Writers in the Storm

By Barbara Linn Probst

Before I turned to fiction, I was a hybrid of academic and therapist. There was a truism in clinical practice that having been in therapy made you a better therapist—a complicated question, impossible to prove, although we always encouraged students to experience therapy themselves before attempting to offer it to others. I got curious and decided to ask the question in reverse: what was it like for people who entered therapy after having spent time as therapists?  Could they leave their therapist-minds behind when they moved to “the other chair” and surrender to the client role? As you might guess, it wasn’t so easy.

Now that I’m a novelist, I’m interested in a similar question for writers. Most of us were readers before we became writers, and would probably agree that our reading experience influences our experience as writers. But what happens when a writer opens a book and shifts to her reader-identity? Can we leave our writer-minds behind and surrender to the “reader chair”—and should we?  

Once again, I asked.  More than fifty people on several writer groups I belong to responded to my question: “How do you read? Do you lose yourself in the story (as a reader might) or read to study how the author did it (as a writer might)?”

The responses can be summarized into three big ideas.

"It depends on the quality of the book."

For some, there was a clear difference in how they read “well-written books” and how they read “poorly-written books.” 

• If the book is really good, I lose myself in it and forget to “read like a writer,” even if I want to and try to.
• A good story hijacks my brain and turns me back into a reader!
• If it's a book with problems, I tend to read like a writer and start seeing the issues.
• A poorly-written book will break the spell and activate that inner critic.

On the other hand, some people felt that the writer-brain interfered, even with well-written books, and often ruined their enjoyment.

• Writer-mind can interfere, and I wish it didn’t!  It’s a real downer.
• I’d like to read like a reader but it can be really difficult.
• The inner writer critic comes out far too often. I find myself pulled from the story.
• I'd like to read as a reader, but I find now that it's often as a writer. Oh, there's THAT trope. Oh, what a nice use of interjection. Why's she switching POV now? Hah, great dialogue! Ooh, what a great way to describe that expression. Ah, she just raised the stakes. It's kind of annoying because I miss just reading for pleasure.

People dealt with that challenge in different ways—typically by toggling back and forth or by reading a book more than once.

"I switch back and forth."

For some, the “toggling” happens as they go. While mainly “just reading,” they might stop to note something the writer did that they admired—or to wince when something is jarring.

• I read like a reader who is a writer, meaning that I simply read, but sometimes take notes on things that impressed me about the writing.
• A good book makes me stop to ponder how she did that!
• I often re-read a certain passage and think, “Now that’s a great idea to describe xyz!”
• I try to read like a reader but I catch myself noticing if the POV veered slightly off or if the scene jumped without a clear explanation. I find myself thinking: hmmm. Something was removed here and the transition is now bumpy.
• Mostly as a reader but I sometimes stop dead as a writer to admire a great sentence or be shocked by bad technique.

For others, the two processes happen alongside one another, as if different parts of the self are engaged in different ways.

• The writer can still think along the way, while the reader feels.
• I read like both: like a chef enjoying a dish prepared by someone else, who can't help figuring out how it was prepared and what ingredients went into it. Or like a singer listening to another singer, and appreciating how they handle reaching difficult notes and where technique compensates for vocal flaws.

I go back and read the book a second time.

With an exceptionally good book, many people said that they read for enjoyment the first time, and then go back to re-read with their “writer-brains” so they can focus on craft and identify what the author did that was so effective.

• Then a second time as a writer, paying more attention to how it was written rather than what it's about.
• If a book wows me, I'll reread it, sometimes to be wowed again, sometimes to study technique to understand why it wowed me.
• If it's amazing or I couldn't put it down, I go back and try to figure out what exactly created that response.

This was especially so for books that had effective twists and turns.

• If the book intrigues me enough I'll go back and reread as a writer so that I can understand how this particular book kept me turning the pages
• I wanted to analyze why it worked so well and what it was that made me lose myself.
• The twist at the end revealed why the point-of-view character behaved as he did throughout the story. I had to reread it with that knowledge.

Many people noted how important it was to experience the story as a reader, before all else.

• If you don't read first as a reader, the story is no longer a work of art or humanity.
• I would never want to forget that the story is written for readers, that the writer has something personal to convey, and is speaking to me, not demonstrating writing technique. I can't really experience the story if all I care about is to study its writing, even if I naturally tend to notice the writer's skill as I read.

