When I graduated from college, I remember wondering if I would ever have as significant a growth experience over a mere four years. My time from freshman to senior year was life-defining, and luckily my roommates saved the four years of quote walls that prove it.

Today marks another four year chunk of time, and as I look back on the 640 posts I’ve written since starting this blog in December of 2007, it’s frighteningly clear what a significant experience this too has become. Chief among all the experiences that have been so significant is the experience of seeing changes in my writing.

In my “new life” of pursuing writing for more than hobby slash weekend recap, the idea of “voice” is a constant. Finding your voice. Writing in your voice. Defining your voice. Honing your voice.

I had no clue what the concept meant for a very long time. People would say they enjoyed my voice or related to my voice, and I would smile and nod. I knew this voice situation was a good thing, I just had no idea what it really meant or how I made it happen. So I threw pride to the wind and asked around…for about 3.5 years.

Here is what I now believe I know about the writer’s voice, and how it is found:

Your “voice” is the consistent tone and rhythm that defines the your writing. Like a band has a “sound” a writer has a “voice” – qualities that make everything by a given writer sound and feel the same. Short, to-the-point sentences, perhaps. Long, extremely descriptive passages, maybe. It could also be extremely conversational language or the use of lots of dialogue. Every writer has their style. A writer’s voice is both the consistent use of those style elements and the cadence of the writing. Literally when you read a series of pieces by a given author they should all feel like they have a similar “beat.”

My voice, for example, is extremely conversational (often at the expense of grammar…). When I write, I am literally saying the words in my head and then typing them into the little Blogger box. If I read a sentence back and it doesn’t sound like something I would say out loud, I change it. I have a very specific conversation style in real life. I think it’s a mix of extreme honesty, self-deprecating humor, and the use of real life-inspired metaphors to explain things, but you guys would probably know better. My voice on the page is my voice in my head, which is why some of my closest friends say they read these blog posts in my actual talking voice (which must be super weird).

How I found that voice is still a bit of a mystery to me, but I think the truth is that I found it because I wrote SO DAMN MUCH. Two or three posts per week for four years plus additional freelance writing assignments and all the stuff that doesn’t make the blog. All that writing, reading back, and re-writing makes you incredibly familiar with the way you think and write. It just starts to come out a certain way because the writing muscle shifts into autopilot. When I’m having a really difficult time with a given piece, I always realize it’s because I’m trying to write in a voice that isn’t mine. When a post writes itself, I realize it’s because I let go and wrote exactly what felt right.

I realize that’s the most simplistic definition of “voice” and “how to find it” that one could give, but I think that’s because discovering your voice should not be difficult; it should be natural. The tough truth is that writing naturally – without ideas of what you should sound like or who you want to sound like – is incredibly hard. I know this because I sometimes attempt to write sitcom jokes, and when I read those back it’s like they were written by a stranger who I instantly hate.

So I believe the point of this post is to say that “voice” is not something that happens overnight, but over 4 years of nights, it’s something you cannot help but develop. And if there’s one piece of advice I can offer (outside of advising people to write as much as humanly possible) I’d say that you absolutely have to like your voice, and own your voice, even if you always thought you’d be the greatest dramatic screenwriter of the 21st century but somehow end up a quirky comedy writer. Don’t fight it. It will fight back harder.

On a 4th blog birthday aside: My feelings at this four year mark are not entirely different from those I felt at the blog’s first, second, and third birthdays. I am grateful. I am proud. I am extremely aware of how much this writing experience has changed my entire life. And, above all, I remain so, so rewarded by the connection to all of you that this blog allows. Please keep e-mailing, commenting and reading. We’ve got two full years to go before I age out of this whole crazy project.

And, as I say every single year, thank you Pierson, for forcing me to start it in the first place.