5 Writing Lessons from a Vocal Coach
By Kathryn Craft | December 7, 2014 |
By Boris Mann
Our guest today is Kathryn Craft. Kathryn is the author of two novels from Sourcebooks: The Art of Falling (book trailer) and The Far End of Happy, due May 2015. Her work as a developmental editor at Writing-Partner.com, specializing in storytelling structure and writing craft, follows a nineteen-year career as a dance critic. Long a leader in the southeastern Pennsylvania writing scene, she now serves as book club liaison for the Women’s Fiction Writers Association. She hosts lakeside writing retreats for women in northern New York State, leads workshops, and speaks often about writing. Kathryn says, “I come to writing from a multi-arts perspective and appreciate the way that specifics from one creative endeavor can spark new awarenesses within another.”
Kathryn lives with her husband in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. Connect with her on her website, on Twitter, and on Facebook.
5 Writing Lessons from a Vocal Coach
During the years I was first learning fiction craft, my son was studying to be a classical vocalist. Since I came to my writing through dance I was already attuned to a multi-arts perspective, so as I sat in on years of his lessons—no doubt looking to his teachers like I was hard at work on a novel—I scribbled notes that allowed me to see my writing anew. Here I share some of the comments overheard from his vocal coaches and my favorite writing takeaways.
- Singing is powered by the breath—by an inspiration—but don’t give it all away. Take a deep breath and try to hold it in as long as possible while still using it to power the voice. Singing is a little bit “yes,” a little bit “no.”
At the time I first heard this I was trying to wow the reader by cramming too many great ideas into the opening of my practice novel. This quote suggested I feed out my story with greater patience, keeping some in reserve. Your reader isn’t looking to understand your whole story in its opening pages. She only wants to gain orientation to the story world and its main character while discovering a story question on which to hang her curiosity. Many backstory scenes, reversals, and emotional turning points are better saved until your reader knows your protagonist better.
[pullquote] I come to writing from a multi-arts perspective and appreciate the way that specifics from one creative endeavor can spark new awarenesses within another.”[/pullquote]
Added fun: The musicality in this quote is a wonderful example of how to use sentence structure to support meaning. The quick breaths built into the first sentence, the deeper breath needed to get through the second, and the push and pull of the third all help underscore the coach’s point.
- When taking a breath, you are not really thinking about taking in air, but expanding the ribcage and dropping the diaphragm to create a vacuum that the air will fill.
This continues a useful metaphor about raising story questions. A question is like a vacuum that pulls the reader in. So rather than stuffing your story with events that may or may not add up to a cohesive whole, think about creating the questions that your story will fill. Keep raising questions, keep drawing the reader in. When all the questions are answered 
the story is over, just as when we are done breathing, our lives come to their end.
- You are trying too hard on the high notes. Maybe that’s because you haven’t yet found your true voice. You have a voice that’s all your own—when you get to the high notes, trust that it will be there.
Your reader lives for the turning points that create the emotional peaks of your story. But you don’t want her to have to sift through overwrought emotional language, flowery description, or long-winded exposition to find them. If you’ve let your reader in on your character’s motivations, desires, and goals as you powered up your story, and used plot to force change, trust that your reader is right there with you. Indeed she has anticipated this moment of character change. Once you have delivered her to it, allow her to watch the drama unfold without you screaming in her ear.
- Arching the soft palate is a technique that keeps the air from escaping through the nose while singing. But you don’t want to arch it so high that you paralyze the tongue, as when yawning.
I hear this as a caution about stilted prose. Reach too far toward lofty language and you too will paralyze your reader and put him right to sleep.
- People love baritones because of all the voices, it is the closest to the speaking voice.
My son is a baritone, so I thought the thrill of his voice was born of my love. But this is a powerful reminder of the way we delight in voice. After many virtual friends here met in person at the Writer UnBoxed UnConference last month, one of them wrote on the UnCon feed, “Now I can read all of your comments and hear them in your voice.” Our voices are precious. They are what we know of the sound of love. The closer to human voice you can come in your prose, the closer your reader will lean in to listen.
Use this post is an exercise in creative listening. Do these passages speak to you differently? If so—or if you’ve learned important insights about writing from other art forms—I’d love to hear from you in the comments.
Kathryn Craft (she/her) is the author of two novels from Sourcebooks, The Art of Falling and The Far End of Happy. Her forthcoming book, Crafting Story Movement: Techniques to Engage Readers and Drive Your Novel Forward, draws from decades of experience as both a story consultant and a movement specialist/dance critic. Learn more on Kathryn’s website.
