Writing Traumatic Memories Without Overwhelming Readers

June 9, 2020 by Lisa Hall-Wilson 8 Comments

PTSD and trauma (both big “T” and small “t” trauma), affect our memory in different ways, and when writing in deep point of view, it becomes telling to label an emotion for readers. So, how do we write trauma memories realistically without overwhelming readers with gratuitous details and melodrama?

PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) and trauma, either as current events or historical, are compelling elements in fiction. An essential tool then becomes backstory, memories, and flashbacks to show character arc and internal (and external) conflict.

Big “T” Trauma vs Small “t” Trauma

Trauma is a response to any event that overwhelms our ability to cope, causes feelings of helplessness and diminishes our ability to feel a full range of emotions. Keep that in mind, because anything can be traumatic depending on the individual and what they can cope with.

Big “T” trauma events cause an individual to feel they’re in mortal danger. Small “t” trauma events (a divorce for instance) are overwhelming for a short time. When crafting characters, don’t think of trauma as only big “T” trauma events like natural disasters, hostage taking, kidnapping, murder, rape, war, etc. Small “t” trauma can be just as devastating, and moreso for individuals who endure repeated small “t” trauma. A series of “t” events that pile up (like being bullied) can be trauma by a thousand cuts.

How Big “T” Trauma Affects The Brain

Small “t” trauma, because it lacks the life-threatening component, may be captured differently in memory. The character might remember what they were thinking for instance, where they were, what else they were doing that day. When asked to recall a traumatic event, brain imaging scans show that some parts of the brain light up and others go quiet. To oversimplify things, the part of the brain focused on survival is prioritized and the parts of the brain focused on communication, analytical thinking, etc. are slowed or at the least not prioritized.

People may react first without really thinking about their actions when when fight, flight or freeze is triggered. I walked five miles for help, but don’t remember walking. The ground crunched when I walked, every step on broken glass, but I couldn’t think of why it the ground would sound like that (see account below). The part of the brain that labels things, that rationalizes or understands the WHY behind the things we do, shuts down. Of course there are accounts where some were able to maintain a presence of mind and think their way out of a problem, but their ability to do that in life-threatening circumstances is remarkable.

With PTSD, once the trauma memories are triggered (with or without flashbacks), the ability to remember and learn is diminished. I’ve sat through countless martial arts classes, but if I’m triggered while I’m there, I won’t remember anything that was taught. Nada. My brain is too focused on finding and protecting me from threat. I’ll be a yellow belt FOREVER lol.

Focus on particular details, specific sensory details, that you want readers to tune in to, that will create that immersive visceral effect you’re looking for. Rather than trying to capture everything.

How Age Affects Trauma Memories

When big “T” trauma isn’t experienced until adulthood, likely the character will have support systems in place, already developed the coping mechanisms and neural connections that will help them respond and hopefully overcome whatever they’ve survived. Things a child might not have access to or developed yet.

This means the trauma memories will be different between children and adults. They may have different priorities, different things may be considered overwhelming. This will affect how they remember things, and which details the brain looks to other sources to fill in. Memory can return in bits and pieces over time.

The internal dialogue around a trauma memory will be different depending on how old the character was when the trauma occurred. One place I’ve seen this really illustrated is in accounts of the Holocaust, because there’s been a large effort to capture those memories in the words of those who lived them. Those survivors who were adults when it happened, they remembered different details in different ways than those who were children when it happened.

How Trauma Memory Works

A trauma memory isn’t recorded in continuous action like a film. It’s recorded in bits with skips and blanks. Writing a memory from a trauma experience that reads like a news report will overwhelm readers and isn’t how memory works at all.

Memory is flexible and fluid. With time some elements fade and others come to the fore. This is the problem with prosecuting rape in court, because a victim might retell the experience immediately following the event one way and then have a slightly different story (leave some details out or become unsure of small points, remember new details) six months later in court which then makes the memory and the victim seem unreliable by judges and juries.

