Voice

This past week, my homework for Children's Book Writing was as follows:

"Pick a favorite passage of a favorite children’s book (or a grownup book). Pick a passage with no dialogue. Copy out a paragraph or two, word for word. Just to see how it feels to write those words. Then write a passage of your own on a completely different topic, emulating the writer’s voice. Or: Write a passage on the same topic, this time using your own voice."

If you didn't understand the assignment above, the goal of this exercise is to emulate the author's voice, whatever that may be.

My attempt below. The voice I'm trying (desperately) to emulate: Neil Gaiman in Coraline (excerpt from pages 52-53). Note: the idea for my character and story was established before this homework assignment.

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Essie took the thick book from the bookshelf and carefully blew the dust off. Her grandmother said it was old, but Essie didn’t expect for the dust to be this ancient.

Dust bunnies flew everywhere, including in Essie’s eyes, which immediately became watery. It looked like she was crying, but inside Essie was excited to finally discover the secrets hidden within the pages.

Essie sat on the purple sofa next to the bookshelves and cautiously placed the book on her lap. Her hands felt abnormally small. She traced the outline of the title with her fingertip, echoing the rough imprints that for so long had been quiet. Unseen. 

The Baxter Files

She read the title out loud. Saying the name Baxter made her feel giddy, like a first crush.

She opened the book to the index and saw the key words she had hoped to find: The Mortimer Mansion Years. That chapter was over one hundred pages and at least two thirds deep into the book. Clearly a lot had happened to Baxter before arriving to this spooky place. She craved to know everything. The mystery was killing her. 

Essie started to flip through the pages at a rapid pace, impatient for results, but still careful not to rip or dent any of the pages. She skimmed past a lot of black and white illustrations that gave her the creeps. She paused on a grim portrait of a girl who looked sad and lonely amongst the trees. There was a tree swing in the background. Essie looked hesitantly towards the window; she had been swinging on that same swing just yesterday. She was distracted by the depiction of the girl's solemn face, as if staring at the picture would provide her with any answers. Before she reached the Mortimer chapter, she heard the sound of hurried footsteps enter the library. They were walking towards Essie’s direction.

Her step-mother’s, she assumed. Lunch was probably ready. As quickly as she could muster, Essie stuffed the book under the sofa. For just a little while longer, The Baxter Files remained a mystery to Essie Mearns.