Back to school: A lesson in point of view

This post is for all the writers out there, especially those who are yet to be published. For everyone who's already got a handle on the following subject, you can go here and enjoy, especially if you're a True Blood fan: http://babyvamp-jessica.com/ (If you're not a True Blood fan, you're out of luck. Sorry.)

As you may or may not know, I edit for two different e-publishers. So I get to see a lot of manuscripts. I even get to accept some. But there's one thing that's bound to make me, and any other editor, instantly reject a manuscript: poorly handled third person point of view. (pov)

In junior high school English (or its equivalent, depending on your country of origin), you may have learned these definitions of pov:

First Person-uses I; the protagonist (the narrator) can only show the writer what the I of the story sees and can only interpret the actions/feelings/thoughts of others. (Unless they're a mind-reader.) Like the story of your life with you as the main character, there's only one person through whose eyes you see.

Second Person-uses you (to be honest, I've never seen a definition of second person that anyone can understand and usually see this disclaimer instead of an example: not often used. Of course. No one understands it, so no one uses it. The most important thing to understand is this: Commercial fiction does not use second person, so don't utilize it even if you can figure out how to do it. )

Third Person-uses she, he, it; if it's not first person (I), this is the point of view used in commercial fiction. 

There are two forms of third-person: limited (where the writer is only able to describe what the viewpoint character sees) and omniscient, where the writer is God-like and can tell the reader what every character sees at any given moment in the story. This is where many writers run into trouble.

Many of the books we were asked (okay, forced) to read in school used omniscient third person point of view. And it worked well, for its time. Especially when we read books written in the seventeen and eighteen hundreds. The writer of the story is as just as much present, in many cases, as the characters s/he's writing about. For example, here is the opening of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol:

Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it: and Scrooge’s name was good upon ’Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.

Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Country’s done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a door-nail.

Notice how the author intrudes upon the story, as if dictating it to the reader. He (for I'm assuming it is a he, perhaps even Dickens himself) begins the story in first person, yet disappears after a few paragraphs to switch to third person omniscient:

Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thin lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rime was on his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wiry chin. He carried his own low temperature always about with him; he iced his office in the dog-days; and didn’t thaw it one degree at Christmas.

The reason this is omniscient? Because someone's describing the appearance of Scrooge as if observing him from across the room. Scrooge himself is not going to be able to describe his appearance without looking into a mirror (and he probably wouldn't do it in such an unflattering way). While this was a commonplace and acceptable technique for fiction in 1843, it's not what we do in today's fiction.

What today's readers expect is limited third person point of view, where the only thing they can see is what the character sees and the only thoughts they can read are the ones going on in the viewpoint character's head. It's almost like using first person (I) with third person pronouns.  Instead of being held at a distance and viewing a tableau as the 19th century reader was, readers of current fiction want to live vicariously through the character, seeing the world through their eyes. And while it's fine to use a variety of characters in your fiction (of course) what you need to realize is that many publishers have house style rules dictating one viewpoint character per scene. So the writer isn't able to hop from viewpoint to viewpoint--or shouldn't--but must use the eyes, voice and interpretations of a single character per scene.

This means that Miss Fanny Booboo isn't going to be in your opening scene doing something like this:

Fanny Booboo stood at the coffee maker, waiting for her first cup of the day. Her sky-blue eyes felt gritty and she wished she'd stopped dancing at three and gone home to bed at a decent hour. Say, eight o'clock. But no, she'd stayed and danced the night away like the love-sick idiot she was. She leaned against the counter and shook her shining blond hair, the sexy ringlets tumbling down her back to land exactly at the point in her slender waist where her hips gently swell into curves which had been known to inspire men to immediately declare they were in love. At least, until recently.

At first glance, this seems all right. But if we were truly in Miss Booboo's head (and point of view), we wouldn't be able to see the color of her eyes, the hair tumbling down her back, her slender waist, or her gently swelling hips. Not unless Fanny decided to reach up, yank her eyeballs out of their sockets and hold them in her palms like little, round and probably bloody cameras, to scan her appearance so the reader knows what she looks like. (Pretty yucky at that point, I would assume.) Only someone standing on the opposite side of the room observing her actions would be able to see this picture. There isn't, however, and we're not seeing the story through someone else's point of view, because we know what Fanny's thinking and her physical feelings. What's here is omniscient point of view--which, like I've said, is frowned upon in current commercial fiction--and it's what an editor will call a pov break.

