POV Part 3—e.g. (examples)

POV part 3—examples of omniscient, limited omniscient, and first-person narratives #POV #writing | writelarawrite

Today is my third (and final?) post in a short series on Point of View. First was an introduction to terms. Second, a comparison of the different choices of narration. Now, examples of each type. As always, feel free to ask any questions in the comments!


  1. First-Person Narrator
  2. Third-Person Omniscient Narrator
  3. Third-Person Limited Narrator, Light
  4. Third-Person Limited Narrator, Deep
  5. Third-Person Cinematic/Objective Narrator

First-Person Narrator

Next morning I awoke, looked out the window and nearly died of fright. My screams brought Atticus from his bathroom half-shaven.
“The world’s endin’, Atticus! Please do something!” I dragged him to the window and pointed.
“No it’s not,” he said. “It’s snowing.”

To Kill a Mockingbird

In first-person narration, the narrator is a character in the story and uses the pronoun “I.” We never see into anyone else’s head, unless there is more than one narrator.  The narrator  is aware of an audience and needs to have a reason to tell the story. As in omniscient narration, the voice of the first-person narrator must be distinct, interesting, and well-crafted.

In first-person movies, we usually hear the thoughts of the narrator but see the character. In fiction, however, the narrator should not be remembering scenes as an out-of-body experience. In other words, there shouldn’t be any filtering.

In this clip from A Christmas Story, we can see Ralphie most of the time, but we can also hear his thoughts and sometimes see from his visual point-of-view.

First person novels: To Kill a Mockingbird, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, The Great Gatsby, Bridget Jones’s Diary, Frankenstein, Dracula

Third-Person Omniscient Narrator

There have been five great kisses since 1642 B.C…(before then couples hooked thumbs.) And the precise rating of kisses is a terribly difficult thing, often leading to great controversy…. Well, this one left them all behind.

The Princess Bride

The omniscient narrator knows what is going on in any person’s head at any time, in any place. The narrator is its own voice and can make its own judgments about the characters. It’s the least intimate of the POVs, but the distance can be comic distance, used effectively for humor. This style of narration calls attention to itself (remember, it’s presentational), and it carries the story.  Omniscient narration must be interesting and exceptionally well written. It can have a distinct voice that makes comments, like in the narration at the beginning of 500 Days of Summer, or throughout Amelie.

A fair warning, though. Many people consider omniscient narration to be sloppy or lazy, and “head hopping” is a common mistake made by writers. Unless you are writing comedy or are briefly creating an establishing shot, you might want to consider using Third Person Limited Omniscience.

Third person Omniscient novels: The Princess Bride, parts of The Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia, books by Terry Pratchett and Kurt Vonnegut and Jane Austen

Third-Person Limited Narrator, Light

It was, he thought, the difference between being dragged into the arena to face a battle to the death and walking into the arena with your head held high. Some people, perhaps, would say that there was little to choose between the two ways, but Dumbledore knew—and so do I, thought Harry, with a rush of fierce pride, and so did my parents—that there was all the difference in the world.
― Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

Third person limited omniscience, light penetration consists of a neutral narration which sometimes dives into the head of a character (or two or more, but only one per scene—it is limited). This POV is usually replaced by deep penetration during emotionally tense scenes that need to be more fully experienced. In movies, soliloquies are the closest thing to hearing the characters’ thoughts, and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off is full of them.

Third-Person Limited Narrator, Deep

It was stupid, pointless, irritating beyond belief that he still had four days left of being unable to perform magic…
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Marvolo Gaunt’s ring lay on the desk before Dumbledore. It was cracked; the sword of Gryffindor lay beside it.
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

I’ve given the two examples above to illustrate different examples of deep penetration in a novel that is primarily light penetration. In the first, the narration is what Harry is feeling, though it doesn’t say, “he thought,” and it stays in third person rather than switching suddenly to first. In the second, we have come from seeing Harry seeing through the pensieve—using filtering words like “Harry saw,” “Harry noticed,” etc.—to seeing the objects for ourselves, without filtering.

Like first person, in third-person deep, we see into someone else’s head and everything is told from his or her point of view, but the narration uses third person pronouns instead of first. This can actually be more intimate than first person, because the reader sort of becomes the POV character. Think of it like having a dream. In a dream, you can be someone else. You know it isn’t you, hence the third-person pronouns, but you still see from someone else’s POV. No filtering is used—no “he thought” or “she thought,” and any separate narrator disappears so that the POV character becomes the narrator.

