My Writing Voice

I’ve been writing for longer than I want to think about, and finally, TODAY, just now, I pinpointed my true writing voice:

Jon settled into a comfortable position and then closed his eyes, wondering if it were possible, wondering what sleep would be like here.  One could argue he was already asleep, sleeping the dream of death.  The dream he’d been in ever since his big maroon Caprice Classic had gone into that hydroplaning slide, turning his car tires into water skis.  The machine stopped obeying the steering wheel and began a slow spin, all the way around to the point he was going backwards, and the road curved but the car kept going straight, right over that steep muddy drop.  In those last few seconds, plummeting toward a hundred cars coming at him in the opposite lanes, he knew he was going to die.  His life didn’t flash in front of his eyes.  He didn’t cry out.  He just held on to the steering wheel and thought…

This is it.

The front of the big red semi truck came at him like a steel wall with shining headlight eyes, then he went to sleep.  A sudden, abrupt sleep.

(From Daytime for the Dead)

This is how I write when I’m not thinking about how I should write.  And I can go back through some of my older stuff I can see I’ve been doing it all along.

Weird.