If you've been working to get published and you receive a rejection with these words, stop and look at what you've written. Is your character seeing something she shouldn't/couldn't/wouldn't? If that's the case, put her sky-blue orbs back into her skull and rewrite the scene from her point of view. It will make for a cleaner narrative and--hopefully--result in less rejections.

Any questions? Feel free to ask. 

It's a Matter of Perspective

Okay, kids. This editor is cranky. We're going to go over Point of View today, AGAIN, and this time, I want you to pay attention. Because I'm getting mighty annoyed at seeing the same mistakes over and over and over again.

When you are writing in a character's point of view, you must remain in their head and see only (I repeat ONLY) with their eyes. This doesn't mean their eyes can suddenly sprong out of their heads like Roger Rabbit's to view themselves. No! No, no, no, no! Their eyes must (I repeat, must) stay in their heads and see only what they are capable of seeing.

But I do that, you tell me.

Ha. Guess again. You tell me that your character's eyes widened. That their mouth drew into grim lines. That their shoulders hunched and their hair bounced. You don't think that's a point of view break? Then, we're going to do an exercise together.

Sit in your chair. Are you? Make sure you're not looking in a mirror or window or computer screen or scything pool or anyplace where you might get a glimpse of your reflection. Okay? Ready? Good.

Now, tell me. What is your mouth shaped like? A bow? A tiny smile? A pouty frown? Do you know? Are your eyes wide? Narrowed? (They might be crossing, if you're still trying to see what shape your mouth is taking.) How are your shoulders? Is your hair--especially in the back of your head--bouncing. (Hey! No cheating! You can't touch it. Eyes only!)

So--what do you see? Anything?

I can see my hands, typing, and my arms. Out of my peripheral vision, I can see my shoulders (sort of--they're these blurry shapes). I can see some of my hair in my face and in my eyes. I can look down and see my fat legs and my feet. BUT, I can't see anything else of myself.

When you are writing, and you're in a character's point of view, you can't suddenly start describing things that character cannot see. Or hear, for that matter. You have to put yourself in that character's head and see through their eyes, the same way you see through your own eyes.

But why, you cry. That's not fair!

Sorry kiddos, it is. The thing is, I know of more than one publishing house which requires that a scene be written only from one character's point of view. So suck it up. Them's the house style rules and they exist for a reason. Because most of us suck at writing multiple pov and the reader feels confused and rather like a tennis ball bouncing from person to person.

Speaking of confused...I've discovered that most of us learn by doing. So I'm going to continue this on Friday, when I'll give you an assignment to share with the group. You'll be doing a little writing. But what you'll need for this assignment is a piece of chocolate, like a Hershey's Kiss or a Dove square. (Or--if you're one of those healthy people--a piece of fruit.) Okay?

Class dismissed. See you Friday.

Monday Manuscript Fix: Can this chapter be saved?

One of my critique partners (also an editor for a different epublisher) pointed out that--in her opinion--the entire first chapter of my current w.i.p. is backstory. (If you heard a primal scream earlier this morning, that was me. Sorry.)

Ah, backstory. Sometimes it sits there out in the open, being itself: a bunch of information setting the stage, introducing the characters and maybe even explaining why they're there and what they're doing. Sometimes it gives you the main character's history.

Sometimes, backstory's disguised as a prologue.

This is a frequent problem with manuscripts I see; the story could easily begin (with more impact) on page ten, but the author has decided this other stuff is just as important and needs to be said. The thing is, the reader wants to be dropped into the middle of the action; poorly written backstory could make them close the book (or click off the sample chapter).

This is A Very Bad Thing.

I'm not sure what this bit o'backstory is doing. Not much, apparently, because as Joyce said, "I'm just waiting for something to happen." The thing is--in my opinion--things are happening. Just...not much. I think it's being sneaky--pretending to have something going on...or...not? I'm too on-top of it to tell. So I thought I'd ask you.

