Sorry if this is a silly question but I am very confused. If you are writing in 3rd person limited pov, you don't have to use the character's voice do you? I always use my own voice when I write but I'm not exactly an omni narrator.
Libbie read the question on the AW forums and sat considering it for a moment. She often wrote in limited third, but this question got to her:
Did she inject the character's voice into limited? And if she did, how did her use of limited third differ from close third?
Suddenly, Libbie realized she could smell the cat box. It was distracting her. An uncomfortable thing, smelling the cat box while trying to answer questions on a forum. And her legs ached from yesterday's stint at the book store. Since taking that second part-time job, she was finding it more difficult every moment to stay focused on one task -- even answering a simple question about limited third POV on an internet forum. She looked at one of the books lying on her coffee table, accusing her with its dog-eared presence. She was supposed to be doing research for her next novel right now, not surfing the web. When did her Silverman book get all warped? It must have been in the car when she left the windows down in that damn rain storm.
Libbie shifted to close third and did the whole thing over again.
Libbie read the question on the AW forum and scratched her ass while she wasted more precious time. She wrote in limited third all the time, mostly because it was easy as f*ck. Did her use of limited and close third differ? Who cared? Not Libbie, that was for sure. Her motto of late was
Let an editor worry about it. Let an editor worry about all of it. Even whether to put a comma after
was and before
Let.
Crap. Libbie could smell the cat box. It was really bad this time. Tron must have found the shrimp tails in the garbage from last night's dinner. She knew she should have taken the trash out before bed. Shit! Literally, shit! And her legs were hurting like hell from all the squatting and unsquatting she'd done yesterday, stocking those godawful cozy mysteries with stupid titles at the book store. Libbie's patience was thinning by the moment, ever since she'd taken that second part-time job. But her savings account needed building up, and she'd read enough on AW to know she couldn't count on selling her damn novel to do it. This economy. Sonofabitch.
She stared at the Silverman book slouching on her table. It was all warped, like it had been rained on. When had that happened? What was the question? Why was she still typing on this forum? Libbie was so distractable of late. She knew one thing, though: Harry Houdini was hot.
She'd invent a time machine and go back in time and seduce him. As soon as she cleaned the cat box. And took out the trash.