Imagine a movie like Cloverfield, in which we can also hear the filming character’s thoughts. This is what reading first person or third person deep penetration should look like.

Third-Person Cinematic/Objective Narrator

I can’t really give a short example of an objective point of view, because for all you know, the next line might have a description of someone’s thoughts, and objective narration is characterized by what it isn’t rather than what it is. If you’re reading a suspenseful tale that has a scene featuring the villain or suspect, chances are, that scene is told in objective narration. To see into the mind of the bad guy would give up his motive.

If you really want to see this in practice, compare Voldemort’s scenes in the first few Harry Potter books, in which we/Harry can see into his head, to the first chapter of Deathly Hallows, which is so cinematic, none of the characters are named until after they are physically described. The reader is forced to make guesses and assumptions about the characters, because the narrator is completely silent.

In a cinematic view, we can’t see into anyone’s thoughts, so we rely on our own observations of the characters and their dialogue.

Most movies never go into the brain of a character, which is why this style of narration is called cinematic. So to illustrate, I’ll pick a scene that is painfully, obviously cinematic, from The Hunger Games.

In the books, we see everything from Katniss’s brain. It’s written in first person, present tense, and the effect is immediacy. We hear her thoughts as she has them. In this scene of the movie, the director relies on clunky sports commentary to explain what Katniss may or may not be thinking. It’s insulting to the viewer. The director assumes you aren’t smart enough to figure out what’s going on. If we really couldn’t figure it out, all Katniss had to do would be to mutter, “It’s mined.” Or even, “It’s a minefield.” Or, hey, even, “Well, I declare! I do believe they have taken the mines from under the launch pads and moved them there, to create a booby trap!” It’s not like humans never say anything to themselves aloud. I assume they wanted a sort of pinch point, to remind the audience of the Capitol, and they probably wanted to get Stanley Tucci some more screen time, but UGH.

Here’s how it plays out in the book, and notice how, even though she doesn’t have to, she whispers OUT LOUD:

I realize I’m grinding my teeth in frustration. Foxface has confirmed what I’d already guessed. But what sort of trap have they laid that requires such dexterity? Has so many trigger points? Why did she squeal so as her hands made contact with the earth? You’d have thought … and slowly it begins to dawn on me … you’d have thought the very ground was going to explode.

“It’s mined,” I whisper. That explains everything. The Careers’ willingness to leave their supplies, Foxface’s reaction, the involvement of the boy from District 3, where they have the factories, where they make televisions and automobiles and explosives. But where did he get them? In the supplies? That’s not the sort of weapon the Gamemakers usually provide, given that they like to see the tributes draw blood personally. I slip out of the bushes and cross to one of the round metal plates that lifted the tributes into the arena. The ground around it has been dug up and patted back down. The land mines were disabled after the sixty seconds we stood on the plates, but the boy from District 3 must have managed to reactivate them. I’ve never seen anyone in the Games do that. I bet it came as a shock even to the Gamemakers.

If they really had to have Caesar Flickerman in that scene, he could have explained that second paragraph after Katniss figured it out, giving the backstory, and not insulting both the protagonist and the audience.

But I digress and rant.

That’s about all I have to say on Point of View for the time being. Let me know if you need something more clearly explained, or if you want to know more about another writing topic. I’m open to suggestions!

Write Lara Write | Comparing and Contrasting different Points of View #writing

POV Part 2—v.s. (compare and contrast)

Write Lara Write | Comparing and Contrasting different Points of View #writing

Today is my second in a short series on Point of View. First was an introduction to terms. Now, a comparison of the different choices of narration. Coming up next, examples of each type. As always, feel free to ask any questions in the comments!


  1. Introduction
  2. First Person
  3. Third Person Omniscient
  4. Third Person Limited Omniscient
  5. Third Person Objective/Cinematic


For each of the categories below, I’ll talk about pronouns used for the protagonist; the “number of heads,” that is, the number of POV characters; intimacy, or how connected the reader feels to the characters;  whether the narration style is presentational or representationalif the story or the writing style is more crucial; and in which circumstances you should use each (Should you use it?).

