How to Find Your Writing Voice as a Beginner
Introduction
Have you ever read something and known almost immediately who wrote it?
Perhaps it was a favourite author.
A poet.
Or even somebody whose writing you’ve only recently discovered.
You might not have seen their name.
But there’s something about the way they write.
The words they choose.
The rhythm of their sentences.
Their humour.
The way they describe something that makes you smile, laugh, cry or simply stop and think.
And somehow, you just know.
That’s their voice.
And if you’re beginning your own writing journey, you may have wondered:
How do I find mine?
It’s a good question.
Because when we start writing, it’s incredibly easy to compare ourselves with other writers.
We read something beautiful and think:
“I wish I could write like that.”
Then we look at our own writing.
And suddenly it doesn’t seem quite so impressive. 😅
I know that feeling.
Sometimes I’ll write something, read it back and think:
“That’s actually quite good!”
Then I’ll read it again twenty minutes later and wonder what on earth I was thinking. 😂
Welcome to writing.
But there’s something I’ve started to appreciate more and more throughout my own writing journey.
Being a good writer isn’t necessarily about sounding like somebody else.
It’s about learning how to express something in a way that feels natural, meaningful and uniquely yours.
And that takes time.
Practice.
Experimentation.
And a little courage.
Because your writing voice isn’t something you need to find before you begin.
It’s something you develop through writing itself.
In this guide, we’ll explore what a writing voice actually is, how to recognise your own and some practical ways to develop it.
We won’t be trying to turn you into the next Shakespeare.
Or Stephen King.
Or Jane Austen.
They’re already rather good at being themselves. 😅
Instead, we’re going to focus on something much more useful.
Helping you become a writer who sounds like you.
Contents
1. What Is a Writing Voice?
2. Stop Trying to Sound Like a Writer
3. Discover Your Natural Writing Voice
4. Learn From Other Writers Without Copying Them
5. Experiment With Different Writing Styles
6. Write About What Really Matters to You
7. Edit Without Losing Your Voice
8. Try a Seven-Day Writing Voice Experiment
9. Helpful Hints: Finding Your Writing Voice
10. Final Thoughts
1. What Is a Writing Voice?
Let’s begin with the obvious question.
What exactly is a writing voice?
Because despite the name, it has very little to do with how your actual voice sounds.
Your writing voice is the personality that comes through in the words you write.
It’s a combination of how you think, what you notice, how you feel and how you choose to express those things.
Let me give you an example.
Imagine three writers describing exactly the same situation.
It’s raining outside.
Writer One:
“The rain fell steadily against the window as the evening slowly turned to night.”
Writer Two:
“Thunder shook the windows, and rain battered the rooftops as though the world itself had declared war.”
Writer Three:
“Brilliant. Another day of rain. At this point, I was beginning to wonder whether the sun had permanently resigned.”
All three describe rain.
But they feel completely different.
One is calm and descriptive.
One is dramatic.
And one is slightly sarcastic.
None is automatically better than the others.
They’re simply different ways of expressing the same idea.
And that’s important.
Your writing voice isn’t defined by whether you use beautiful language, complicated sentences or extraordinary descriptions.
Sometimes the simplest words have the greatest impact.
Consider:
“She was gone.”
Three words.
Nothing particularly clever.
Yet depending on the story surrounding them, those three words could completely break somebody’s heart.
A powerful writing voice isn’t always about what you say.
Sometimes it’s about how you choose to say it.
And what you choose to leave unsaid.
2. Stop Trying to Sound Like a Writer
This is something I think many beginners struggle with.
We sit down to write.
Open a blank document.
And suddenly feel as though we need to become somebody else.
Somebody cleverer.
More sophisticated.
More literary.
Somebody who uses words like “melancholy”, “ethereal” and “existential” without having to check what they mean. 😂
And before we realise it, we’re writing sentences we’d never normally say.
Perhaps something like:
“The incandescent celestial body descended beyond the distant horizon, illuminating the terrestrial landscape with an exquisite tapestry of chromatic brilliance.”
Lovely.
Possibly.
But what does it actually mean?
The sun was setting.
Sometimes that’s enough.
Of course, there’s nothing wrong with beautiful, elaborate language.
I love it when it works.
But there’s a difference between choosing words because they express exactly what you want to say and choosing them because you think they’ll make you sound impressive.
And readers can sometimes feel that difference.
So here’s something worth trying.
The next time you write a paragraph, ask yourself:
“Am I writing this because it’s what I want to say?”
Or:
“Am I writing this because it’s what I think a proper writer should say?”
