Welcome to this week’s blog hop. Today’s topic is:

Does your writing style change depending on what you are writing?

I’m of the opinion that readers buy my books because they like the subject matter and also my writing style. Therefore I’m loathe to change my style and anyway… I write in the style that suits me and to which I’ve become accustomed. I write realistic women’s fiction family drama, with a touch of humour along the way to offset the ‘misery-lit’ factor.

For me it’s always a shock if authors I’ve loved over the years decide to write in another genre or in another style. I’m not too keen on change.

The only style that I might alter is whether I write in the third person or first person, past tense or present. It all depends on the subject. ‘Falling’, my latest publication, is in the third person/past tense, but the manuscript I’m working on now will be in the first person/present tense and is written as a diary. Below is a little taster of ‘Falling‘, when James first comes face to face with a psychiatrist (by the way…’Plod’ is a UK slang term for a policeman).

Excerpt from ‘Falling’. Copyright 2022 Stevie Turner

“I’m Doctor Whymark.  I’m a psychiatrist.”

“Good for you.”

“How are you feeling today?”

“Bloody awful.”

James drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair and wondered how long he would have to be subjected to such shite for.  He threw a glance over one shoulder at Plod, who took notes by the door.

“By the way, I’m not mad, just unlucky.” James sighed.

“How so?”

“Well, basically I got caught.  We’re all after a seat when the music stops, aren’t we?”

“How do you mean?”

“I didn’t want it to come down to whether I eat or whether I run one bar of an electric fire.  Let’s say I decided to augment my future pension a little bit.  Trouble is, I used other people’s money.”

“And so when the game was up, you didn’t want to face the music, so to speak?”

“Yeah.  Something like that.”  James tapped one foot up and down. “I wanted to take the easy way out.”

“Do you still have suicidal thoughts?”

“Only when I’m forced to speak to psychiatrists.”

“Have your parents been to visit you?”

“I don’t want to talk about them.”  James clenched his teeth. “And yeah, I jerk off every day.”

“What’s that got to do with it? 

“I don’t know.  You tell me.  You’re the shrink.”

Behind him he could hear Plod stifle a laugh.  James yawned and gave unnecessary attention to a clock’s minute hand making its agonisingly slow journey from a five to a six on the wall opposite.

“Have you anybody you’d like us to contact? Wife? Children?”

“If I wanted to contact them I would have.  They’ll read about me in the papers anyway.”

“Who will?”

“The people I don’t need to contact.”

“How do you think life has treated you so far?”

“It was all right up until I jumped off the roof. It went downhill after that, and so did I.”

“How do you see the future?”

“The music’s going to stop, but I won’t get a seat.”

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