First Person

Pronouns: I, we, me, my, us, our

Number of heads: Just one, the “I” talking. Other chapters might feature a different “I,” though.

Intimacy: Pretty intimate. We feel like we are reading a diary or listening to a friend telling a story. But limited third can be even more intimate, as you’ll see below.

Presentational vs representational: A bit of both. A first-person narrator is aware of the audience and speaks to the audience, which can make it presentational. But if it’s presented in the form of a diary or an interview, it also represents real life, so it feels less fictional.

Story vs. Style: The voice of the narrator is more important than what’s going on in the story. It’s crucial that the writing style is intriguing, interesting, or amusing. The plot of the story doesn’t matter as much as what’s going on in the narrator’s head. One of my guilty pleasures is the Georgia Nicolson diary series by Louise Rennison. There are ten books, and each book has exactly the same plot. But Georgia’s voice never ceases to make me howl with laughter, to the point of abdominal pain, so I own all the books, and have read the first book several times.

Should you use it? First person will work better for you if you have a history in acting. You need to become the character and find his or her voice, not just replicate your own. I could listen to Benedict Cumberbatch read the back of a cereal box and be hanging on his every word. Because he has a great voice. If you can 1) take a menial task and 2) make it interesting and not boring for 3) readers that aren’t on your Christmas list, then you could probably write first person successfully. Just don’t include the cereal boxes in your manuscript.

Another thing to remember about first person is that if the narrator wasn’t physically present for an event, it can only be depicted through after-the-fact dialogue, or seeing it on the news, or some other way of portraying the action. If it’s an important scene, the narrator HAS to be present for it, or the reader will feel cheated. If it’s not an important scene, consider summarizing. If it’s important but the narrator is unconscious or dead, then you’re going to have to switch narrators.

Third Person Omniscient

Pronouns: he, she, it, they, his, hers, her, their, theirs, him, them

Number of heads: limitless. Omniscient means “all-knowing,” so an omniscient narrator can see into everyone’s thoughts. Omniscient narrators are also omnipresent, so they can go to any time or place. If you’re trying to establish a setting by using people as texture, then you can consider starting with omniscient and segue into limited omniscient.

Intimacy: Omniscient is the least intimate. The more heads the narrator jumps into, the weaker the connection the reader has with anyone. However, in comedy, you might want that comic distance.

Presentational vs representational: Omniscient narration is the most presentational. In real life, there’s no way you can see into everyone’s thoughts. (You aren’t Bruce Almighty.) Since it’s presentational, your narrator needs to be just as well crafted as a first-person narrator. The narrator can have a neutral point of view, but the writing style still needs to be interesting.

Story vs. Style: The reason to write omniscient is to see into other’s heads. If you’re going into more than one head, then the story has to carry the reader through the transition, or else the narrator does. You’ve got to have a fantastic story or an incredible narrator to justify not focusing on one character.

Should you use it? If you’re hilarious, yes. If not, just pick one or two heads and go with limited omniscience. Epic fantasy can sometimes get away with omniscience, but the most successful bits of epic fantasy are told in limited third. Readers want to get attached to characters. Let them.

Third Person Limited Omniscient

Pronouns: he, she, it, they, his, hers, her, their, theirs, him, them

Number of heads: Just one per scene, but technically limitless.

Intimacy: The more time we spend in a character’s head, the more intimate it gets. Which means the fewer the POV characters, the better. Remember in part 1 when I talked about filtering and deep vs light penetration? Limited third person allows the reader to experience things not just as a friend of the protagonist, like in first person, but as the protagonist. I talk a bit more about it in part 3.

Presentational vs representational: A limited omniscient third person narrator is the least presentational apart from the cinematic narrator. It is generally neutral about the characters in the novel and will disappear during the deep penetration scenes.

Story vs. Style: Because the narrator is pretty neutral in tone, story is more important with limited third person. However, the voices of each of the POV characters still need to be distinct during deep penetration scenes.

Should you use it? Limited Third Person is the novel standard because it’s the best of all worlds. It allows you to pick more than one POV character if necessary. But please, don’t give every secondary and tertiary character their own few paragraphs in the spotlight. It’s annoying. Writers using limited omniscience third person effectively will limit the omniscience and the number of persons involved.

