Writing: disconnection

One of my biggest turn-offs when reading a story is seeing the author pop out at me, meaning that if I know the writer personally or read his profile (less so on that, though), the language there is the same as in the stories.

Stephen King's On Writing has a big section on how you should write--meaning what environment you should be in. Should you have a giant desk? Use pen and paper? Dark or light? Door open or closed? He addresses all of these topics (leaving most of them to the writer's discretion), but one of the things he asserts is that you must never come to the blank page lightly.

When I read a story where it feels like A Person and not An Author is telling the story, I feel like That Person has come to the blank page lightly.

I read Cloud Atlas recently, and one of the most amazing parts of the book was seeing the drastic shifts in style. The book uses six short stories (mirrored; it's complicated) all from different time periods (1800s to the post-apocalyptic future), and each one has a distinct, perfectly-crafted style. The first is a Brontë-esque journal, followed by a fiery series of narrative letters, a tight-knit manuscript for a suspense novel, a memoir of an arrogant publisher, an interview with a clone, and a story by an uneducated man. Following is an example passage from each different section of the novel.

After the service, the doctor & I were approached most cordially by an elder "mainmast' of that chapel, one Mr. Evans, who introduced Henry & me to his good wife (both circumvented the handicap of deafness by answering only those questions they believed had been asked & accepting only those questions they believed had been uttered--a strategem embraced by many an American advocate) & their twin sons, Keegan & Dyfedd.

Couldn't say if Ayrs felt humor, pity, nostalgia, or scorn. He left. Locked the door and climbed into bed for the third time that night. Bedroom farce, when it actually happens, is intensely sad. Jocasta seemed angry with me.

"Before I left Swannekke, I gave Garcia a present to give to you, just a dolce far niente." He tries to make the sentence sound casual.

What in God's name is he talking about?

"You hear me, Luisa? Garcia has a present for you."

A more alert quarter of Luisa's brain muscles in. Isaac Sachs left the Sixsmith Report in your VW. You mentioned the trunk didn't lock. He assumes we are being eavesdropped. "That's very kind of you, Isaac. Hope it didn't cost you too much."

A trio of teenettes, dressed like Prostitue Barbie, approached, drift-netting the width of the pavement. I stepped into the road to avoid collision. But as we drew level they tore wrappers off their lurid ice lollies and just dropped them. My sense of well-being was utterly V-2'd. I mean, we were level with a bin! Tim Cavendish the Disgusted Citizen exclaimed to the offenders: "You know, you should pick those up."

You have no rests?
Only purebloods are entitled to "rests," Archivist. For fabricants, "rests" would be an act of time theft. Until curfew at hour zero, every minute must be devoted to the service and enrichment of Papa Song.

Now you people're lookin' at a wrinkly buggah, mukelung's nibblin' my breath away, an' I won't be seein' many more winters out, nay, nay, I know it. I'm shoutin' back more'n forty long years at myself, yay, at Zachry the Niner, Oy, list'n! Times are you're weak 'gainst the world! Times are you can't do nothin'! That ain't your fault, it's this busted world's fault is all! But no matter how loud I shout, Boy Zachry, he don't hear me nor never will.

I cannot distinguish a single trace of David Mitchell in any of this. Each one of these different styles is crafted to suit the story it's trying to tell--in fact, it's almost like there are six David Mitchells, each writing his own part of it. I can definitely tell that, however many of them there are, he did not come to the page lightly. When I read this story, instead of thinking, "This author is trying to tell me a story," I just see a story. That's the way any writing should be, and if you can do it that well (among other things), you're bound for success.

tl;dr: You cannot write the way you want to write. You must write the way the story tells you to write.