Memory Seeks Context, Continuity, and Closure

Human brains crave beginnings, middles, and ends to things. Context. Continuity. Closure. So, what a victim remembers immediately after an incident, their brain may purposely forget because it’s overwhelming. Or, details they couldn’t handle initially or weren’t initially aware of may emerge as they’re able to deal with the trauma in time.

The Netflix series Unbelieveable, while incredibly hard to watch, does a good job of capturing the effects of memory on trauma over an assortment of characters.

Author Rene Gutteridge described her experience being in/near the Oklahoma City bombings.

“The building had a gaping hole. Cars and trees were on fire. Ash-covered people wondered aimlessly like zombies. Police, fire and ambulances came rushing to the scene.”

But Gutteridge admits that asking her to describe the event has her tapping into coverage she saw after the fact, not her own personal experience of it. Her brain needed context and continuity, so the news coverage fills in the gaps in her own memory. In deep pov, we don’t want the news coverage, we want the lived experience of the event. What was it like in the moment? She then shared her memory of her lived experience of the event:

“One of the most vivid things I recall is the crunch, crunch, crunch sound of glass as I ran to the south side of the building to get around the fires. I didn’t take a step that didn’t put glass under my feet, but at the time I couldn’t figure out what it was that I was running on…I remember all that paper floating down from the sky and the urge to gather it up because that’s what you do when people lose their important papers—you gather it up for them.

Hours after the bomb went off, sirens still took up all the silence…Did I see death? Blood and gore? The most desperate moments of my fellow human beings? I did. I had to have. There was no way for me to miss it. Yet I have one or two small, vivid images of that sort of thing.”

Do you see the difference?

Recap: Trauma memory is captured in bits and pieces with gaps and skips in time. Our brains will fill in the gaps because it seeks continuity, context, and closure. Details remembered may change over time. Big “T” trauma memory may not register why the character is acting a certain way or what they’re experiencing in the urgency to escape or survive. PTSD memory is covered in part two, but it is not like trauma memory but is frozen in time.

Come back for part 2 of how to write trauma memories.

Are you using trauma memories in your stories?

Been told you should learn Deep Point Of View? Had an editor or critique partner tell you to “go deeper” with the emotions in your fiction? Looking for a community of writers seeking to create emotional connections with readers? Check out the Free Resource Hub and then join the Going Deeper With Emotions In Fiction Facebook group.

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Using Defense Mechanisms To Create Emotional Depth In Fiction

April 30, 2020 by Lisa Hall-Wilson Leave a Comment

This is part two to a post I wrote last week for Writers Helping Writers on giving characters emotional context.

Your character has a reason for feeling the way they do and reacting the way they do. In deep point of view, everything is filtered through your POV character’s perspective. What does this situation mean to THAT character, RIGHT NOW, based on their own unique past experiences, prejudices, fears/concerns, priorities, and goals (emotional context)?

We know that emotions serve a specific purpose – they’re always trying to keep us safe, protect us, or inform us of a concern. In last week’s post I talked about the kids at the table. Here’s what’s important to know – not every kid at the table represents an emotion. Some of the kids at the table will be defense mechanisms. Everyone has defense mechanisms they default to, some are chosen involuntarily, some we aren’t even consciously aware of. But all of that will show the reader a lot about who the character is and what’s important to them.

Defense mechanisms (or coping mechanisms) are emotions or behaviours that step in when we are faced with something that’s uncomfortable, overwhelming, that creates cognitive dissonance, or leaves us feeling vulnerable/exposed. Some defense mechanisms are learned (often in childhood), some are involuntary, and some are unconscious.

Let’s unpack that a bit. Emotions that are uncomfortable or overwhelming, or leave us vulnerable or feeling fearful will usually force the character to DO something to resolve the discomfort. Whether they choose to avoid the problem, channel it into exercise, fantasize about what they should have said, or rationalize why doing nothing is the right path, they will DO something to feel better. They will DO something to feel as though they’ve regained control of the situation or their emotions.