Third Person Objective/Cinematic

Pronouns: he, she, it, they, his, hers, her, their, theirs, him, them

Number of heads: Zero. Any thoughts and emotions have to be shown through speech or actions. The narrator is silent and objective.

Intimacy: While this doesn’t sound very intimate, because we never see anybody’s thoughts, it’s as intimate as you can get with people in real life. Readers feel connected to the characters because they get to know them by their words and actions, not by the perception of a narrator. We never get into Darcy’s head, but how many people have fallen in love with Mr. Darcy?

Presentational vs representational: Representational, for the above.

Story vs. Style: It’s difficult to do objective narration well, without boring your readers to death. It really is showing versus telling. Nobody tells the reader what to think of certain characters, the reader has to figure them all out, even the protagonist. Things have to happen to the characters in order for them react, so story is important. But figuring out how to flesh out all of the characters while not commenting on them might take some figuring.

Should you use it? If you’re the next Hemingway, go for it. He did it. Whether he was successful or not is up to the readers. But if it doesn’t work for you, try writing limited third person instead of blowing your brains out.

Actually I’m reading a book right now that is written in first person, but the love interest had been written in an objective way for the first part of the book. And it’s spectacular. The protagonist mentioned what she observed this guy doing, and what he said, but she never commented on him or his actions. I was able to get to know him apart from her opinions. And that meant that I, as reader, was able to “fall in love” at the same time as the protagonist. Of course, later on, she realizes that she loves him, and then starts describing him from a biased point of view, but until that point, any opinions were completely my own. What a refreshing change from the books that assume you have to like a character just because the narrator keeps telling you to! Bottom line: experiment with objective storytelling, showing who a character is rather than telling what he is.

Read Part Three: Examples of the Different POVs.

POV Part 1—intro (Person)

POV part 1—introduction to person | writelarawrite

From Writing Fiction: A Guide to Narrative Craft by Janet Burroway:

“[Point of view] ultimately concerns the relationship among writer, characters, and reader. Who speaks? To whom? In what form? At what distance from the action?”

Today is my first in a short series on Point of View. First, an introduction to terms. Next, a comparison of the different choices of narration. Then, examples of each type. As always, feel free to ask any questions in the comments!


  1. Pronouns
  2. First Person
  3. Third Person
  4. Presentational and Representational
  5. Penetration and Filtering
  6. Combining POVs


Pronouns are words that we use in place of nouns so we don’t sound tediously repetitive and so we can tell the difference between ourselves and others. First person pronouns refer to ourselves—I, me, my, we, us, our. Second person pronouns are directed at someone or a group of people—you, your (singular and plural). Third person pronouns refer to someone else—he, she, it, him, her, they, them, their, his, its.

Most books are written in third person. The protagonist (main character) is he or she or it or they. Many are written in first person, with the narrator being the “I” talking. This is more common in YA novels. Very few are written in second person, but choose-your-own-ending books and some short fiction will be written in second person. Recipes and directions are written in second person, and so are advertisements, so writing with “you” as the protagonist comes off feeling commercial.

First- and third-person narratives can be divided further. Note, the following terms for categories have been borrowed from Janet Burroway’s Writing Fiction: A Guide to Narrative Craft. I recommend picking up a copy of the book for a reference if you want to know more than what I’ll be posting in the next week. The following information is a summary of her sections of point of view, mixed with other knowledge I’ve picked up over time.

First Person

There are two types of first person:

  • Central narration
  • Peripheral narration

In central narration, the protagonist is the narrator. The narrator is present for every action, and the action revolves around him or her. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is written with a first person, central narration.

Less common, but still prevalent, is peripheral narration, in which the narrator is not the protagonist, but is attached to the protagonist enough to tell a story about him or her. Examples of peripheral narrators are Nick Carraway in The Great Gatsby and Dr. Watson in the Sherlock Holmes stories.

Third Person

There are three types of third person narration: omniscient, limited omniscient, and objective or cinematic narration.

An omniscient narrator is not limited by time, place, or person. It can jump into the minds of any person, can sum up the history of 500 years in a few lines, and can change from place to place. Because the omniscient narrator is attached to no single person in particular, it is detached from everyone. Think of a person with few friends but hundreds of acquaintances. Or a politician, because omniscient narrators also call attention to themselves.