These reflections offer an additional reminder. It’s important to remember that we’re writing for the reader—to give the reader that immersive experience of falling under the spell of the story, the same experience that we ourselves enjoy!

That may sound obvious, but I know I can become caught up in craft and technique—the sort of things that writers care about. I can spend hours worrying about eliminating “deadweight” or searching for the perfect word to convey the meaning I’m after. Although these things are part of our craft, I suspect that they’re not the things that readers care about.

Story.
Characters.
Meaning.

Isn’t that what we care about too, when we are in our reader-selves?  When we read, many of us toggle back-and-forth. We also need to toggle back-and-forth when we write— balancing our search for the highest level of craft we can muster and our feeling for the reader.

What about you? How do you read? Do you find yourself switching into your writer-brain when you read? If so, what triggers the switch? Please share with us down in the comments!

Barbara Linn Probst is a writer of both fiction and non-fiction, living on a historic dirt road in New York’s Hudson Valley. Her debut novel, Queen of the Owls (April 2020), is the powerful story of a woman’s search for wholeness, framed around the art and life of iconic American painter Georgia O’Keeffe.

Endorsed by best-selling authors such as Christina Baker Kline and Caroline Leavitt, Queen of the Owls was selected as one of the 20 most anticipated books of 2020 by Working Mother, one of the best Spring fiction books by Parade Magazine, and a debut novel “too good to ignore” by Bustle. It was also featured in lists compiled by Pop Sugar and Entertainment Weekly, among others. It won the bronze medal for popular fiction from the Independent Publishers Association, placed first runner-up in general fiction for the Eric Hoffer Award, and was short-listed for both the First Horizon and the $2500 Grand Prize. Barbara’s book-related article, “Naked: Being Seen is Terrifying but Liberating,” appeared in Ms. Magazine on May 27.

Barbara is also the author of the groundbreaking book on nurturing out-of-the-box children, When The Labels Don't Fit. She has a PhD in clinical social work, blogs for several award-winning sites for writers, and is a serious amateur pianist. Her second book releases in April 2021. To learn more about Barbara and her work,  please see http://www.barbaralinnprobst.com/

by Tasha Seegmiller

There are a lot of people out there who believe writing is a solitary affair. And to some extent, they are right. As someone who is in her final MFA semester, I can tell you that there are many times when people have asked how they can help and my answer is always they can’t. I have to do the reading. I have to do the writing. The drafting and outlining and brainstorming and editing and revising? That’s all on me.

But there is no way that I write a book on my own. Not even close. No one does.

All you have to do is flip to the acknowledgements section of a book to realize that the act of creation is a collaborative one. Much like the ending credit of a movie, the acknowledgments are where authors share how people helped hone their books (this is also a good place to see who is representing/editing work if you are at that stage of your career).

In order to write well, in order to write authentically, in order to create a story that hits all the markers we hope for, writers need to assemble their villages. I have a few suggestions for how to start or improve a novel’s village.

Writing Neighbors

I have the good fortune of having a writing group in my town. We’ve been meeting *almost* every two weeks for NINE years. We have grown together and our critiques have helped each other with lots of projects, many of which are and will soon be published. These are my critique partners, the ones who help with everything and anything from outline to name choice to diction and tone to plot holes. They are there to help see if the story is on track when I’m writing, to give feedback of where I’ve wandered, to help me see that no, I cannot skip over that moment just because it’s difficult to write.

I have a dear friend who I met through Women’s Fiction Writers Association who I have talked to about all the writing and life things off and on for several years, and we just started working on a “let’s remember how to have fun with writing” collaborative project (if you don’t know what I’m talking about, that’s okay. Those of you who do know, find a project/person to have fun with again).

And then there are beta readers. These are the kinds of people who help writers by reading through a whole manuscript. Some may make line edit kinds of notes, others may point out plot holes. If you don’t know this, please understand that when someone betas for you, you automatically owe them a beta. Neighbors don’t take a cup of sugar, they borrow one, acknowledging that it needs to be returned in kind. Be a good neighbor.

Expert Neighbors

I think most people who have been writing for a while know about the writing neighbors. There are also members of a novel’s village who might be our real-life neighbors, online friends, work associates, casual acquaintances who have a specific set of knowledge or skills that will allow characters to be more authentic.