If you look at the tab labelled Love You to Death (which should be above, if I formatted things correctly), you can read my opening chapter. What do you think? Backstory? Not backstory? Tell me why--or why not? Would you read on or close the book?

Fiction Focus Friday!

Yay!

My ten-year-old son's baseball teammate slept over last night; the two of them plus my three-year-old boy are all talking to me at once (or were, until I shooed them outside to irritate the neighbor with their yelling--honestly, she's such a bi-otch...she once yelled at a landscaper for blowing leaves because she couldn't sleep at 8:30 am. And she doesn't even work third shift, like my husband--she's just LAZY AND RUDE.)

Heh. If I find out her name, I'll post it here so we can all go out and sing The Star Spangled Banner under her window. Let her come out and complain about that. "But Officer, they were singing the national anthem under my bedroom window at eight in the morning..."

"Sorry ma'am, there's no law against singing the national anthem on private property and they were in your neighbor's yard. However, there is a law against public drunkeness. So why were you out so late that you need to sleep when the sun's in the sky and people are awake enough to work, sing and play?"

Anyhow--phew, that little anti-neighbor rant felt good--I'm too overwhelmed with boys right now to write anything thoughtful. Instead, I give you some covers from two upcoming books. They're very purty covers--if y'all like men. If not...well...sorry! You're on your own. ;)

Wednesday W.I.P.Fix

How are your words working for you?

Recently I edited a book where the author had a habit of writing that the character "kind of" did something.

Jane kind of twitched. Bob kind of ate his sandwich. Cynthia kind of got stuck on -itch words.

I'm not sure why she did this, but I can tell you--I kind of got annoyed with it after awhile. Not only is it extraneous wording (don't forget your Strunk & White: Eschew excess verbiage!) but it kind of weakens the verb. Lord knows, we don't want any weak verbs kind of wandering around our manuscripts.

So today, I have an assignment for you, my little writer bunnies. Go through your current w.i.p. and look for your extraneous catch phrases. Is there anything you unconsciously repeat? And if so, ask yourself--why? What is it about this phrase/word choice/word construction that causes you to use it? Are you afraid of what you're trying to say? Are you telling instead of showing?

Or are you just being kind of lazy?

Remember: As Yoda kind of said: There is no "kind of". There is only "do".

And isn't this "kind of" getting kind of annoying? Yep. I was one cranky editor.

Fiction tip Friday: Di-uh-logical Um-brage.

Dear Writers:

Here's a tip for you: Dialogue is not like speech.

Speech, what we humans emit, is replete with well, you knows, yeahs, yups, ums. uhs, ohs, ha's, huhs and even ayuhs.

Though it's good to try to replicate speech--to some extent--in your dialogue, never forget that the main purpose of the conversations your characters have is to tell your story in a dynamic, cohesive way. Adding those touches of realism--as true as they may be to your characters' speech patterns and dialect--often make your prose static and slow down the pacing. In fact, I have a name for them (which is probably incorrect but works): interrupters.

When might you want to use an interrupter?

When you need to show (show!) a hesitation in your character's decision-making process, or shock, or surprise, then by all means, put an interrupter in their speech. For example:

"I was confused," Kathy told her boss. "I was--oh, I don't know...lost." Here (in my crappy example), I've created a character who needs to pause and find the right word. So I show her. Pausing. That works, and as an editor, I wouldn't pull out the red pen for that.

If I see something like this, however, you can be sure I'll be cranky all over it:

Melvin was terrified. The dog was lose, and it was heading straight for him. It was going to clamp its jaws down upon his leg and sever his arteries. "Look out," he screamed. "That's a pit bull, and it's dangerous!"

Kelly barely gave the dog a second glance. "That's not a pit bull, Melvin. It's a Pomeranian. It might nip you, but it's hardly dangerous."

"Oh. Okay." He started walking again.

The problem with this? It's a waste of dialogue. What happens between the time Melvin realizes his fears are unfounded and--in fact--he's made an ass out of himself? Better to put some internal dialogue in here and have Melvin make a realization. You can keep the di-uh-logue, if you must:

Melvin was terrified. The dog was lose, and it was heading straight for him. It was going to clamp its jaws down upon his leg and sever his arteries. "Look out," he screamed. "That's a pit bull, and it's dangerous!"

