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Changing Point of View

point

Changing Point of View

Point of View is the perspective you use to tell the story. First person (‘I’), third person (‘s/he’) or omniscient (‘all knowing, all seeing’).

It is natural to start off with a point of view (POV). In fact, it’s almost impossible not to. Most writers use the first or third person. The omniscient  has rather gone out of style. Its ability to know everything about everyone doesn’t leave the reader much to discover.

So, we start off in a POV but many of us eventually wander into a more god-like stance and start switching into different POVs.

Point of View switches—examples

Let’s do a couple of examples.

Example One

Azarlea patted her hair. “No one has finer tresses in all the kingdom,” she thought with satisfaction. Her maid came in to brush her hair and Azarlea leaned back to enjoy it. “Lazy cow,” the maid thought as she kept the strokes long and even.

Comments on example one

So, we start Azarlea’s POV and then suddenly are in the maid’s head, letting us know what the servant really thinks.

Not the end of the world as writing faux pas go and often seen even in published fiction. I think writers often use this because switching is efficient. If we can jump from Azarlea’s thoughts to the maid, we can establish tension easy peasy.

But you know, the goal of writing is not to get to the end of the story efficiently but effectively. If the maid’s dislike is important to the story, why not spend a little more time showing how her antipathy manifests itself? If it isn’t important, why include it at all?

Example two

Mark was suspicious of the stranger in the dark hat. He ducked into an alley to catch a better look at him. The stranger kept going, gazing neither left nor right, but admiring the beauty of the day.

Across the street, Mark saw Carla. He waved her over. She wondered what he wanted but crossed over nevertheless.

Comments on example two

This is actually a twofer. We start off with Mark and then into the stranger’s POV to admire the day and then into Carla’s to be curious. All in two short paragraphs. Again, we need to ask ourselves, how important are the stranger’s feelings about the day? I would guess not and it would build tension better if that comment were left out.

It might be important to know that Carla wonders why Mark is waving her over but we don’t have to get into her head to do so. She might tilt her head, have a quizzical look on her face, shrug her shoulders, etc.

Why it matters

You may think that this is a mountain/molehill thing or that I’m running out of topics to write about but actually, I think this shifting around of POVs is pretty important if you want an engaging story.

If you do a lot of switching around, as in the second example, over the development of the novel, the reader may get confused about whose story is being told. Of course, since it’s not a reader’s job to know why they feel confused, they just experience a vague sense of unrest or find they’re not connecting to the main character. And never get to the stunning climax you have for them.

So changing POVs within a story may be efficient but often not effective. I know this one is a little tough, so the next post is on how to keep to one POV.

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Flashback Other Stuff

flashback

Flashback Other Stuff

In the previous post, I discussed the importance of the flashback. Here I will cover some of the more mechanical issues when using this technique.

Flashback order

It’s not a hard and fast rule but sometimes it helps the reader if the flashbacks themselves occur chronologically. That is, if the flashback scenes have a particular sequence, it’s less confusing if they’re presented that way.

As I say, not hard and fast. Sometimes the narrative demands an out-of-order presentation. But if so, cue the reader in some way where they are in the flashback story.

Frequency

As I mentioned in the previous post, flashbacks should not take up the bulk of the story and as Carol Shields points out in Startle and Illuminate, there should be a reason for switching to them.

And while they need to be used frugally, neither can you use just one and then never again. Readers have some unconscious expectations of fiction and this is one of them—flashbacks are used in multiples or not at all.

You don’t need a big flag to signal a memory

Writers sometimes have trouble figuring out how to introduce a flashback. They often use phrases like “she remembered” or “he thought of his childhood.” Not egregious sins but can be a bit clunky.

It’s pretty easy to indicate a flashback. Just use a different tense. If you’re writing in the present, use the past. If the past, the pluperfect (‘had’). Reverse when you want to come out.

If you’re really worried that your reader won’t get it (and this isn’t usual since they are often smarter than us), double space or use a few asterisks to denote the switch.