A limited omniscient narrator can see into the mind of just one character at a time. It may switch to a different character in a new scene or chapter, but it sticks to one person. Think of a parrot sitting on the shoulder of a pirate. It sees what that pirate sees, and the pirate might speak his thoughts aloud to the parrot, for no one else to hear. The parrot can then land on somebody else’s shoulder and have a similar relationship. This parrot may or may not share the views of the pirate, and might speak differently. Likewise the narrator’s voice can be separate from the POV character. (I’ll get more into limited omniscient narration and its subcategories in the next post).

An objective or cinematic narrator is neutral and never sees into anyone’s mind. Think of a fly on a wall, observing what is going on. Or a Vulcan journalist, that has no emotional connection to any of the characters in order to have a bias. Feelings and motivations of the characters can only be gleaned from their actions and dialogue.

Presentational and Representational

(These terms are borrowed from Characters and Viewpoint, an insightful read by a now infamous author.) “Presentational” and “representational” are related to how visible the narrator is in fiction. Representation pretends to be real—it represents real life. The narrator is invisible. Presentation acknowledges it isn’t real—it presents the story to the reader. The narrator has a distinct voice and may interfere with or comment on the story as it happens. The narrator in Stranger than Fiction isn’t just presentational, she’s present in the story.

It’s difficult to use movies as examples for the presentational/representational dichotomy, because like theatre, nearly all movies are presentational, whether they have a narrator or not. They might have some similarities to real life, if they are a mockumentary or are first-person filmed (like Cloverfield or The Blair Witch Project). But movies are generally unrealistic in form, which is why adding in representational elements like shaky-cam or lens flares can sometimes seem awkward and out of place. It’s presentation masquerading as representation.

So when we are talking about presentational or representational fiction, we’re talking about what the narrator is doing. Is the narrator saying, “I present to you, THIS STORY”? Or is the narrator silent? Usually these terms are only applied to third-person narrators, because first-person narrators are both. Sort of.

Penetration and Filtering

I know.


But Card distinguishes between light penetration and deep penetration when talking about Third Person limited omniscience. If you’ve ever taken a writing class or read about strengthening your fiction, you’ve probably heard of filtering. (Actually, I thought I’d written a post about it, but not yet, apparently.) If you’re using filtering language, then the reader is experiencing the character experiencing something.

If you read, “Abraham Lincoln saw snowflakes out the window,” you’re probably picturing a window with snowflakes falling down, the view slightly obstructed by the president’s trademark stovepipe hat. But if you read, “Abraham Lincoln went to the window. Snowflakes were falling and sticking to the glass,” you see Mr. President going to the window, and then you see what he is seeing, for yourself. The first example was light penetration. The second was deep penetration.

But you can eliminate all filtering and still have light penetration. Light penetration just means you aren’t inside the brain of a character all the time. The narrator shows up and gives you a bit of a break. With deep penetration, every thought is that of the protagonist. It’s like you’ve switched to first person, but the pronouns are still third person. Save deep penetration for intense scenes—remove the narrator and replace it with the unfiltered thoughts of the protagonist. When the scene is over, then you can bring the narrator in again. (I’ll illustrate this more in Part 3. Feel free to ask questions if I’m being confusing or vague!)

Combining POVs

You can combine these POVs in a single work. You could tell a frame story, starting out in third person, and then have one of the characters tell most of the novel in first person, concluding again in third person once the story is finished (The Rime of the Ancient Mariner). Or you can switch back and forth between first and third, telling two different stories simultaneously (Tamar: A Novel of Espionage, Passion, and Betrayal).

However, if you do switch between different points of view, your section headings should alert the reader to a change, and you might consider using different tenses for each section, to further separate the two. In both examples given above, the more recent story was written in present tense (I am, he is) and the older story was written in past tense (he was, they went).

If you write the entire novel in first person but from different points of view of different characters, you might have some use past tense and some use present, like in The Poisonwood Bible.

Sound weird to write in present tense? People do it all the time when telling their own stories:

So I’m sitting in this bar, minding my own business, when this guy comes up to me and says, “Hey! You look just like Lisa Loeb!” And then he starts singing. “You say, I only hear what I want to. Youuuuu…saaaay…I only hear what I want to.” He doesn’t know the rest of the song, just that line.

Just remember, CONSISTENCY IS KEY. Tone, objectivity, and viewpoint need to remain consistent per scene. Unless you are extremely gifted and are writing spectacular omniscient narration, no head-hopping!