Cognitive dissonance is when we simultaneously have two or more conflicting beliefs and act against one. Your character meets this really great guy, she really likes him — but he got angry once and hit her. Does she marry him? There are two opposing ideas of safety at play here. Will she choose to remain alone (which she believes makes her vulnerable), or somehow rationalize, intellectualize, or even repress the violence? How does she make these opposing beliefs somehow appear to agree with each other?

Dig Down For The Primary Emotion

Your reader won’t ever understand why your character is mad if you don’t know. You might become frustrated that your beta readers aren’t getting it, but more likely you’ll fall back into telling to get the point across. Resist!! Primary emotions are emotional reactions to things that are instinctive or knee-jerk. Secondary emotions are the thinking reactions to primary emotions. Learn more about that here. Defense mechanisms can behave like a secondary emotion, but don’t be fooled.

A Google search might bring up a variety of lists of primary emotions and if that’s helpful to you that might be a place to start. There isn’t really a template here or definitive list to go by to tell you if something is a primary or secondary emotion.

Many many emotions can be either a primary or secondary emotion. Fear could be a primary emotion: Little dog has a barking fit and the character looks up from her weeding to see a bear in the yard. The bear moves towards her little dog so she picks up her trowel and pail, stands up and starts cursing and banging and yelling and waves her arms around at the bear. What makes her decide to behave that way? Fear is the primary emotion fuelling her reaction and then anger kicks in that the bear would threaten her dog.

The anger is a secondary emotion – it’s a reaction to the fear. But if all the readers know is that she’s trying to scare off the bear (which might seem irrational), they won’t understand WHY. If the readers don’t know that the reason she’s doing it is fear, because she lost other dogs to a bear not fear for her own safety, they won’t connect with her struggle.

Afterwards, the adrenaline has worn off, her pup is safe and the bear is gone. The fear won’t go away, it’s uncomfortable, it’s unsettling, she’s trembling, feels out of control, unsafe. She returns to her gardening like it never happened. She doesn’t choose to sit with the fear, or let it dissipate, she ignores it (defense mechanism).

Suppressing the fear should have consequences. Will it make her twitchy? Will she decide she no longer wants to garden? Will she put up a fence? Will she buy a gun? What will that suppressed emotion force her to do to make it soften back, to sit quietly at the table again?

Smoking can be a defense mechanism, and if it is — you can use it to SHOW how your character is feeling or what they’re avoiding feeling. Excessive exercise is another defense mechanism that can help you show readers that the character is struggling for control or trying to sort something out. A character who actively avoids a particular person or situation does that for a reason and it can create emotional depth for readers to understand why they do that. Alcohol and sleeping a lot are both defense mechanisms that attempt to numb emotions — show the WHY behind that behaviour.

I’ve created a list of 22 different defense mechanisms to help spark your imagination or provide a label for further research as well as a chart to help you brainstorm and organize how you’re using emotions and defense mechanisms. You can download it for FREE in the Resource Hub.

What defense mechanisms are you using in your current WIP? What emotions are they avoiding or trying to feel in control of?

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How Do I Add Emotion To My Fiction?

April 13, 2020 by Lisa Hall-Wilson 2 Comments

Part of the power of deep point of view (I think) is diving deep into emotions in a way that’s both specific and unique to the character and universal to the reader. Some writers focus more on what’s happening than on what’s being felt. I fall into this category. I have to put the emotions in during edits. Here are the steps that have really helped me.

We’re continuing in our FAQ series on Deep POV. The question that came in was: “I’ve been told my novel is dry. Plenty of action, low on emotion. How do I add more emotion?”