Kelly barely gave the dog a second glance. "That's not a pit bull, Melvin. It's a Pomeranian. It might nip you, but it's hardly dangerous."

The dog bounced across the lawn like a tennis ball. It grabbed one of his shoelaces and tugged, growling deep in its throat. It sounded exactly like an electric razor.

Melvin lifted his foot and shook the dog off, his face growing hot as he noticed Kelly's look of disgust. "Oh. Okay." Would he ever not look like a fool in front of her? He started walking again before the dog did something else, like pee on his leg.

Okay, maybe not much better, but certainly the reader knows more about Melvin in this example. If I were editing this, I would tell the writer: Delete "Oh.Okay." It's superfluous and the line reads fine without it.

I sometimes think writers feel they must put something there, but they're not sure what. Instead of using all the tools in their toolbox, they try to make the tools they're most comfortable with, work. Dialogue is something we all use a lot, so--why not? But what can I have my character say, after something like this? "Oh, okay" is the only thing I can think of.... I guess that works.

The next time you find yourself inserting an interrupter into your dialogue, STOP. Ask yourself:

1) What is the purpose of this scene?
2) What is my character's conflict?
3) What is his motivation?
4) What is he really trying to say/think?
5) What else can he say that will make the scene more dynamic?

And then, let me know how you make out. Does your pacing change? Does the scene work better? I'm almost sure it will. ;)

Word Nerd Wednesday

I'm going to get t-shirts made with the slogan: Word Nerd on them.
Word: concept, designation, expression, idiom, lexeme, locution, morpheme, name, phrase, sound, term, usage, utterance, vocable...

Nerd: Part of Speech: noun; Definition: geek

Synonyms: dolt, dork, dweeb, fool, goober, goofball, jerk*, oaf, techie, trekkie, weirdo

Notes: a geek is any smart person with an obsessive interest, a nerd is the same but also lacks social grace, and a dweeb is a mega-nerd

(source: dictionary.com; thesaurus.com)

I think, if I brought a bunch/slew/gross/group of Word Nerd t-shirts to a writer's conference, they'd sell well. Because we writers are word nerds (techically, "geeks", but that doesn't rhyme as well), and we admit it. We think about the merits of words, their sound, their meaning, their etymology. (Word Nerds know words like "etymology".)

I have proof of this. Earlier this week, I posted a query to my editor forum (where my fellow Lyrical editors and I go to ask questions about...words. And spellings. And other editorly things). My question was: should I keep the British or use the American spelling of the word: draughty. (As in, "the tower was draughty".)

It became quite the discussion. "Draught" is the British way to spell "draft". But, it's acceptable to keep that spelling if one is referring to the drinking of a beverage. And, in America, we do have draught beer (sometimes, depending on the beermaker--brewmeister, beer shaper, brewer...). We also have draft/draught horses, sometimes called dray horses.

Why do we have dray horses which pull drays, but not draft horses which pull drafts (or draught horses which pull draughts)?

My question created a clabber of geek speak. (Clabber, by the way, is a word which means "to clout or coagulate"[when used as a verb] or "clot" or "blob" [when used as a noun]. Oddly enough, it fits in this situation. We created a blob of blabber.)

Part of the problem--for English writers, anyway--is that our language hasbeen influenced by so many other languages and rules and spellings that half the time, you don't know if you're right or wrong. But we writers...we know. And we're proud [Middle English, from Old English prd, from Old French prou, prud, brave, virtuous, oblique case of prouz, from Vulgar Latin *prdis, from Late Latin prde, advantageous, from Latin prdesse, to be good : prd-, for (variant of pr-, with d on the model of red-, prevocalic variant of re-, back, again; see pro-1) + esse, to be; see es- in Indo-European roots.]
 of it.

Having a command (noun:the possession or exercise of controlling authority: expertise; mastery)
of the language is no small skill. At least, that's what we like to tell ourselves in multisyllabic ways. Because we are...Word Nerds. :)

So...wanna buy a t-shirt?