Read Part Two: Comparison of Different POVs.

WATCH, or: Where to Start and End your Novel

This post explains the acronym WATCH, asks what kind of novel you’re writing, and then teaches you where/how to begin and end your novel. Short fiction writers—don’t fret. You can learn about beginning and ending your stories effectively, too.

I’ve been reading Characters and Viewpoints by Orson Scott Card* and learning so much about point of view and types of novels that I’ve not read anywhere else. So of course I’m going to share what I’m learning with all of you!

[*EDIT: When I read the book and wrote this post, I was unaware that Orson Scott Card is homophobic. As such I do not recommend his book. I still learned something from it though, and I’ve shared that below.]

My main takeaway was his idea of a “MICE Quotient.” He says there are four types of stories. Each story has all four elements, but stories will emphasize one more than the others. M.I.C.E. stands for Milieu, Idea, Character, and Event.

I think his use of “Idea” is a bit misleading, and I’d probably have to look up “milieu” again every time I saw it in the future. So I created my own mnemonic device that works well in the context of my time-traveling historical fantasy.

W.A.T.CH.: Which will you focus on in your writing?


  1. World
  2. Answer
  3. Time
  4. CHaracter

Okay, I know the H in “character” is silent. Nobody’s perfect.


This is Card’s “Milieu,” but “world” is far less pretentious and more memorable, in my humble opinion. You’ve probably heard of “world building” if you are familiar with Sci-Fi and fantasy, or the broader term “universe.” World concerns itself with setting, place, time, culture, customs, manners, and the like. Every novel has some degree of its own world. In some stories, though, the world-building is so central to the book, it almost becomes a character itself.

Westerns, epic fantasy, and historical fiction tend to focus on World.


This is what Card refers to as “idea,” but I think “Idea” has connotations of “theme” and not much else. An Answer story poses a question or a problem that needs to be answered or solved by the end. The question could be obvious—”Who murdered Mr. Boddy?”—or it could be figurative. If it’s figurative, the answer might very well be the theme of the story. Take The Great Gatsby, for example. While the World (1920s), Time (events), and Characters (Gatsby, Carraway, Tom, Daisy, etc.) are all important and well-developed, they are all used to illustrate the themes (money, power, time, etc.). An allegorical story like Pilgrim’s Progress has universal, and thereby flat, characters, but it can get away with it, because the story is about finding answers. What is Christian’s purpose? To get to the Celestial City.

Mysteries, capers, allegory, and some sci-fi and classical fiction focus on Answers or theme.

Examples: Sherlock Holmes mysteries, Ocean’s Eleven, Pilgrim’s Progress, The Great Gatsby


Time deals with events. Cause and effect. The plot. What happens. If you’re trying to get a writing degree at a respectable university, they will tell you that Character must always trump plot. And while that’s true for literary fiction, it’s not true for all fiction. Anne Lamott, whom many of us regard as one of the finest writing instructors alive, urges writers to think about characters and their motivations, hang the plot. But in Bird by Bird, she confesses that she had to rewrite one of her novels countless times, because the plot made no sense, and her editor kept telling her it didn’t work. So she learned how to do a plot treatment, and she fixed it. Plot gets thrown under the bus by some respectable writers, but it’s definitely important.

I really enjoy character-driven short fiction, but if I pick up a novel in which nothing actually happens, I’ll throw it across the room and rage about it to my poor, unsuspecting husband. Popular fiction, the kind that is nearly impossible to put down, focuses on Time and what happens in the book. Hopefully the characters will change by the end of the book, but that isn’t always the case. Katniss Everdeen isn’t the deepest character on the shelf, but she sure does a lot.

Time novels start with something amiss that needs to be fixed. They right a wrong; they “save” women from spinsterhood. Or at least they try to fix the problem. They primarily try to change what happens, though the people in the story are usually changed, too.

Because they deal with problems, the line between Time stories and Answer stories can be a blurry one. The difference is that in an Answer story, something is learned or realized, resulting in an understood truth. But in a Time story, something happens, resulting in a shift in circumstance. Answer stories have an intellectual conclusion, whereas Time stories have a physical one.

Dystopian, disaster, justice/revenge, thriller, horror, sci-fi and romance are generally Time- or event-focused.