These comments are hard to get from editors and beta readers, because you just want to throw up your hands (at least I do) – I DID add emotions. Perhaps this is partly personality based, I’m not one to openly express emotions in real life very often, so it just doesn’t come naturally to my writing. It’s something I’ve had to learn and compensate for. I’m more likely to restrict the emotion to the dialogue in a first draft — which isn’t nearly deep enough for readers.

What Is The Scene Goal?

Whether you’re a plotter or pantser, you reach a point where you have have to look at each chapter/scene as a whole and ask: what does my character want in this scene? What are they trying to accomplish?

Whatever your character’s story problem is – the big, takes-the-whole-story-to-solve problem, each chapter is your character’s next step in solving that problem. Have a clearly defined scene goal and know whether your character doesn’t get what they want or whether they get what they want, but they no longer want it.

Frank is notified he’s inherited $100,000 from his great aunt Martha, but the will stipulates he must be in L.A. by Friday morning for the will reading to collect his inheritance. Frank’s first step in solving his story problem is to get on a plane in New York for L.A, but his plane has mechanical issues and gets rerouted to Atlanta. He can’t get on a flight to L.A. til Friday noon.

Frank must now make a decision about what he’s going to do next to solve his story problem. Is Frank the kind of character who’s ruled by his emotions, uses his emotions to inform his actions, or does he completely suppress his emotions and rely entirely on logic?

However Frank uses his emotions, they are there and are very involved in what’s happening. The problem comes when we just write out the hassle Frank went through getting time off (and how he slammed a few drawers shut) or how he almost missed the flight in New York (and gave the cabbie the finger on his way out of the taxi). Those aren’t enough.

Human emotions serve a function. They are always trying to raise a concern, protect us, or tell us something. When you think of emotions that way, it’s easier (I find) to figure out what collection of emotions our characters would be feeling. To paraphrase Sigmund Freud, “I think this man is suffering from memories.”

Dialogue isn’t enough to convey emotion in fiction, it’s helpful but it’s not enough on its own. In deep pov, we want to write as though the reader is a fly on the wall inside our character’s head. So, we’re also using body posture, tone of voice, expressions, internal dialogue, and physiology to show emotions as well. Every decision has a WHY, and that WHY is either informed by, ruled by, or in denial of, an emotion.

Get really curious about what the character is risking, what they stand to lose, about why they can’t turn back.

What Is The Character’s WHY In That Scene?

You’ve built in a point of no return for your character, a reason they can’t can’t ever walk away from this story problem. There are stakes for Frank, stakes that mean he can’t just decide not to go to L.A. He has to get to great aunt Martha’s will reading or life is over for Frank because it means the uncle who sexually molested his sister will have to be there — and he’d made a promise at his sister’s grave to kill the man who caused her to commit suicide.

Get curious about the WHY. Now we know getting to great aunt Martha’s will reading is an external story problem, but it’s not Frank’s WHY. The will reading is the next step in solving his emotional problem – which is murdering his uncle. The emotional arc should have plot points that align with the external story problem, but they don’t have to be the same thing.

Why does Frank see murder as the only way to solve his emotional story problem? What does he think seeking revenge says about his character? What won’t he do in order to achieve his goal? What would a stronger man be able to do in the aftermath of his sister’s death? What does Frank think it says about him that he’s not that strong? Begin to turn the story problem over in your mind, what other ways can you look at why your character needs to see this done? Why can’t they fail?

Each obstacle between Frank and his external story goal (reaching L.A. by Friday morning), complicates Frank’s emotional story goal (murdering his uncle). Failure or success in achieving the external story goal must have emotional consequences.

Drill down in a specific and unique WHY for your character. Understanding what drives your character will help the reader identify with them and care.

What Emotions Are Involved In That Scene?

So, understanding the three things already discussed informs the emotions we can draw upon for any scene and character: the overall story goal, scene goal, and the WHY. Being specific about the emotions driving the decisions is important, it’s what helps readers lean in. This isn’t achieved by objective-sounding rationales, by descriptions of what hasn’t worked, or even narrative about what’s at stake.