If it’s the second one, try again.
Use your own words.
Your own expressions.
Your own way of thinking.
You can always improve the sentence later.
But first, give yourself permission to sound like yourself.
3. Discover Your Natural Writing Voice
One of the easiest ways to begin recognising your writing voice is to imagine you’re talking to somebody.
Not delivering a lecture.
Not writing an essay for an examiner.
Just talking.
Perhaps to a friend.
Imagine you’ve had a terrible day at work.
You wouldn’t normally begin by saying:
“Today presented a considerable number of occupational challenges that negatively influenced my emotional well-being.”
Well…
I hope you wouldn’t. 😅
You might say:
“What a day! Honestly, I don’t know where to begin.”
And suddenly there’s personality.
Emotion.
Something recognisably human.
Now, I’m not suggesting every piece of writing should sound like a conversation.
A gothic horror story will probably require a different approach from a friendly blog article.
But starting with natural language can be incredibly useful.
Another thing I’ve noticed is that we all have little habits when we write.
Some of us love descriptions.
Others prefer dialogue.
Some use humour.
Others naturally write short, emotional sentences.
And some of us have a habit of starting one story, wandering into three completely different subjects, and eventually remembering what we were talking about in the first place.
Not that I’d know anything about that. 😅😂
These little habits can become part of our writing voice.
Try this simple exercise
Find three things you’ve written.
Perhaps a story.
A poem.
And a personal message.
Read them slowly.
Then ask yourself:
– What kinds of words do I naturally choose?
– Do I prefer short or long sentences?
– Do I use humour or emotional descriptions?
– What ideas or expressions keep appearing?
– Which parts feel most natural to me?
You might discover patterns you’ve never consciously noticed.
And that’s where things begin getting interesting.
Because those little habits are often part of what makes your writing recognisable.
They’re your writing fingerprints.
4. Learn From Other Writers Without Copying Them
I think reading is one of the most useful things a developing writer can do.
Not just because books are wonderful.
Although they are.
But because every author offers us an opportunity to learn something new.
How they introduce characters.
Build tension.
Describe settings.
Create dialogue.
Or make us care about somebody who doesn’t actually exist.
That’s quite an extraordinary skill when you think about it.
But there’s a small danger.
When we discover a writer we absolutely love, we may begin trying to sound exactly like them.
Perhaps you’ve just finished reading a fantasy novel filled with beautiful descriptions.
Suddenly, everything you write becomes dramatic.
The wind no longer blows.
It “whispers through the ancient corridors of forgotten time”.
Your character doesn’t walk to the shops.
They “embark upon a perilous journey through the unforgiving streets of destiny”.
All because they need some milk. 😂
Now, there’s nothing wrong with experimenting.
In fact, it’s an excellent way to learn.
But rather than trying to become another writer, ask yourself what you actually enjoy about their work.
Is it their imagination?
Humour?
Dialogue?
Emotional honesty?
Or their ability to create suspense?
Once you’ve identified what you admire, try learning from the technique rather than copying the voice.
For example, if you love how an author builds suspense, pay attention to how they reveal information.
Then experiment with those techniques in your own story.
Try this:
1. Read widely.
2. Learn constantly.
3. Experiment freely.
I can’t recommend these three really important steps enough!
But remember that the aim isn’t to become another version of your favourite author.
It’s to become a better version of yourself.
5. Experiment With Different Writing Styles
This is one of my favourite ideas.
Because sometimes we don’t discover what feels natural until we experiment with something completely different.
Let’s imagine a simple scene.
A woman returns home.
She opens the front door.
And discovers a letter waiting on the table.
Nothing particularly exciting.
Yet.
Now let’s write it in three different ways.
Version One: Suspense
The front door was unlocked.
Strange.
She was certain she’d locked it.
Inside, the house was silent.
Except for the clock.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
And on the kitchen table…
A letter.
Addressed in handwriting she hadn’t seen for twenty years.
Version Two: Romance
She recognised the handwriting immediately.
Even after all these years.
The same beautiful curves.
The same little flourish beneath her name.
Her hands began to tremble.
And before she’d even opened the envelope, she was smiling.
He’d remembered.
Version Three: Humour
Another letter.
Wonderful.
Probably another bill.
Or somebody offering to replace the windows she’d already replaced last year.
She opened the envelope.
Read the first line.
Then sat down.
Well.
That certainly wasn’t from the electricity company.
Three versions.
One situation.
Completely different experiences.
And we could create many more.
Horror.
Science fiction.
Comedy.
Tragedy.
