to the world. — Sarah Orne Jewett

I agree with this quote on many levels. Writing is nearly impossible if one does not find a centre in which they can produce a subject to write in which people would actually find interesting. Capturing an audience is not always an easy thing. Though writing is for yourself, and unto your life, others that are reading need to relate in order to feel like the piece is good. If you find your own quiet centre, deep within yourself, and view the world from the outside in, you can not only write for yourself, but to the people. Analyzing human structure within and without yourself is difficult without having a quiet space to think and rerun ideas. Idealistic tendencies can be formed by spending less time with people, forming your own opinion and stronger ideas for a character you may have in mind. By doing this, you can identify a person that everyone else can see as relatable, but in a way they never thought because it is in everyone but not always shown. Therefore, finding one’s centre within themselves and connecting it to reality, writing to the world in which you’ve separated from is the root of all writing that is excellent.

Scavenger Hunt Quotes

A writer paradoxically seeks the truth and tells lies every step of the way. – Anne Lamott

Fiction reveals truths that reality obscures. — Jessamyn West

Most of the basic material a writer works with is acquired before the age of fifteen. — Willa Cather

You must find your own quiet center of life, and write from that to the world. — Sarah Orne Jewett

Good writing is bad writing that was rewritten. –Marc Raibert

As a writer you are free … You are the country where you make up the rules, the laws. You are both dictator and obedient populace. It is a country nobody has ever explored before. It is up to you to make the maps, to build the cities. Nobody else in the world can do it, or ever could do it, or ever will be able to do it again. — Ursula K. Le Guin

Write a first draft as though you were thinking aloud, not carving a monument. — Patricia T. O’Connor

When people tell you something’s wrong or doesn’t work for them, they are almost always right. When they tell you exactly what they think is wrong and how to fix it, they are almost always wrong. — Neil Gaiman

In writing fiction, the more fantastic the tale, the plainer the prose should be. Don’t ask your readers to admire your words when you want them to believe your story. — Ben Bova

The role of the writer is not to say what we can all say, but what we are unable to say. — Anais Nin

The Button

The cold metal outer ring shone through the cloth as she tightly wrapped her hood shut. The patterns in the everlasting knot kept her close to her path. It was her mothers from the other kingdom before she was married off to the kingdom of the coast. The wind rang through her ears and she pulled up her hood to cover her face and slipped the button through the eye. Her thumb traced the old celtic patterns that laced the outer rim of the soul button of her belonging. The dark was painting the sky to illuminate the dusty moon which more or so looked like a cats eye. Its tail swept down, blowing fog into the ginnel as she crept through the muck. She was banned from leaving the castle for the wood that lay beyond the point had a poisonous thought that seeped into the minds of the townsfolk. Though she promised to visit. She did. The dreams and nightmares of small children lit up the forest with unimaginable creatures that should not have come to be. she gripped her basket closely and swiftly floated amongst the fog. No one had noticed her for the townsfolk caressed their children and blew out candles in their bedrooms, preparing for the nights rest. She reached the edge of the kingdom and wrapped her slender fingers around a small iron grate. She need not worry, for her dress was left on the bed and she had put on her husbands trousers to trample into the mote. Soon after, the edge of the woods was near and she grasped at the neck of her hood, feeling the button. The hope of a guide was far from possible at this time, but the button held the hope of her dear mothers will for travel. She entered the thick, dark mass and prayed to her God that she would find her path. The scent of bread grew from her basket since the stench of the town had left. The forest hid all that it could like a mask at the ball. The beauty of it escaped her mind as she felt a waltz in harmonious correlation to the music of the soft wind. The house was not much further, well so she thought. A well of butterflies began spiralling out of her mouth when she heard a crack. The light of the house was visible from her standpoint; and she ran.

The townsfolk were sent into the woods to find her the next day Chilling screams would be faintly heard, but no one admitted they could hear them; if they were real at all. On a tree, he thought, out of the corner of his eye, was a red cloth.  The lot ran over only to find an embroidered red hood with a single button. It was cold and delicate. The old celtic knotted design revealed the symbol of the neighbouring kingdom. Only one woman from that town owned such a button. No one knew her name for she never left the castle. She was told to the children as the one who should have listened. A bed time story that could keep children safe.

No one found the house. Though one little boy smelled the fresh baking of bread and wandered off. He said he saw a young woman, dancing along the river beside a small house that disappeared as soon as he blinked. He could still hear the laughter and beautiful voice of the woman, singing songs of her freedom.