‘Voice’ is a hard subject. I feel I have no voice to which I can attach a determined form of writing. However, I do notice that my voice, when am writing, tends to be a melancholic one, a serious one and one that is reflective of what it is writing, As if the way I look at the past affects my writing. Rarely do I tend to write on the future. Perhaps I say I don’t have a voice because I exhaust my reading material by the time I reach to English. At any rate, voice is a fruitless job to think of at times. What is a voice anyways? When does one feel finished as a writer to be able to have a voice, does it mean that I lack one now? Does it mean that I must search a form of writing?
Curiously enough I’ve detected that one can become ‘dried’ out if you will from inspiration. One is forced to go to the fountain of inspiration and fill ones chalice every now and then with other writers thoughts. Thoughts produce thoughts and now that I’ve been largely absent from literature I see a dearth of topics to write. On the other hand it has given me a great deal to think of my writing and how it works.