I’ve decided to lend what little knowledge I have of writing (and it is quite little I assure you). Here I’ve given a series of examples, taken from various manuscripts of mine, of different writing styles from first-person POV to second-person. Notice the tone for each exerpt? These are all listed from my oldest work to my newest. Some are from fantasy or science-fiction manuscripts, while others are from comedy pieces. They’re all from my own manuscripts, so I’m more than happy to self-bash.
Ex. 1:
Paint dribbled down my hand to run in a thin line to my elbow and drip slowly onto my jeans. I ignored it as I leaned out a little farther on the ladder, trying to reach an unpainted spot of siding on my house without having to climb down and move the ladder. Slowly but surely my house was making the transition from sickly beige to white. I wiped sweat away from my forehead with the back of my clean hand before gripping the rung again and making a face as the sun-warmed metal stung my palm.
I heard the car coming down the road before I saw it. I set my paintbrush on the gutter as I waited for the red pickup truck to scrabble over the rutted out portions of my gravel driveway. It came to an ungainly stop, raising a cloud of dust. The driver was at the bottom of the ladder by the time my feet touched the ground.
(First Person POV. It’s descriptive, but it’s also rather boring with a matter-of-fact tone. This is a good example of telling not showing; a big no-no. It’s boring precisely because the narrator is dryly commenting on everything going on rather than letting the actions speak for themselves.)
Ex. 2:
Time dragged by slowly. At one point it had seemed as if the plane raced toward the night as it fled before them. Eventually they caught up to the darkness and all she could see out of the small window was the pure blackness spread out like velvet over the world.
Slowly little towns passed by and she kept her head turned toward the chilly glass in fascination. Little glows of orange, yellow, and white gleamed against the darkness like jewels. Suddenly, she could see the glow of the city and it seemed to stretch on forever. It looked like fire to her, like the whole city was burning.
(Second-person POV. Far more descriptive, but the repetitions of the words ‘darkness’ and ‘glow’ are rookie mistakes to avoid. Reusing the same word repeatedly can throw a reader out of the story by making them focus on the fact that- hey, you keep using the same words. Over. And. Over.)
Ex. 3:
I met Tanner there; the man who’d become my mentor and friend. He was endlessly patient, a trait uncommon to me, so I respected him for it. He was always calm and seemed to know exactly what was going on at all times. His composure, I had naively thought, was unshakable.
(First person POV again. I dislike first person POV simply because it’s all too easy to prattle on and go off on a tangent. This excerpt’s tone is introspective as the narrator thinks about another character.)
Ex. 4:
The eviction notice was taped to her bedroom mirror now and she lifted her head to sullenly glare at it. Tomorrow they would come to force her from the home they’d built together; the place that had been so full of promise, like all the little promises he’d made to her. Without him there she couldn’t think of a single reason to even try and fight for the place.
Tomorrow they’d come and she’d be long gone on the road.
She moved silently through the house, as though afraid of waking the ghosts that dwelled there. Everything and every room had its ghosts; memories and promises that taunted and teased her mercilessly. She went through the kitchen, feeling the smooth wood floor under her bare feet as she gravitated to the coffee maker out of habit.
(Second person POV. The tone is one of defeatism and the character certainly feels defeated, but does express a little rebelliousness. Even her escape is a form of surrender though. This excerpt is from a plain old fiction manuscript.)
Ex. 5
Delta had always found that the night was best for hunting. The darkness would encroach to pool just out of reach of the streetlights and it would blanket everything with equal indifference. It wormed its way down between every crumbling brick in the facades of the old buildings lining the street.
The cars were reduced to glittering streams to the interstate. The SUV he rode in peeled away from the traffic and eased into an alley between two buildings. Its engine cut off sharply and it melted into the night as if it had always been a part of it.
His hands tightened slightly on the SUV’s door as he stepped out. The night air was still warm this time of year and it had only been for necessity that he’d grabbed a jacket to hide the holster he wore under one arm. He knew the Tennessee air would get thicker with humidity until it became so heavy breathing felt like drowning, but it hadn’t reached the living Hell that July and August would bring quite yet. He glanced around the alley they’d illegally parked in with only mild interest.
(Second person POV. This piece is from what I entered into the SWFRW’s 21st annual writing contest and placed as a finalist. This is a science-fiction piece and the tone is meant to be reminiscent of the dark noir style that was once so popular with older Sci-fi. The dark edge works well with science-fiction as well as thrillers or mysteries where you want the reader on the edge of their seat. This is showing. Not telling.)
Ex. 6:
Brady Cooper’s muddled brain slowly became aware of two things. The door of his apartment wasn’t quite as locked as he’d previously assumed. And also that he had a thorough hangover that felt quite like someone had enthusiastically taken a sledgehammer to his skull. He pondered whether living was worth the pain as he sprawled gracelessly on the floor in front of his couch.
New pain blossomed right between his eyes in the rhythm of the thud of the door as it slammed back into his bookshelf. A few ill placed novels toppled off the top of the shelf and onto the floor to sprawl pitifully with their spines spread and their delicate pages flared and exposed.
“Boy, you better get your ass up.”
Brady definitely remembered drinking the night before. He may have been fuzzy on everything else, but that at least he was fairly sure of. No matter how much he stared at the man standing over him though, he couldn’t place him.
He looked like a bad extra from a western movie, Brady decided. He also more resembled a shaved bear in human clothes than an actual human. The stranger was huge and thickly built. He was also wearing reddish boots that looked quite possibly like they’d once been part of some poor reptile. The man’s jeans were very dark and straight; no deliberate bleaching or whiskering for fashion. His shirt was a plain black button up with small silver buttons. There was a charcoal colored Stetson on his head.
The man wasn’t smiling as he moved past Brady and picked up one of the empty bottle of Watermelon Wine Cooler. The stranger turned his glower back on Brady. His features were rough and strong; dark stubble dotted his hard jaw. His hair was shoulder length and black- Brady had no compulsion to even think of the stranger as a hippie though. Some self-preservation instinct shakily pointed out that saying such things would result in a loss of teeth.
(Second person POV. This is from a comedy manuscript. The tone is lighter and affected to give the impression that the main character is a bit hapless; something that will be taken full advantage of later on.)
Ex. 7:
If he’d learned anything in his long life, it was not to fight the pull of a summons. Ryder could feel the heat of the magic bouncing around from atom to atom and coursing like molten fire through his veins. There were few things he enjoyed more in life than that beautiful burn that came from shadowing between realities.
His body changed as he took form with darkly tanned skin and he called on clothing to shroud his tall frame. He resented having to assume this form, but he knew from experience that if he was to show up in this particular reality in his true form the natives would run screaming. Which wasn’t nearly as funny as it had been before they’d invented surface-to-air missiles. Humans really had no sense of humor.
(Second Person POV. This is from a fantasy piece and like the science-fiction excerpt it takes a slightly darker tone, but introduces elements of humor to counter it.)
Style as you can see, naturally evolves. You pick it up, to some extent, by reading voraciously. For instance: If you read only the work of Stephen King your entire life, your writing is much more likely to have the same tone as his (To those who read Mr. King’s works, more power to you, because such things give me nightmares). Your writing is going to be influenced by what you read, so the best advice I can offer is to read everything.
All excerpts are copyright Melissa Bass 2011.
