I am with my teenage sons in the grocery store. The cashier has a thick Eastern European accent. \u201cSo much rain, today!\u201d she says. I smile and start to respond.<\/p>\n
My son\u2019s foot nudges me. \u201cMom!\u201d he whispers. \u201cWatch your voice!\u201d<\/p>\n
That\u2019s because I have this annoying problem I call \u201cparrot-ear.\u201d When in conversation with a new person, I unconsciously adopt their vocal patterns, their accent. I know. It\u2019s strange. I don\u2019t mean to do it. The last thing I want to be is disrespectful. It\u2019s just that I\u2019m a bit socially anxious, so in order to get social interactions right, I concentrate extremely hard. Too hard.<\/p>\n
I bring this up because I think it translates into how hard we authors quest for authentic voice in our fictional characters. We often struggle, on the page, to \u201chear.\u201d To find that sympathetic rhythm of our creations\u2019 voices. We concentrate so hard on certain aspects of our stories \u2060\u2014 literary and real-life \u2060\u2014 that we can totally miss other things that are going on. (Both on the page, and maybe in the grocery store.)<\/p>\n
I only started writing fiction a few years ago. I had in mind a book about a twelve-year-old boy named Charlie \u2060\u2014 a story to honor the many road trips taken with my three sons through the years. These trips were never easy for my autistic middle son, and I wanted to write about that. About being challenged out of your comfort zone, about learning how to feel more at ease in the world.<\/p>\n
But I didn\u2019t want Charlie to represent or \u201cbe\u201d my son. Charlie had to be his own unique character, as well as a vehicle for the issues I wanted to address. The life-philosophies I wanted to discuss. The perceptions I wanted to confront. There was so much I wanted this voice to do. I began to hyper-focus on the giant load of responsibility I was cramming into this one character. Hmmm, so what would that voice sound like?<\/p>\n
Further: I wanted Charlie\u2019s autism to be natural, just part of him, never \u201cpointed out\u201d or \u201cpointed to.\u201d I wanted readers to hear Charlie\u2019s voice clearly, to see the world naturally through his eyes \u2060\u2014 not filtered through his label.<\/p>\n
As usual, I was starting to go overboard. I figured I\u2019d have to channel a bit of my son, patch in a few other young autistic friends, add voluminous research, concentrate extremely hard, and parrot it all together somehow.<\/p>\n
But that\u2019s not what happened. Instead, the minute I opened my laptop to start draft one, everything \u2060\u2014 all of that \u2060\u2014 mysteriously died away. And Charlie\u2019s voice appeared. Quiet, blunt, deadpan, funny. There he was.<\/p>\n
I guess I was ready for him, and he was ready for me. And as the cross-country story-journey unfolded, I had the odd sensation of chasing Charlie across the page, trying to keep up with everything he had to say.<\/p>\n
I still didn\u2019t understand enough about my own self to realize why, finally, it came so easily. I didn\u2019t realize until long after the first draft was finished, that in discovering Charlie\u2019s natural voice, I was starting, finally starting, to discover my own.<\/p>\n
Beta readers would look at me funny. \u201cHow did you manage to capture that voice?\u201d they\u2019d ask. \u201cHow did you know<\/em> to describe those particular feelings?\u201d<\/p>\n
![\"Cover](\"https:\/\/disabilityinkidlit.com\/test\/wp-content\/uploads\/the-someday-birds-300x453.jpg\")
<\/a>\t\n\t![](\"http:\/\/corinneduyvis.net\/images\/logo-bookshop.svg\"){kind=logo}
\n\t\t\t\t