Take the I out of 1st person

Ok, firstly, there is nothing wrong with novels or stories written in 1^st person.

But recently I read a book in 1^st person that made me feel the whole time as if the action was in slow-motion as I waited for the main character to narrate what was happening.

The cool premise of the book was killed by removing me from the immediacy of the action through an effect I oh-so-recently called “telescoping”*. (I’m sure some literary professor type knows the real word for it, but I stick to “telescoping”)

* In fact we had a rescue from Hollan, who is said literary professor type, who corrected my totally subjective term "telescoping". The correct term is FILTERING folks, filtering. This post has been edited to remove my egregious misuse of astronomical terminology.

Action should be IN YOUR FACE!

Filtering is when the action happening RIGHT NOW is filtered through the narrator needlessly distancing me, the reader, from the action. (Author intrusion also can fall into the realm of filtering)

Sure sometimes you may deliberately want distance in 1^st person. It can lend a certain cold detachment to certain scenes, or even allow the character to show their bias or coloration of events.

But regardless whether it’s 1^st person, 3^rd person close, or even 3^rd person omniscient, I personally want to feel like the events are happing right here, right now. Not over there to some guy who keeps getting in the way of the narrative. (There’s nothing worse than a narrator who gets in the way of the actual narration!)

Here is my totally heavy-handed and off the top of my head example of filtering.

Filtered 1st person	Immediate 1st person
As I ran down Ventura Boulevard, I could tell that things had gone from bad to worse. I noticed that my stitches had come undone and felt the blood run down my back. I could hear guns roaring all around me and when I looked back I saw the zombies at the far end of the street still coming. Why’d the world have to end in zombies? I thought to myself. I kept running.	As I ran down Ventura Boulevard, things went from bad to worse. My stitches came undone and the blood ran down my back. Guns were roaring all around me yet the zombies far down at the east end of the street kept coming. Why’d the world have to end in zombies? I kept running.

When an author is filtering in 1^st person, the narrator creates distance by “feeling, or noticing, or perceiving that the action is happening” instead of the action just happening.

Am I right here, or am I crazy-cakes?

Inside Jokes Are Fun #243 - Battle Bunny

My critique supergroup, The Illiterati, are a bunch of oddball pop-culture misfits and I'd have it no other way.

That's the only explanation you're gonna get for what happens next...

Battle Bunny

Punch Rejection in the Face

Rejection. It’s certainly a big part of life for writers.

We get rejection letters, for crying out loud. Think about that. (Puts junk mail in a whole new light)

I read this very honest post by author Jody Hedlund and among all the excellent facets of perspective she brought to this painful subject was:

“Rejection reminds us that pursuing publication is NOT for the faint of heart.”

Just like opening yourself up to critique, starting to put your work out there for consideration by editors and agents = lots of bruises on your ego. And maybe some broken bones.

So you have to ask yourself, “Do I really want to be published?”

Maybe you don’t. There’s no problem with writing for yourself, or your family. There have even been some incredible writers who’ve gone that route. (Emily Dickinson for starters… and there are plenty more)

But if it’s publication you’re after: There’s no prize for also-ran.

If you believe that you have something to say that the whole world ought to hear, you’re going to have to face the pain of rejection. Lots of it.

There’s no consolation for this pain except perseverance and raising the quality of your writing (and querying) until the right person finally takes notice and says: “This is it!”

But chocolate helps.

Is there anything you do to take away some of the sting? (Like a special "anti-rejection ointment" or something?)

I’m Ready Coach, Put Me on the Field

Way back when I was a lad I wanted to be a writer. And a director. And an actor. But mostly a writer. I never could understand the kids who had to act out a scene from the movie instead of making up a new storyline.

I wrote screenplays in crayon on scratch paper my dad brought back from the office, (on the flip side were ordering reports and interoffice memos) and I dragged the neighborhood kids out to our "studio lot" next to the garage. I learned firsthand that I’d never make it as a video editor.

But I learned that I loved to write. All through jr. high and high school I churned out short stories and half-written novels. Many exhibited some degree of natural talent; all were full of the melodramatic pathos of a greenhorn teen writer.

I learned a lot about storytelling, creating mood, characters, etc, etc, but I still wasn’t really a writer.

I could write, but it was frivolous, impulsive. My stories were muscled through on raw talent alone. There wasn’t a conscious honing of the craft or conceptualizing of themes and narrative arcs. I thought I was pretty good.

Then I wondered if maybe I could get published. So I started a critique group with a friend from another band. We met in a Las Vegas bar after midnight. So clandestine.

But the thing is: he challenged my writing. Actually challenged it! He didn’t immediately concede I was an unstoppable literary force who could do no wrong… No, he pointed out flaws, identified clichéd characters and plot points, noticed an overabundance of adverbs and descriptive purple prose. In short, he told me “You can do better.”

He was right.

Now our critique group has grown, I am privileged to meet with accomplished, dedicated writers, and we raise the literary bar every week. Now when I write I can hear their expert advice and foresee their possible critiques. “Why is the character doing that? Is that plot point strong enough? How many adverbs were you thinking of putting into that sentence?”

Each of us has a unique style. Each of us has a range of “voices” that we comfortably write in. But none of us are content to stay where we are. I want to grow as a writer, try more daring voices, experiment with style and characters and genres.

Now I feel, though I’ll always have room for improvement, that I’m ready to be a writer. Now I’m ready to get off the bench, put down the test pastiches of copying my favorite authors, not just dabble, but give it my real attention.

In short, I’m ready to write like I mean it.

Are you?