How To Describe A Voice In Writing Novels & Stories

The sound of his deep voice almost melted completely into the quiet of the night. “You have a really sexy voice, you know that?" I murmured, a faint, breathless laugh escaping my lips. “But my palm is still freezing. Why is that?” I flexed my fingers in the empty air. “Put your face here. Bring it close to me. Like this.”

Elle says. Wow, I did not get so much as an example or a hint as to how to do this. I guess I will just have to wing it. The voice that I am most familiar with at this point would be Dante's so it might be easiest to start there. Focusing on the way his voice sounds and how it fluctuates with certain words I try to make it sound like he is whispering behind my shoulder. Every once in a while I can hear one word come through but it never quite sounds like him. Something is always off. A different cadence or dialect, or maybe even just the slight roughness that he sometimes uses.

Darkness seemed to gobble the sound of my voice, as if it were a vast empty void, trying to absorb every droplet of energy from my voice. Jacob had an urgent tone in his voice. Joseph, however, wanted things to be done immediately."Let's settle with him, ma, then we can grab a drink and hand him to the corps," he snapped, and it came tumbling out in such a rush as if he could hardly wait to commence. His voice was a pulse of electricity injected into the very air around us, seeming to charge it toward action.

I said, even though my voice shook. “Yes,” the voice answered. “But you are not using it.” “I do not know how,” I admitted. The space warmed again, almost pleased. “Exactly,” the voice said. I closed my eyes for a moment, I thought of mama’s heartbeat the way it used to sound when I lay against her chest, slow, strong, safe. “I can feel her,” I whispered. The dark tightened, just a little. “Faintly,” the voice said. “Through cracks that should not exist.”

“He was... intimidating.” Her eyes gleamed with triumph. “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.” I shook my head, reluctant to give her more, but the words slipped out anyway, unbidden. “His voice—it was cold. Calm, but... controlled. Like everything he said was deliberate, like he didn’t waste breath on words he didn’t mean. And his eyes...” I trailed off, unwilling to speak the rest aloud. Ingrid leaned in, hanging on every syllable. “And?”

I wanted to confront her, to raise my voice and demand an explanation for her audacity, but when I tried to speak, my voice betrayed me. It was as if my throat had suddenly become a barren desert, devoid of any sound. Panic welled up inside me as I frantically clutched at my throat, desperately trying to make sense of this sudden loss of voice. Tears streamed down my cheeks, betraying the turmoil that raged within me. How could I express my thoughts and feelings when I couldn't even find the words to do so?

Beneath the full force of my piercing stare, he starts to tremble. When I speak, my voice is quiet, and yet it ripples through the fighting with ease. The deep rasp of my voice seems to come from hell itself, like the crack of a coffin being opened from the inside. “Then let me end you.”

I think Baritone was better, but that wasn't the word I was looking for yet. Fruity… That was it. This was the perfect word that I could use to describe him. His voice was stern, vivid but fruity, especially with the way he asked me that question. I felt ripples of an intense feeling surge through my body. That was definitely a first. That was the first time I felt that way after hearing a man speak. Or maybe it was the cold, I convinced myself. I cleared my throat and pushed away, creating a space for me to slide out of our hiding place and from the closeness with which our bodies met.

The grass withered and frost spread outward as it took every step toward them. Nobody could move, they all went still instantly. It was as if the figure froze them at that spot. Then the creature spoke, its voice sounded like multiple voices layered together. The voice sounded like that of a male, female, a young person and an old person... "The blood remembers." The words echoed unnaturally, everywhere went silent.Then the figure smiled or at least everyone thought it smiled, It was difficult to tell because of the hood. "The countdown has begun." And before anyone could react, it vanished into thin air. The silence that followed after felt deafening, nobody spoke for a while.

I have been waiting for so long I am not certain I know how to be anything else. I sat with that for a long time. Then I kept reading. The voice changed slowly, the way voices change when the circumstances around them change, not dramatically and not all at once but in small accumulated ways that were invisible week by week and unmistakable across months. The entries got longer. The sentences loosened. The specific, coiled quality of someone constantly bracing began to ease out of the writing the way tension eases out of a muscle that has finally been allowed to rest. Around the fortieth entry, somewhere in the weeks after the summit, the voice started to sound like mine.