Last night I asked my writing class to describe their writing voice. While they were working on the exercise I took a whack at it as well.
My writing voice tastes like sugared mint and rum.
My writing voice looks like my grandma as she sat in her recliner, reading the Detroit Free Press and listening to the Tigers on the radio.
My writing voice smells like coffee with sugar. I always drink it black.
My writing voice sounds like a meditation or pure sarcasm.
My writing voice feels like the afghans my mom crocheted, laying on the couch.