The possibilities are enormous.
Your turn
Choose a simple situation.
For example:
“Somebody is waiting at a railway station.”
Write it three times.
First, make it romantic.
Then frightening.
Then funny.
You don’t need more than 100 words for each version.
When you’ve finished, compare them.
Which felt easiest?
Which did you enjoy most?
Which sounded most natural?
There isn’t a correct answer.
The purpose is to explore.
Because sometimes we discover our creative strengths by stepping outside the kind of writing we normally produce.
6. Write About What Really Matters to You
So far, we’ve talked quite a lot about how you write.
But there’s another important part of developing your voice.
What you choose to write about.
Because your writing is influenced by the way you see the world.
• Your experiences.
• Memories.
• Beliefs.
• Questions.
• The things that make you happy.
• And sometimes the things that hurt.
Two people can witness exactly the same event and come away with completely different stories.
– One notices the colours.
– Another notices the people.
– One remembers what was said.
– Another remembers everything that wasn’t.
And neither is necessarily wrong.
They simply experienced the moment differently.
As a writer, that’s something I find fascinating.
When I move between poetry, stories and articles, the way I write changes.
But I often find myself returning to certain ideas.
• People.
• Emotion.
• The little moments that can mean so much more than they first appear.
And I think recognising what genuinely matters to us can help us understand our writing.
Ask yourself five questions
1. What subjects could I happily talk about for hours?
2. What kinds of stories have stayed with me throughout my life?
3. What makes me laugh, cry or become angry?
4. What do I wish more people understood?
5. If somebody remembered just one thing from my writing, what would I want it to be?
Don’t rush these questions.
You don’t have to answer them all today.
But they may help you recognise the ideas, emotions and experiences that naturally influence your writing.
And the perspective that makes them yours.
You don’t have to share deeply personal experiences, either.
Sometimes imagination allows us to explore an emotion just as powerfully.
What matters is finding subjects and ideas that genuinely interest you.
Because when something matters to you, there’s a better chance you’ll find something meaningful to say about it.
7. Edit Without Losing Your Voice
Editing is important.
Very important.
But I think there’s a danger when you’re beginning.
You write something naturally.
Something that feels good.
Then you start correcting it.
And correcting it.
And correcting it again.
Until eventually, the sentence is technically excellent.
But somehow…
You’ve lost whatever made it interesting in the first place.
Let’s imagine you write:
“I wanted to scream.
But I couldn’t.
So I smiled instead.”
Now, somebody might suggest combining those sentences.
Perhaps:
“Although I desperately wanted to scream, I found myself unable to do so and consequently chose to smile instead.”
Grammatically acceptable.
Certainly longer.
But does it have the same impact?
For me, no.
The short sentences create hesitation.
They allow the reader to feel the conflict.
And the final line changes how we understand the smile.
That’s a deliberate writing choice.
And it’s worth protecting.
Of course, short sentences aren’t always better.
Neither are long ones.
It’s about understanding the effect you’re trying to create.
So when you’re editing, ask yourself:
– Does the writing make sense?
– Have I explained what I intended?
– Does it flow naturally?
– Have I removed anything important?
– Does it still sound like me?
Sometimes editing will improve your voice.
Other times you’ll discover that the original sentence worked better.
That’s fine.
You can change it back.
And when somebody offers feedback, remember that not every reader enjoys the same style.
Listen carefully.
Consider their suggestions.
Learn from constructive criticism.
But don’t feel you must change every sentence simply because somebody else would have written it differently.
Good editing should strengthen your writing, not remove everything that makes it yours.
And remember, your writing voice will continue to change as you learn and grow.
That’s not something to fear.
It’s something to look forward to.
8. Try a Seven-Day Writing Voice Experiment
If you’re still unsure what your writing voice sounds like, here’s a simple experiment I’d love you to try.
Seven days.
Ten to fifteen minutes each day.
Nothing complicated.
No pressure to produce something brilliant.
Just an opportunity to discover more about yourself as a writer.
Day 1 — Write Without Thinking
Choose any subject.
Set a timer for ten minutes.
And write.
Don’t edit.
Don’t stop to find better words.
Just keep going.
Day 2 — Write About Something You Love
Choose something meaningful.
A person.
A place.
A memory.
A dream.
Write about why it matters to you.
Day 3 — Write Something Funny
Try to make somebody smile.
Describe an embarrassing experience, an awkward conversation or an ordinary situation that becomes increasingly ridiculous.
You don’t need to become a comedian.
Just experiment.
Day 4 — Write Something Emotional
Choose an emotion.