By the by, you don’t need to use the different tense for the whole flashback scene. This is particularly true of the pluperfect. A lot of “he had had a problem” and “she hadn’t wanted to go,” is cumbersome and somewhat irritating. Use the pluperfect a couple of times at the top of the flashback and then switch back to the past.

At what point can they be used?

The placement of flashbacks, like any other technique which can slow the forward action of the plot (e.g. description), needs to be judicious.

Unless there is some really compelling reason in the plot that the character goes into a flashback at a moment of tension or drama, don’t do it. You dissipate whatever excitement you’re building by subtly pulling the reader out of the continuous dream you’re building for him.

If you need the character to reflect on the plot development or action sequence she has just experienced, by all means do it. But put her in a scene after the action where she can show her feelings or analysis of the situation. Just before falling asleep, riding the bus, waiting for someone or something, etc.

P.S. I can think of one time when flashbacks during the action are appropriate and that’s when the character is experiencing PTSD-like events. But then, these need to be part of the plot.

Anyhow, there you have it—the mechanics of flashback. Now let’s get back to the present.

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Flashbacks

flashbacks

Flashbacks

Okay, so maybe your flashbacks don’t go back to pre-history, but they are an important component of any piece, particularly a novel but also memoir or a long short story.

I know you know this, so humor me while I provide an explanation. A flashback is a scene or scenes in a longer fiction piece which take the reader to a point in the narrative which occurred prior to the time in which the tale itself is situated. There are a whole bunch of good reasons to use them.

Flashbacks can be great support for the main plot

Just-in-time for the reader

One of the best reasons is to provide information/background/explanation the reader requires to understand the scene. This avoids the deadly piling on, at the beginning of the story, of all the history and research the reader will need.  You can easily lose people because they don’t yet understand the context in which these details fit. Much better to give them info at the point they need it. Enter the flashback.

An example (italics for main story; flashback in red).

The children were screaming and running around in what seemed a chaotic tag. The adults were in the kitchen—the clink of the glasses rising even above the din. Alice sighed.

It hadn’t always been so. What she remembered most were the silent mornings where you were supposed to be reading your Bible and contemplating your sins. She tried, she really did, but it was hard not to see the toboggan-ready hill of snow just outside her window.

So, if it is important to understand the contrast between Alice’s present reality and her past, best to keep the two together rather than a description at the beginning of the olden days.

Fill out a character

You may want to make the character more vivid or real by providing bits of his personal history to explain his actions in the ‘present’ of the novel.

“Why did you do that?” Veronica yelled.

Jerry turned away and walked out of the room into the sunlight.

It had been snowing that day. Heavy, wet snow. Great for snowballs. A bitch for shoveling. Nevertheless, he was looking forward to the day. Gemma was sure to be at class today…And then you go on to explain why Jerry acted so strangely.

Variety

A story that starts at the beginning and goes through in chronological order to the hopefully satisfying end can be perfectly okay. For example, if you are writing an action thriller with a taciturn hero, flashbacks may be out of place.

But for most stories, they mix things up in a pleasurable way for the reader. The bouncing around can provide an enjoyable variety in the form of the story.

Get boring bits out of the way

There are bits of any novel which are a drag both for you to write and for the reader to read but are nevertheless important to the story. You may need to explain the history of a critical object or element. A short flashback at the point the info is needed can sometimes make the conveyance easier to read and sometimes to write.

Use sparingly

While they can provide variety, too many flashbacks can confuse the narrative, sometimes to the point of being unsure what the main story is. A large number also tend to annoy the reader as it begins to feel as if they’re impeding the main action.

So, flashbacks are good but not always flashbacks. There are other more mechanical dos and don’ts that I’ll cover in the next post.

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Ridiculously Small Targets

ta

Ridiculously Small Targets

What a year this has been! A pandemic, no less. However you have been affected by it—whether it’s worrying about your safety or mourning the loss of a loved one—no one has escaped unscathed. In particular, I think we are targets for higher level of tension and stress than pre-pandemic. Goes up and down, isn’t always top of mind. But always there.

This continued stress is not conducive to writing and may even make it feel irrelevant. But if you, as I do, enjoy the moments of escape which writing provides, then I would encourage you to take a few moments over the holiday season to give yourself that relief.