Drill into the primary and secondary emotions at play and get specific. You won’t do this for every character, but for your main character you want to. Intimately understand why they’re making any decision. This is super hard for me. I have a book doctor (or sorts) who helps me dig deeper into the emotions of a scene because it just doesn’t come naturally to me. I can help others find it in their own work, but rarely in my own.

Frank is stuck in Atlanta and reaching L.A. by Friday morning is no longer assured. What emotions would be at play? Let’s get curious about this. Don’t just go with the first one that comes to mind, because in real life there would be a wide range of emotions at play, right. Rarely are things so cut and dry in life. I brainstorm as many emotions as I can, unearthing one or more with each new angle I approach the story and emotional problem from.

Maybe hearing about the will and piecing together that Frank’s uncle has to show up in L.A. reignites the grief over his sister? Maybe it reignites the shock of his sister’s suicide and how helpless and vulnerable and alone that left him feeling. Maybe he is reminded of how stupid he felt, that he never saw the signs of the abuse or of his sister’s depression — or maybe (in contrast) in hindsight he sees the signs of her distress and calls for help and brushed her off.

Those are primary emotions. What would be the thinking reactions to those primary emotions? That vulnerability, loss of control, helplessness, shock, grief, self-loathing, these are uncomfortable and unpleasant. What emotions would help him feel like he’s regained control of things, that will give him hope that he can DO something to change his current reality?

Shame might be one aspect of what he’s feeling fueled by the self-loathing that he never saw the signs of the abuse or depression. Anger is probably involved. Anger helps us feel like we’re back in control, particularly if we can deflect any blame off of ourselves onto someone else. Maybe he justifies the plan to murder his uncle because he’s saving other potential victims, because he sees it as an eye for an eye, maybe because in his thinking it redeems his earlier inaction and proves he does love his sister?

Maybe, Frank comes to realize the murder is about his own personal redemption and ultimately has little to do with his sister (emotional arc)? He’s still going to do everything he can to get to L.A. by Friday morning (external story problem), but maybe in the journey he thinks of another way to solve his emotional story problem? Maybe he meets someone along the way that causes him to question his murderous plans?

The emotions, serving their purpose, will become more insistent, louder, and harder to ignore or distract from as the story goes on. Scene by scene, the emotions fuel each of the character’s actions/decisions. You have to get curious about that and SHOW what emotions are behind the thoughts and actions taken, specifically and uniquely to that character. The tendency is to show the character angry, but not show why. For the character to state or think that they have to kill their uncle, but not get curious about the emotions giving heat and drive to that desire.

What’s your Deep POV question? Do you struggle with adding emotions into your fiction?

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5 Pro Tips On Writing Description In Deep Point Of View

December 31, 2019 by Lisa Hall-Wilson Leave a Comment

Woop! Let’s give 2019 a giant kick out the door and welcome in 2020 with a bang! Beginning January 1^st, I am launching 30 Days Of Deep POV on my Facebook page, where I’ll be creating a video a day based on my 30 most popular blog posts (including guest posts) on deep point of view (t. Don’t miss out! Join the fun on Facebook!

I am continuing the Deep POV FAQ series and today’s question is: how do I add more pertinent details without boring my readers?

I get asked this A LOT concerning writing in deep point of view. I’ve blogged about writing description here and here. Here and here. But it is hard to know what you should expand on or cut way back, so let’s get super practical right now. Because to you – ALL the details are important. So how do you know what to keep and what to get rid of?

How Much Does The Reader Need To Know NOW?

Some details are important for the reader to know – to understand the story, but resist the temptation to deliver all of it at once. Ask – how much does the reader need to know RIGHT NOW to understand what’s going on? My personal rule for backstory is to answer one question and leave the reader with two more. Drip. Drip. Drip. Same rule applies here with description. Scene by scene, drip-drip-drip, ask yourself what information the reader absolutely needs to know to understand what’s going on right now. Does the reader need to know the history of THAT coffee table RIGHT NOW, or does the reader just need to know that there’s an interesting coffee table that catches her eye because right now something is more important to the character?

