Whose Voice Are You Writing In?

YOU KNOW WHEN YOU HEAR A RECORDING OF YOUR OWN VOICE AND WANT TO PUNCH YOURSELF IN THE FACE?

Yeah.

There’s something deeply personal about voice, so when we hear ours played back and it doesn’t match what we think we sound like, it’s weirdly jarring. I guess it makes sense: our voices carry identity. When the sound doesn’t align with our internal expectations, it’s uncomfortable.

And if we’re that sensitive to hearing our own voice, imagine how intentional we are when choosing how to use it.

We all shift our voice constantly…subtly, strategically, often without realizing it.

But for writers, that shift is intentional. Strategic.

WHO ARE YOU WRITING FOR?

That’s the first question I’d ask my students when teaching tone and voice in writing. I’d have them compare sentences, analyze word choice, identify subtle shifts in style. What’s the tone here? What’s the mood? What kind of voice would connect best with this audience?

Writing is an art, but it’s also a strategy. Word choice, punctuation, sentence length—these are tools. Brush strokes. Beats. Rhythm. (Sorry, I know that’s very “English teacher rambling on about sentence fluency,” but hey. it’s my blog. Let me live.)

When I taught The Great Gatsby, I’d use Fitzgerald’s prose to show how style can feel like a voice: dreamy, ironic, lush, cynical. I’d ask students to pay attention to how his tone shifted depending on the moment. The narrator’s voice isn’t just what is said, it’s how it’s shaped.

Same goes for us. And for brands. And for anyone trying to communicate clearly and effectively.

Brief cliche moment of appreciation for F. Scott Fitzgerald’s voice:

“He smiled understandingly-much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced—or seemed to face—the whole eternal world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.”

I mean. Come on. 

WHEN MY VOICE ACTUALLY CHANGED

When I started testosterone, I expected some shifts. My voice dropping wasn’t a surprise. But what did surprise me was that I had to relearn how to use it.

Lower voices are harder to project. So suddenly, I was having to speak louder. For someone socialized as a girl (read: taught to avoid being “too loud,” “too much,” “too anything”), this was... an adjustment.

Beyond that, my inflection and tone sometimes got me clocked as effeminate. I never really addressed assumptions students made about my identity, but I did feel self-conscious about my voice standing out as effeminate for a time–however silly the self-conscious thoughts were. So, I worked on adjusting. Neutralizing. Recalibrating.

I worked hard to “get it right,” even though I wasn’t totally sure what right was supposed to sound like. I just knew that my voice was now a space I had to manage.

At home, I shed all that. I speak freely with my wife and son. But when morning comes, I grab the metaphorical backpack I carry into the world, and with it, all the voices I might need that day.

EVERY CONTEXT HAS A VOICE

There’s the teacher voice: loud, confident, clear. The “I know exactly what I’m doing” voice (whether I did or not). Every high school teacher knows this: the secret to classroom management is sounding like you’ve got it handled—even if your brain is screaming, Oh god please stop throwing highlighters at each other from across the room–something 10th grade boys, as it turns out, actually need to be told not to do.

Then there’s the colleague voice: more casual, still composed.
The talking to a parent voice: patient, direct, approachable.
The dad voice: soft, playful, and occasionally giving “we’re so late please please please put your shoes on” vibes.

My point is: we all shape our voice depending on context, power dynamics, safety, and goals. That’s not fake. That’s communication. It’s adaptability. And it’s something I’ve been practicing for years—both as a person navigating the world and as a writer learning how to reach people.

WRITING VOICE STARTS WITH LISTENING

The best communicators, especially in marketing, aren’t just good with words. They’re good with people. They listen. They observe. They adapt. They know when to shift tone, when to lean in, and when to shut up.

That’s what good brand voice work is. It’s not about clever taglines or “quirky” copy. It’s discernment.

It’s learning to hear the heartbeat of a message—what a brand stands for, what an audience needs to hear—and finding the voice that can carry that across the distance. Authentically. Strategically. Effectively.

Being a trans person, a teacher, a dad…all of that gave me tools for voice awareness. But it’s writing, especially content marketing, that’s helping me sharpen that into a skillset.

Because I’ve spent years asking the question: What’s my voice?
Now, I want to help others find theirs.

Here’s what I’ve learned…

Voice isn’t static.
Voice adapts.
Voice connects, when you’ve taken the time to listen.