The Problem of the Ever-Present Narrator
It’s fall. For me, that means kids back at school, cooler temps, the smell of bonfires in the evening. The hunter green leaves on the many trees that line the streets of my historic neighborhood transform into deep reds and golds, bright yellows and oranges, and even rose pinks (there’s a tree in my neighborhood that legit turns rose pink – it’s amazing!)
Fall is a nostalgic time for me. No other season sends me tumbling through memories, leaving me wistful for days past. The crunch of drying leaves under me feet brings me back to walking home from the bus after a fun day at elementary school. The taste of cinnamon-y apple donuts that our local orchard only makes this time of year brings on visions of pumpkins and Halloween skeletons on porches. The fuzzy coziness of a fleece jacket on that first truly chilly morning triggers the warm feelings of holidays to come. The sudden need to organize everything I let slide all summer, an impulse I suspect is linked to that back-to-school rituals from my childhood, takes over me.
Fall also has me turning to the future. I have this sense that I’ve taken a step forward in life, again likely from that childhood rite of passage from one grade to the next. A whole new year is ahead of me, full of potential.
(I also get this weird impulse to read Dickens and Austen and Bronte, which I suspect is a result of a scheduling quirk during college where I had all my British lit classes in the fall.)
You’re probably thinking right now, Yeah, fall. Leaves. Fleece But what does this have to do with writing?
A lot, actually.
Past Memories and Future Hopes Are a Key Part of Character Interiority
Anyone who works with me will hear me talk – endlessly – about character interiority. I’m always asking, What is this character thinking/feeling right now?, over and over and over. Not because I want to annoy people, but because interiority is one of those writing skills that takes time and patience to learn. When interiority is done well in published books, we may not even notice it. We take it in passively as we actively follow the action of the plot. This mean, as writers, we need first to learn to see interiority on the page in our favorite books, and then practice it in our own writing.
Just so we’re on the same page, definition-wise, a quick explanation: Interiority is your POV character’s thoughts, feelings, memories, impressions, opinions, reactions, fears, hopes, and inner struggles expressed on the page. It’s characters processing the events of the story. It HAS to be on the page. When interiority is missing, readers feel shut out of the story. They won’t understand what’s happening, or why, or why any of it matters because they haven’t been let in to the characters’ thoughts, feelings, and reactions.
An important part of character interiority is seeing a POV character reference their life experience and future hopes on the page as they are faced with choices and challenges.
When this gets left out, you end up with what’s called an ever-present narrator. An ever-present is a POV character who is thinking, feeling, and reacting to the immediate present without referencing their past experience or future expectations. They skim along the surface of the story, making decisions and taking action based only on what’s right in front of them. But that’s not really how people think and act. As much as we’re told to “live in the present,” few of us are able to be wholly present, all the time. Our past experiences and future expectations and hopes impact our actions in the present moment. They are the lens through which we see our world. We remember the past in moments of reflection, summon up past experiences when we make decisions, and consider future expectations and hopes as we think through what’s at stake with this decision – what we hope to gain or fear to lose.
When you’re trying to get interiority right in your stories, remember that your POV characters need to be drawing on their past experience and future expectations as they process what’s happening to them on the page. This will help you avoid the problem of the ever-present narrator and build rich, complex characters that resonate with readers.
Next time you’re reading a book, especially one written by an author you admire, pay close attention to how they do interiority. How they weave it into the action, or tuck it into this corner and that. Seeing interiority on the page is the first step to learning how to do it right in your own stories.
This past weekend, having finished one book and wanting to start a new one, I stood in front of my TBR pile and scanned the (many) books I’ve bought that are waiting patiently for me to read them. After a few minutes, I grabbed Life After Life by Kate Atkinson. I’d bought this book a couple of years ago – I’m a long-time fan of Atkinson – but I hadn’t gotten to yet, having decided, each time I’d scanned my TBR pile, to grab a different book. But this time I picked Atkinson up. Why? Why now?
She’s British. And it’s fall. She’s not Dickens or Austen or Bronte, but my (admittedly odd) fall craving for books that take place in Britain, prompted by my past experiences, made that call and I’m now happily ensconced in war-time London.
Till next time…
Happy Writing,
Erin