Right now, I am building my current novel’s neighborhood with a friend whose a therapist, one who has an Instagram shop making custom polymer clay earrings, one who is raising a gay child. I have had heart to heart conversations with friends who came out in high school as a character in my book experiences this and I want to make sure their story is told authentically.

In previous works, I talked to a divorcee who placed a baby through adoption, two people who live with MS, a couple women who have wrestled with infertility, and an organic soap maker.

But not every book or topic needs a person who is an expert. I needed to check a timeline for a high school play production – that’s something I can just throw out on social media to get a pretty good ballpark.

I wanted to see if women of a certain faith felt a strain in their roles as women so I put together an anonymous google form where people could both select a multiple choice option and provide written feedback.

I’m following several people on twitter who are going through life experiences similar to what I intend to have a character go through. Leaning into what they are saying is allowing me to craft a more authentic reading experience.

Some people may categorize these neighbors under research, but for me, research is making sure I’ve got the information correct. This kind of immersion reaches further and deeper – it’s what makes people more interested in watching/listening to Hamilton than reading the biography. It brings the research into 3D.

Nurturing Neighbors

I’ve heard of the elusive individual who can write 8-10,000 words a day, who thrives in creating, who just has stories flow from them with ease.

I. Am. Not. That. Person.

In Elizabeth Gilbert’s well-known TED talk “Your Elusive Creative Genius,” she talks about how she is like a mule, trudging through the work. If ever there was a way to describe my process, it would be that. Writing brings me joy and a sense of accomplishment that little else in my life ever has, and it has brought me frustration and feelings of inadequacy just as often. I have wanted to quit. And I have endured more than one writing crisis.

I have a couple very close friends who are in the same trenches, though maybe at different places. These are people I can talk to when I am certain I’m a fraud, that I’ve wasted so much time and money, that I never had any business pursuing this writing thing in the first place. These are people I can reach out to when the publishing world is hard (it is), when I just don’t understand why something is progressing like I think it should (more than I’d like).

They know that the answer might be “Let me bring you some chocolate” or “Let’s go get a Diet Coke.”

They know the answer might be “What have you got so far?” or “Where are you stuck?”

They know the answer is also “If you weren’t a good writer, would you have experienced ______?”

These kinds of people are those who are neighbors in every novel’s village. They travel from project to project with me because a writer isn’t just an author once (generally). They nurture the progress of the book by helping with the needs of the writer.

Moving Neighborhoods

While there are a few people who help as neighbors in lots of books, if a writer intends for each book to be a little different from the previous one, there is a necessity to rebuild a novel’s village with newcomers as well. Anytime I come across a character who I think could be interesting but who is reading as flat, I start to think about who I know that is similar in some way. And sometimes, I see something or someone in a book, TV show, movie, social media or at the grocery story that makes me wonder. Jot it down, let it set for a while, and the start creating the new cast along with the experts needed to have them come to life.

How have you gathered information to help strengthen your characters or plot? What questions might you have about how to start such a conversation?

*  *  *  *  *  *

About Tasha

Tasha Seegmiller believes in the magic of love and hope, which she weaves into every story she creates. She is an MFA candidate in the Writing Program at Pacific University and teaches composition courses at Southern Utah University. Tasha married a guy she’s known since she was seven, is the mom of three teens, and co-owner of a soda shack and cotton candy company. She is represented by Annelise Robey of Jane Rotrosen Agency.

by Lisa Hall-Wilson

Deep point of view is a style of writing that aims to immerse the reader in the story so they share the character’s emotional journey as though it’s their own. This is achieved by removing the author/narrator voice from the writing, which is easier said than done. Deep POV is very popular in some genres and is growing in popularity in others as readers increasingly search for an experience in addition to being entertained.

I was asked by my students if I would create an FAQ for deep POV, and this is the first post towards that goal. These are some of the more frequent questions I get asked on my blog and in my free Facebook group Going Deeper With Emotions In Fiction.

1. When Can I Use Italics In Deep POV?

Typically, in deep POV you don’t use italics for internal dialogue or self-talk. Most readers can figure out when a character is thinking without the he/she thought tags or using italics. Where italics is used in deep pov is if there’s telepathy or mind-speak involved (looking at you paranormal and fantasy authors) to distinguish when a character is thinking from when they’re speaking to someone without words.