It’s better to deliver information to the reader through dialogue than a narrative passage, it’s more fun to read and is less likely to slow the pace. Think of the Immortal Instruments series by Cassandra Clare. Clary knows nothing about the shadow world, about shadowhunters, so she’s always asking questions and needing things explained to her. Her questions deliver the information the reader needs to know to understand the story, but Clary couldn’t possibly know all the questions to ask in Chapter One. She has to keep moving forward and ask questions as they come up, on a need-to-know basis. That’s the best way to think of it. Keep the story moving ahead always.

For Those Who Love Flowery, Flowing, Descriptive Passages…

If this is you, probably you find that you have to edit out big sections of narrative (and it feels a bit like you’re gutting the heart of the story). First, you can’t fix something that isn’t written, so a pat on the back for getting the words down. That’s the first big hurdle.

With deep point of view, every bit of information given to the reader is filtered through the point of view character – not you, the writer. The goal of deep point of view, remember, is for the writer to disappear and for the reader to feel like they’re IN the story with the character. Ask yourself, at the beginning of any scene, what’s your POV character’s motivation in this scene? Sounds like something an actor would ask, but it works here too. Because, whatever your POV character is zoned in on determines what they notice, ignore, explain away, take in but don’t linger over, etc.

I often use the example of a teenage boy home from school who’s hungry. (yes, this might be an example ripped straight from my own life). The boy won’t notice the new paint on the wall, that the furniture has been rearranged, that mom’s got a new haircut – nothing. (all true stories) What he will notice is that the dog is wet when it jumps on him. He’ll notice if there’s a smell in the house that hints at baking taking place. He will have catalogued everything in the fridge and know if something’s been added or removed (say, leftover pizza).

This filtering of details is super important in deep point of view. A character who’s eager to impress or please, might trip over themselves offering compliments or searching for something they think the other person is proud of. A guy who’s walked into the local coffee shop and sees his girl sitting with some other guy will notice different things than the friends who are standing right next to him. It’s not that those other things don’t exist, but the details are filtered through what’s important to that character right now.

Additionally, remember that the reader does 80% of the work of description. If I tell you that a female walks into a male co-worker’s office, shuts the blinds, slips out of her heels and pops open the top three buttons on her blouse – does it matter what colour the carpet is, or if the desk between them is mahogany or oak? Ask what would THAT character focus on, IN THAT MOMENT? That’s what the reader gets to know about. Cut everything else.

The Details Given Specificity Are Considered Important By Readers

One of the pitfalls of deep point of view is falling into what’s called writing on the nose. This is when every movement is described in a blow-by-blow account that doesn’t serve the story. This needless description frustrates readers because the story’s pace moves at a glacial speed. Remember, the more time you spend describing anything, the more importance the reader will assume it to have. Whether it’s an object on a table, the table itself, or even the walk to answer the door, if it’s important to the character in that moment it had better help move the story forward. Be ruthless about this.

Some writers love these sweeping all-encompassing descriptions of setting. The moon, the stars, the wind through the trees, the crickets, the blah blah blah. Keep in mind that these sections of description slow the pace of your story, so be strategic with them. If it’s true to the character to notice the colours of the setting sun and reminisce about some childhood memory, that’s fine, but be strategic with the pacing. In the middle of a chase scene is not the place for that kind of narrative. Also, drip-drip-drip. It’s hard to justify giving more than a couple lines to this kind of description. If it’s a paragraph, two paragraphs, half a page or more, be very objective about whether the reader needs all that information in that spot.

What is the norm for the genre you’re writing in? Some genres make more room for these types of descriptive passages than others.