Excellent applicability here, Kathryn. I was particularly sucked in by the vacuum concept. What a great way to conceptualize an opening. Music has been a huge part of my writing journey, and I’ve long noted that great impact can be achieved with a soft voice and simple, direct phrasing. A well-crafted song guides you there, no cajoling necessary. I’m not a song-writer or composer, but I image creating those that seem to effortlessly take you to such impact takes a great effort. Even if an essential part of that effort is restraint.
I really love this concept. Well done! (Or should I say “Cleverly Craft-ed? ;-) Have a great Sunday!
Thanks Vaughn! Happy to be here. That second concept really captured my imagination as well. Brings a whole new sense of how a story begins with a “what if,” right? Glad you enjoyed it!
Kathryn, this is such excellent, succinct how-to writer info that I’m bookmarking this page. Thanks!
Awesome Elaine, glad you found it of use! I love the way lessons from other art forms deepen our appreciation of creative writing as literary art.
Kathryn,
I think its brilliant how you listened and took notes while your son’s coach was teaching. I’m also a painter and have drawn parallels between painting and writing, but your descriptions here of the links between disciplines is crystal clear. You reminded me that there are many ways to tell a story, but that the underpinnings of solid craft apply to them all. I, too, am archiving this post. Thank you.
Super, Susan! I think that studying other art forms brings a lot to our writing, as I can tell you do. You know how Facebook will plunk an ad in your feed, sometimes personalizing an item with your name? Yesterday this tee-shirt came through my feed: When all is lost turn to Craft for the answer. Haha! True enough, in this case!
Lovely, Kathryn, just lovely. Ultimately it is all about story, whether spoken, written, sung, drawn or danced. Your second revelation appealed to me as well. Those moments near the start of a new book when questions begin to form – not the obvious ones, but the subtle emotional ones – are what draw me in, sparking my desire to understand the characters and their world.
The same is true when writing. No matter how much one may feel they know the story they intend to create, it is when the characters begin to speak, to surprise, to act out, that those questions begin anew. I came across a quote once that said in many ways one writes a story to find out what happens in it, to understand its meaning. That matches nicely with your concept of opening up, making space for the story to reveal itself.
Thank you for providing a fitting image to accompany that sentiment.
Thanks for your comment, John. I agree. If you start your story in a way that opens those questions, the writer—and later, the reader—will be sucked right in, and seek the story’s meaning.
Awesome post.
“Singing is powered by the breath—by an inspiration—but don’t give it all away. Take a deep breath and try to hold it in as long as possible while still using it to power the voice. Singing is a little bit “yes,” a little bit “no.”
I’m posting this on my bulletin board. A great instruction on how to feed the tension on the page. Thanks.
Isn’t it, Bernadette? So thrilled to share these. I love the thought of it on your bulletin board!
I know little about singing and how it happens physically. I just like to belt em out and I sometimes breathe at the wrong time and I miss many notes. And then I read this and the physics makes sense of it. Brilliant gem of an article. Thank you, Kathryn!
Thea, this one sentence has so much cautionary meaning for writers: “I just like to belt em out and I sometimes breathe at the wrong time and I miss many notes.” Did you work on that, or does writing in metaphor come naturally to you? ;)
I just blurted it out. like my singing LOL
Great, beautiful post, Kathryn Craft. When I read the quote about keeping arching the soft palette, I immediately thought of Meg Rosoff’s advice on throughness. I think the vocal instructor would have understood and agreed.
I am bookmarking this as well. When I watch The Voice, I’m constantly hearing advice I feel writers can use, especially from this season’s new coach Pharreal. Like many great artists and teachers of art, he understands the importance of voice and how to structure a story around it.
While in Salem, I went to the PEM and saw the Calder exhibit. It energized me and, filtering in everything else I was learning, I came away appreciating how we can use space, balance, and texture in our literary art.
You hit home with this one and stated it all so eloquently. Thank you for sharing your knowledge with us.
Thanks Tonia! I love how you described the Calder exhibit as a “filter.” So many filters such as this exist, and those that seem meaningful to us color everything we write—and in combination, help define our individual voice. Space, balance, texture: yes! They will all be there in every piece of writing. Best not to ignore them, but learn how to bend them to your use!
Hi, Kathryn:
Lovely post, and a great reminder that the arts are interconnected, sometimes in subtle ways.