2. Is First Or Third POV Better In Deep POV?

You can use either effectively. When writing in first person, you are not automatically writing in deep pov though, so keep that in mind. This becomes more a choice of personal preference and genre/audience. Some genres seem to trend more towards one than the other.

3. Is Deep POV Better In Past Or Present Tense?

Same answer as above. Both can be equally effective so it’s more about personal preference and genre.

4. What Are Some Books That Use Deep POV?

I have read most but not all of these. My students will sometimes ask me about a particular book and I’ll use the Look Inside feature on Amazon to read the first few pages. These books are or seem to be written entirely in deep POV and represent a wide variety of genres.

The Help – Kathryn Stockett
The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins
Divergent – Veronica Roth
Water For Elephants – Sara Gruen
Her Galahad – Melissa James
Paladin of Souls – Lois McMaster Bujold
Dreamlander – K.M. Weiland
Cry Wolf – Patricia Briggs
ROOM – Emma Donaghue
The Last Seers – Lisa Hall-Wilson
Cross My Heart – Pamela Cook
Cursed Wishes – Marcy Kennedy
Tough Road – Elizabeth Safleur
The Ladderman – Angela Archer
Because Of Dylan – Erica Alexander

5. Why Can’t I Use Emotion Words In Deep POV?

Most of the time, writing that the character is mad, happy, depressed, anxious, etc. is considered telling. With deep pov, we want to write as though we are the character experiencing this story in real time. We don’t label emotions in our own minds very often, we FEEL emotions. This creates the immersive effect readers crave. For those who are aware of this rule in deep pov, what more often happens is showing AND telling.

Steve kicked the can down the street, hands shoved so far down his pockets he might’ve pulled up his socks. Too depressed to go home, he trudged past home and headed to the park.

Steve kicked the can down the street, hands shoved so far down his pockets he might’ve pulled up his socks. He trudged past home and headed to the park.

6. How Do You Anchor The Beginning Of A Scene In Deep POV Without Telling?

Sometimes it’s telling, often it’s author intrusion, but making sure the reader is rooted in who, when, where, etc. at the beginning of a chapter is a challenge for those new to deep POV. When done well, you can set aside this rule in deep pov if you’re able to become the character – inhabit their skin so to speak for a bit – and let the character feel their way through a scene.

It was five days later when Jerry sat down for breakfast.

Jerry slumped onto the only uncluttered chair at the table with a bowl of granola and the week’s stack of newspapers under his arm. He opened the oldest paper and spread it across the table. He had five days of news to catch up on. 

7. How Do You Remove Filter Words Like Felt, Saw, Or Heard In Deep POV?

These filter words are considered telling in deep pov but are totally acceptable in other styles, and it can be hard to shift the mindset to write without them. Try to write it as though YOU are the character and the character has no audience. Don’t write as though the reader is listening in. Write so that the reader feels like they’re right there next to your character living out this story with them.

She felt herself drawn to the last door on the left. <-- Instead of telling me she feels something, just write what she feels.

She stared at the final door, the light shining out from beneath like a safety beacon on a dark night.

She heard twigs snapping behind her in the dark. <-- don’t tell me she hears things, just show me what she hears.

Twigs snapped behind her and she spun towards the noise.

8. How Do I Write In Deep POV And Not Give Away The Character’s Whole Plan?

In deep POV, you have to rethink your ideas on tension and conflict. In other styles of writing, keeping the reader in the dark is one way to build tension for readers, but you can’t keep secrets from the reader in deep pov. If your character knows what’s about to happen, the reader knows what’s about to happen.

Instead, think about surprise. If your character is able to create a plan and fully execute it without alteration maybe you need to be harder on them. Let the reader in on what the character expects going into a situation – and now make life harder for them. Whatever they’re expecting – what if it doesn’t happen, or happens at the wrong time? If the reader knows the stakes going in, how much of their plan depends on one element, then the reader is leaning in and cheering for the character to succeed.

These are the short answers, of course, but sometimes that’s all you need. *smile*

Do you have a deep POV question I could add to my next deep POV FAQ post? Please share it down in the comments!

About Lisa

Lisa Hall-Wilson is a national award-winning freelance journalist and author who loves mentoring writers. Fascinated by history, fantasy, romance, and faith, Lisa blends those passions into historical and historical-fantasy novels. Find Lisa’s blog, Beyond Basics for intermediate writers,  at www.lisahallwilson.com.