Use Description To Show More About Your Characters

Yes, it’s good to be specific when possible because it helps the reader picture the scene better. However, one pitfall to watch out for is giving the character knowledge they don’t actually possess. I can open the hood of my vehicle and find where to add wiper fluid, where to check the oil and add oil… and that’s about it. I’m sure those parts have proper names but I don’t know them. You wouldn’t have to tell a reader your character is a mechanic if they can open the hood and actually name all the parts and know their function, or recognize a problem in a particular part by a sound.

I can walk into a garden (near where I live) and name many of the plants growing in any season. My husband notices flower colours. I couldn’t tell you one designer hand bag from another, but I know what expensive looks like.

Use this filter to give the reader information about your character. This is part of show don’t tell. If I’m reading about a character who can walk into a new-to-them garden and name many of the plants, I assume they know a lot about gardening. The writer wouldn’t have to tell me that. But if your character knows everything about everything, I can’t discern anything about their character.

Additionally, does this garden-loving character get upset that the Irises are planted too deep (and now won’t flower), or do they take a moment to recall the Latin name for the plant? These small details give insight into the character, but are just a drip, drip, drip of information. The reader may not catch every single hint, but they’ll catch enough to get to know your character. It’s just a phrase, not even a whole sentence, of this kind of description filtered through what’s important to the character, that really brings a character and a story to life for readers.

Ask Your Beta Readers

In the end, knowing what to keep and what to cut comes down to how well you’re communicating ideas that you feel are important/vital to the story you want to tell and the characters you’ve created. Take the time to interview your beta readers. Pick out a particular scene, ask them how it made them feel? What did they love? Where were they tempted to skim? Know what effect you were going for in that scene and blatantly ask if you pulled that off. Ask more than one beta reader.

This is the kind of feedback that will help you learn where to be clearer, where you can lean closer to what might feel like melodrama to you, or where to cut back because the point is being muddied or the passage skimmed because there’s too many details. Ask people who love your genre, but will be honest with you. Beta readers who are afraid to hurt your feelings are all that helpful, ultimately — not if you’re looking to improve your writing.

Are you a writer who writes very sparse on a first draft and has to edit in description, or are you a writer who loves to add description and has to later go back and edit much of it out? How do YOU decide what to keep?

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How To Write With Immediacy In Fiction

December 12, 2019 by Lisa Hall-Wilson 2 Comments

We’re continuing in our FAQ series on Deep POV. The question that came in was: How do you write with immediacy?

There are a few foundational rules with deep point of view and writing with immediacy and removing distance are two of them. If you don’t write with immediacy you add perceived distance between the reader and the story, which is exactly what deep pov tries to eliminate. As I considered this question, I realized that I haven’t written much about this here or in my book, so let’s break this down.

Simply put, immediacy is writing as though everything in the story is happening right now.

Is Past Or Present Tense More Immediate?

Some writers get hung up on writing in past or present tense when asked about immediacy. Are you writing He is… or He was…? With deep point of view, there isn’t a right or wrong answer here. You can write in deep pov with immediacy equally well in past or present tense.

Is First Or Third Person Better?

Again – wrong question. I see many blogs out there saying first person is more intimate than third person, but I disagree. Written equally well, a reader can immerse themselves just as well in a first or third person story. Some readers will have a preference, many writers have a preference, one or the other is more popular in some genres.

I would like to clarify that writing in first person doesn’t automatically make your writing deep point of view (or more immediate). I’ve written about first or third person here. This is a distraction in the discussion about writing with immediacy or deep point of view.

What Is Writing With Immediacy?

Writing with immediacy is capturing the story as the character moves through a scene. Think of it like strapping a GoPro to your point of view character (POVC).