Examples: The Hunger Games, Jurassic Park, The Count of Monte Christo, The Da Vinci Code, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Doctor Who, Pride and Prejudice, Bridget Jones’s Diary.


A character-driven novel is one in which the most important factor isn’t what happens, when and where it happens, or the author’s intent. The important thing in a character-driven story is personal growth. The character should change for the better or for the worse. If the character doesn’t change, the reader grows in understanding of why that character will never change.

Contemporary literary fiction concerns itself primarily with character: who characters are and why they act the way the way they do. Motivation, motivation, motivation.

General fiction, literary fiction, and the bildungsroman (a coming-of-age story) depend primarily on character.

Examples: To Kill a Mockingbird, The Things They Carried, Huckleberry Finn

How to begin and end the story



When the world in your story is the focus, you begin by introducing the world. “In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.” Tolkien created a gigantic universe that is Middle Earth. His stories begin by showing what life is like. Then things begin to shake that world up a bit. Orson Scott Card gave the example of The Lord of the Rings. Why does the story not end when the One Ring is destroyed? Because the story isn’t just about Frodo Baggins and his Fellowship; it’s about how Middle-Earth completely changed. So the story ends not at Mount Doom, or at Aragorn’s coronation, or after the scouring of the Shire. It ends when the last of the elves leave Middle Earth. The world has changed. It’s changed for Frodo, too, so he leaves with the elves.

Grey Havens

Where are my tissues?


If you’ve read or watched many mysteries, you know they all start the same. They might have a couple of lines or minutes introducing the protagonist as a person capable of solving a mystery, but they really start when someone’s been murdered or another crime has been committed. They start with a mystery or a question. Why do you think some people call mysteries “Whodunits”? The story ends when you find out who did it.


In theme stories, the story begins with theme and ends with theme. The Great Gatsby begins with advice (given in the past) about considering someone else’s history against your own, and how those histories have affected your presents:

“In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since. ‘Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone,’ he told me, ‘just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.'”

It ends with the message that even though we make effort to change our futures, we will always be pulled back to our past:

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

You end the story once the characters or the reader has a new understanding.

In a series of Answers stories, they might end on a new question. Readers read the next book to have the new question answered. That’s usually how seasons of Castle end. And if you watch Sherlock, you really know what I mean about ending on a question!


Time stories begin by showing you what’s wrong. There might be a quick introduction of characters, but then we see what sort of circumstance the characters are in, and they realize they’ve got to do something about it. Or they reject it but end up doing something anyway.

Lizzie Bennet Diaries

My mom gave me this shirt.

The Hunger Games begins with the Reaping. Pride and Prejudice begins with a woman who, according to her mother, needs a husband (preferably a rich one). Doctor Who episodes usually begin with the discovery of aliens bent on the destruction of the universe.

Time stories end when circumstances change. The woman gets married; the world is saved. Justice is had; someone is avenged. They basically end when there’s nothing else to tell—nothing else happens to change the circumstance of the world or of the protagonist. At least not until the sequel. If a time story is part of a series, one story might end when the circumstances change in order to create a new story. The Hunger Games ends after circumstances change for Katniss and Peeta. They’ve hit a new normal. But Haymitch assures them that more change is to come. Catching Fire is notorious for its cliffhanger ending.

Pride & Prejudice wedding

The story ends here when it’s one about finding romance. Achievement unlocked.


Character stories begin with the character living a normal life.

500 Days of Summer Todd Hanson

Everything that happens in the story affects the character somehow, and by the end of the story, the character has grown. Character stories end with the change or growth in character. A new life for the character has begun.

(500) Days of Summer is not a love story, it’s a character story. It doesn’t end with a relationship, it ends when Tom finally gets a life. (I adore this movie.)

Chris Oatley has a great post on “How to Write Great Character Introductions” [archived] over at Paper Wings Podcast. If you’re writing a character-driven story (and even if you aren’t), be sure to read it.


Take some time and think about your favorite books and movies. What kinds of stories are they? Where do they begin? How do they end?

Be sure to check out WATCH Part Two—a quiz on where you should begin and end YOUR novel.

Once I get through my notes and finish Characters and Viewpoint, I’ll be starting a new series on Point of View. Subscribe or follow me on Facebook to stay in the loop!

beginning & ending your novel: a lesson in genre