When we start writing, or simply trying to communicate better with others, almost all of us share the same reflex: we imitate. We imitate the author who moved us, the journalist whose pen seems to flow effortlessly, the friend who always finds the right word on social media. We tell ourselves that by borrowing their phrases, their rhythm, their pauses, sooner or later we’ll begin to resemble something. I did it, you’ve probably done it too, and it isn’t a flaw: it’s a stage. Most likely, a necessary one.
Because the truth is that when we first approach writing, or any form of thoughtful communication, we don’t yet have a clear identity of our own. Unless we’re writing in a moment of urgency, anger, or pure joy — those moments when words come out on their own and reveal, without filters, who we really are. The rest of the time, in front of a blank page, we often don’t even know what we want to say. Let alone how to say it.
Understanding what we call writing style
The very personal way we build sentences, choose images, and manage silence is what we call style. In Italian, there is a more precise expression: cifra stilistica, which can be translated as stylistic signature. It’s what allows you to recognize who is writing after just a few lines. It’s what makes a simple message feel familiar, even before you see the name attached to it.
Even artificial intelligence has its own stylistic signature. It has become one of its limits: AI-generated texts often share the same cadence, the same structures, the same overly polished phrasing. A voice that feels consistent, but rarely personal. And because of that, it often lacks real connection.
Our own voice works differently. It makes us recognizable in everyday life. It shapes how others perceive us, how they understand us, how we exist in conversations. Writing style is not decoration. It is identity.
How to find your writing voice
This question can feel overwhelming at first. In reality, the process is simple, even if it takes time. It comes down to two actions: write, then reread.
Write without filtering yourself too much. Write by hand if possible, because the slower pace gives your thoughts time to develop. Write in the morning, in the evening, on a train, at the corner of a table. Write small things: notes, fragments of your day, messages you will never send. At this stage, quality is not the priority. What matters is creating material.
Then comes the rereading. This is where things begin to take shape. When you reread what you’ve written, you start noticing what feels right and what feels distant. Some phrases will sound natural, others will feel borrowed. This is where you begin to adjust, simplify, and refine.
Little by little, the text starts to move more naturally. You are no longer forcing the words. You begin to recognize patterns, preferences, rhythms that belong to you. That’s when your writing voice starts to emerge.
This process doesn’t stay on the page. Over time, it changes the way you speak as well. Your words become clearer, more precise, more aligned with what you actually mean. Writing becomes a way to understand how you communicate, not just what you communicate.
Tools that support the writing process
You don’t need much to begin, but a few tools can make the experience more consistent. A notebook you actually enjoy using makes a difference. Something simple, but pleasant to open. A Leuchtturm1917 works well with its numbered pages and structured layout, but a Moleskine can feel just as natural if you prefer something more minimal.
The pen also matters more than expected. A fountain pen changes the rhythm of writing. You press less, you slow down, you pay more attention. A Lamy Safari is an accessible starting point and tends to last for years. It’s not about luxury, but about creating a small habit that makes writing feel intentional.
Reading about writing also helps, especially when it comes from people who approach it with honesty. Stephen King’s On Writing explores what it means to develop a voice over time, while Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird reminds us that writing badly is part of learning to write well. Both approaches are useful because they focus on process rather than perfection.
Developing your voice over time
Some people find their writing voice slowly, through repetition and patience. Others move faster with external feedback, through workshops, coaching, or simply sharing their texts with someone they trust. Both approaches lead to the same place, as long as the work continues.
What doesn’t work is waiting. A writing style doesn’t appear fully formed. It grows with use, with hesitation, with revision. It is built over time, not discovered in a single moment.
So the real question becomes simpler: are you writing enough to recognize your own voice when it appears?
And if you already have, when did you first notice it?
Have a great week.
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