However, this is often a busy season and is certainly a weird one this year. Doesn’t feel as if you could take the time.

You can with ridiculously small targets

The lack of time is a constant challenge for writers. And exacerbated over the holidays. What claims our attention may be different this year—staying connected rather than planning huge get togethers—but it is still likely to take time.

So, to keep your escape available, aim for ridiculously small targets. Rather than a lengthy session of concentration to turn out a substantial piece, why not decide on a five or ten word limit a day? An idea, a moment, a feeling, a grasp at your soul for a fleeting moment. Write them down.

This is one time when carrying around a small notebook might work best. You can of course use your phone as the repository if you won’t feel the urge to keep it short to save yourself the nuisance. Because, although you might set your minimum at ten words, the trick is to continue beyond that if the spirit moves. If you feel comfortable on your phone doing that, use it by all means.

Why bother with small—shouldn’t I be going big?

Of course, if you have the time over the break, by all means set the time aside. Even regularly if you can. But holidays often pull you this way and that, so planning for major time which isn’t realistic, will just lead to a sense of failure.

And by the by, if you aim incredibly low and meet your objectives, please congratulate yourself rather than thinking, “Well, it wasn’t much. I should have done more.” The point of aiming low is to create a sense of success. Don’t sabotage yourself by denigrating the goal itself after the fact. Instead, bask.

Using these minor moments

One of two things will happen. Either one of the ten word moments will inspire you to make time to expand on the idea that just hit you or you will end the holidays with a list of interesting notions.

After the holidays, you can use something from the list to kick start a longer writing session. Since writers often have trouble knowing where to begin, this will give you a built-in source that could last you for months.

Either way, you win. A little holiday gift to yourself.

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Not My Biography, Exactly

biography

Not My Biography, Exactly

In the last post, using anecdotes as starter dough, I encouraged you to use your own biography as a launching pad for a story. The end product doesn’t have to resemble the initiating thought and may take you to an entirely different place than the ‘real’ story.

But while I think it is a great idea, there’s one caveat. This can be a way, however inadvertent, to slide into retelling the story so that your David wins against Goliath, your weasel against the lion.

The temptation in writing your own biography

In giving yourself permission to take off from the original memory into something possibly quite different, there can be a lure to weave the new story in a way where you look better/smarter/more prescient than you did in real life. I stood up to the bully and didn’t slink away; my ridicule was actually a gentle joke. It’s easy to shape things so that the story turns out as you wished it had or what you want people to believe.

Trust me, it almost always turns out to be way more compelling writing if you stick with the truth. I know it sounds as if I’m talking out of both sides of mouth—take flights of fancy  and stick with the truth.

But the truth I am talking about is emotional truth. I don’t care if you change your school yard to another planet or make the stakes earth-shattering rather than hurt feelings. But I do care whether the underlying emotion is real. If you can capture the feelings when you let the bully to beat up another kid, so long as you were safe or the consequences of being less than what you aspire to, then the story can take off in any direction you like and still be true.

Memoir or fiction?

You would think that how close you need to stay to the truth would depend on whether you are writing fiction or a memoir. More truthful for a memoir, not so important for fiction.

Well, maybe, but it isn’t as easy as all that. For one thing, the two genres are often conflated. More than one author has used actual events in his fiction and we have all read memoires which we know have got to be more fiction than fact.

Sometimes this conflation seems purposeful. I didn’t want to be President anyhow; I was never wrong. But other times, the mixing of the genres may not be intentional. As I mentioned in my last post, I wrote a whole sub-plot which I thought was auto-biographical until my sister pointed out the event had happened to her rather than me.

But examples of this bleed between genres don’t have to be as blatant. You may use an anecdote whose interpretation is obvious, only to discover that another participant in the event remembers it completely differently. One of you is talking fiction but you’ll probably never figure out who.

Truthfully, I just can’t get worried about what genre you call your manuscript. As long as you keep close to that core of emotional truth wherever the story takes you, your writing will have the ring of reality to which readers respond.