Love.
Fear.
Loneliness.
Hope.
Write a short scene that allows the reader to experience it.
Try showing the emotion through actions rather than simply naming it.
Day 5 — Try Something Different
Write outside your comfort zone.
If you normally write romance, try horror.
If you love poetry, try a funny conversation.
If you prefer detailed descriptions, challenge yourself to use very few words.
See what happens.
Day 6 — Read Your Writing Aloud
Go back through everything you’ve written this week.
Read each piece aloud.
Slowly.
Which sentences flow naturally?
Which feel awkward?
Where do you naturally pause?
And which pieces sound most like you?
Day 7 — Discover Your Writing Fingerprints
Look back at your writing from the previous six days.
Ask yourself:
– Which did I enjoy writing most?
– Which felt most natural?
– What words or phrases did I keep using?
– What kinds of emotions appeared?
– What did I discover about myself?
Then choose your favourite piece.
Spend ten minutes improving it.
Not changing it into something completely different.
Simply making it a little stronger.
When you’ve finished, compare both versions.
Can you still recognise the same personality?
The same feeling?
The same voice?
If you can, that’s a wonderful starting point.
Because you’ve just spent seven days exploring something no writing textbook can completely teach you.
Your own way of seeing the world and expressing it through words.
9. Helpful Hints: Finding Your Writing Voice
If you’re trying to discover and develop your writing voice, here are a few things worth remembering.
– Write regularly. Your voice develops through practice, not endless planning.
– Read different authors. Learn from them without feeling you need to become them.
– Use natural language. Don’t complicate sentences simply to sound impressive.
– Experiment. Try different genres, emotions and writing techniques.
– Read your work aloud. It’s a great way to recognise rhythm and awkward wording.
– Notice your habits. Pay attention to the words and ideas you naturally return to.
– Allow imperfection. Your first draft doesn’t have to be beautiful.
– Use feedback thoughtfully. Learn from criticism without losing your personality.
– Keep your older writing. It can help you recognise how far you’ve come.
– Have fun. Writing should sometimes feel like playing, not working.
And perhaps most importantly:
Don’t become so obsessed with finding your writing voice that you forget to actually write.
Because you could spend the next six months trying to decide whether you’re a poetic, humorous, dramatic or literary writer.
Or…
You could spend those six months writing.
Stories.
Poems.
Articles.
Characters.
Entire imaginary worlds.
Some will be good.
Some probably won’t.
And some might surprise you.
But every piece will give you something to learn from.
10. Final Thoughts
I think there’s something rather beautiful about the idea that every writer has their own voice.
Because there are billions of people in the world.
Billions of different lives.
Experiences.
Memories.
Dreams.
And ways of seeing things.
And yet, when we sit down to write, it’s incredibly easy to convince ourselves that we have nothing original to offer.
That somebody else has already written something better.
That our ideas aren’t interesting enough.
Or that we simply aren’t talented enough to become the writer we’d like to be.
But I don’t think that’s the right way to look at it.
Of course, somebody has probably written about love before.
Or heartbreak.
Friendship.
Fear.
Happiness.
Or the beauty of watching the sun rise over the sea.
They’ve probably written about those things thousands of times.
And they’ll probably write about them thousands more.
But they haven’t experienced them through your eyes.
They don’t have your memories.
Your imagination.
Your sense of humour.
Or your way of understanding the world.
And that’s something worth remembering.
You don’t need to invent an entirely new emotion.
Or discover a subject nobody has ever explored.
Sometimes all you need to do is take something familiar and help somebody see it differently.
Through your words.
Through your perspective.
Through your voice.
And if you’re just beginning, please don’t worry too much about whether you’ve found it yet.
You probably haven’t fully.
I certainly don’t believe I’ve finished developing mine.
And I hope I never do.
Because every story I write.
Every poem.
Every article.
And every mistake I make along the way…
Teaches me something.
Sometimes about writing.
Sometimes about the world.
And sometimes about myself.
So don’t sit staring at a blank page, waiting for your writing voice to magically appear.
Pick up your pen.
Open your laptop.
Write something.
Anything.
Then write something else.
And keep going.
Because somewhere amongst all those sentences, paragraphs, mistakes and little moments of inspiration…
Something wonderful will begin to happen.
You’ll start recognising yourself in the words.
Not perfectly.
Not every time.
But more and more.
Until one day, perhaps somebody will read something you’ve written.
Smile.
And say:
“I knew that was yours.”
And wouldn’t that be a wonderful feeling?
You’ve got this.
Jonathan x
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