I used to be a musician (bass player, bar band, the Midwest — “Who’s the guy who sings like a chick, he’s really good”) and I still use music as both a guide for craft and even a way to help define my characters. I often discover that using a piece of music to help get at the core of a character works far better than trying to get my hands around it with words. Music reaches a place inside us that combines both logic and emotion in a deeply intuitive and profoundly moving way, and by defying words it forces me to continue to explore and discover rather than think I’ve nailed it with an apt bon mot.
But your analogies concerning breath and voice really took me to a different level of understanding of how music and writing can inform each other, especially the inviting “vacuum” created by story questions. Thanks a million.
Thanks for your sharing your musical perception with us, David. You wrote: “Music reaches a place inside us that combines both logic and emotion in a deeply intuitive and profoundly moving way.” That’s how I feel about dance as well. Funny, though—while I’ll sometimes turn on a chosen song to put me in a specific frame of mind beforehand, I don’t like to listen to music while I write. I know plenty of people who do though.
Oh, Kathryn,
Beautifully done. I’m especially keen on #3—Trying too hard on the high notes when we need to be trusting the notes will arrive. We are the “medium” through which our protagonist’s story is told. In order to understand exactly what their story is about we need to relax and listen, so we may share with understanding tenderness. In this way, the reader is allowed to draw close and see themselves in the mix.
Thank you for this beautiful reminder.
Jocosa, well put. We need to remain the medium on the high notes, and resist manhandling! “Share with understanding tenderness.” Love it. Glad you enjoyed the post!
LOVE the vacuum metaphor. Explains how readers will rush to fill the space with the thought-particles of their personal environment, and how a clever author can invite them to fill that void with the wrong material.
Ooh, Jan, filling with the wrong material—fun! All sorts of things can happen once the rush is on…
One of the most powerful vocal lessons I ever received addressed breath control. Anyone reading this can try it. Stand as you normally would. Take in a breath. Now let it out. Now bend your knees slightly. Now take in another breath. Did you take in significantly more air when your knees were bent? It’s a stunning reminder to be flexible — no matter if your voice is actual or conveyed through the written word.
Thanks for a beautifully composed post, Kathryn!
I had a feeling you’d have something to add to this discussion, Therese! Another thing that occurs to me about the posture you suggest: in sport, it is the ready position. When your knees are bent you are ready to go wherever the ball takes you!
Thank you, Kathryn. Your post has given me a new way to look at my writing and at myself as a writer. I’m going to share it with my critique partners. I wish I could share it with my voice teacher from my younger days.
Hi Kathy, for a writer, no education need be wasted! If you think about it, I’ll bet you’ll think of further parallels to your voice lesson days!
Lovely post, Kathryn. I enjoyed your reminder to raise story questions and then trust your reader to be drawn into the story… Beautiful….it’s also a reminder to me to keep breathing as I lesrn this craft. It’s a long art and you can’t take it all in with one breath. Enjoyed meeting you in Salem and I love the title of your first book.
Hi Neroli, I enjoyed meeting you too, and thanks for your kind words about my book! You are right: our writing education is a spiral, moving forward then reaching back to pick up aspects of craft we thought we’d already learned. The process takes what it takes, time-wise, because we all have different lessons to learn. Enjoy the journey!
I loved this post for both my writing and singing :) Breath support and control. I’m not always good at this … pacing is a big problem in my writing. I either go too fast or too slow, but when it’s just right, it’s so comfortable, like singing. Today, I begin a new PB and will remember your advice, let the questions guide the story, and tonight, I will sing the Bach/Gounod Ave Maria and trust that my voice will be there for the high notes. Thank you.
Wish I was there to hear the Ave Maria, Vijaya. I was blessed to raise two highly entertaining sons and I miss having their music in the house!
Once the mechanics and mindset are out of the way, then music can be created. Thank you all for the comments and the analogy. I took a lot from your comments.
Thanks Eileen, I like reading comments too. But I find that sometimes the mechanics themselves can lead to new aspects of creativity—even something as simple as thinking up an alternative for ending a sentence in a preposition can help you depend your thinking and open up unexplored pockets of story.
So neat a comparison! And I loved reading about your ideas and experience too, through this article. Best of luck in the new year. (PS I will have to do some reflecting on the cross-ties of dance and writing as disciplines now! ;-)
Thanks Margaret! With any luck I may be back one day to talk about my interrelationship with writing and dance. ;)