If story is a car, omniscient POV puts the reader in the back seat away from the action. A limited POV puts the reader in the shotgun seat beside the driver. Deep point of view puts the reader in the POVC’s lap in the driver’s seat. They see/hear/know/learn/feel everything the POVC does, but that’s ALL they know. The entire story is filtered through the POVC as though they are living the story in real time. It’s a first-person shooter style of storytelling.

Avoid The Narrator Voice

The narrator voice slips in particularly if you’re more familiar with the omniscient point of view style (or, I’ve found this happens among writers who, as readers, detest feeling tension when reading themselves). This is a stylistic choice that makes sure the reader knows everything is OK before the conflict really heats up. I can’t give you a template or a list of words to do a search for. It all depends on the effect the phrase creates.

Some examples might be:

Later, he would realize this had all been a dream. (and then the dream sequence begins)
If only she’d known how Brad would react, she’d have kept her mouth shut. (and then she says the thing she later regrets saying)

This idea of hindsight or looking back before the event comes off as author intrusion in deep point of view and it adds distance. Now, this doesn’t mean your character can’t second guess themselves, but it’s expressed after they’ve done something. It can also work in a self-fulfilling prophecy sense. This is a bad idea or I’m going to regret this… and then they step into the hard thing as an act of courage or whatever. That’s different than this all-knowing narrator slipping into the story foretelling the future.

Writing in this way, especially in deep point of view, undercuts the tension for readers. By reassuring readers that the character will be safe no matter what’s about to happen, the reader is chucked into the backseat of the story car surrounded with bubble wrap.

Immediacy With Emotions

Writing emotions with immediacy is an often-overlooked aspect of writing in deep point of view. I wrote about the four layers of emotional storytelling here. We usually start with the first layer, the primary emotions. These are our instinctive emotional responses – the gut reaction, the spontaneous reaction, the survival instinct, etc. Often, these emotions are quick and visceral – meaning they have a physical component to them, not a thinking component.

You show this through physiological responses, physical reactions, etc. These are not emotions we think about before we decide if we’re feeling them or not. For example, we each feel fear uniquely. Show what fear feels like to that character. What terrifies one person, another won’t even pause over. Primary emotions require immediate action and prepare your body to act.

She scrolled through Facebook with her thumb. A shadow fell across the floor in front of her. A man punched the up button on the elevator and then stood nearly shoulder to shoulder with her. She inched away. What’s his deal? She looked up at his face, his hair parted with precision and the angles of his face sharp and chiseled.

He looked down on her and winked. Her belly clenched and she glanced around the lobby. Empty. She flicked her thumb and pulled up the emergency screen on her phone. Her thumb hesitated. He wore a nice suit, a real-leather-looking case in his hand that matched his shoes, and a gold watch. But the tightness in her belly spread up to her chest, cinching and squeezing. Her heart beat faster. The elevator dinged and she flinched. The doors slid open.

This is all primary emotions, right. Now, those emotions are going to force the character to do something, because this isn’t a comfortable feeling. She takes in a lot of information trying to decide if she’s safe or not. In deep point of view, we give the reader what evidence we have at hand and let them decide what emotion the character is feeling. This way, the reader knows WHY the character makes the decision they do. Make the reader lean in to understand, to engage with the emotions in the scene.

Primary emotions are immediate, raw, and unfiltered.

Perspective Is Determined Through Immediacy

In the example above, all of the information given to the reader is filtered through the character’s perspective. Her perspective is informed by what’s important to her RIGHT NOW.

There are some scenes where a character’s emotions dictate their plans for the future. Much of the time, what our characters take in, filter, judge, assess, etc. is put through a lens of what’s important to them right now. A teen boy can overlook quite a few things when he is hungry. All the sensory data intake is focused on finding food – smell, sight, past experience, taste, etc.

Think of the example above of the woman at the elevator, how would it change the character’s primary emotions if she’d been sexually assaulted previously? How would her thinking response change if she was on her way to work, to a job she couldn’t afford to lose, and she was a little late? How would her primary emotions react if she’d just read on her phone that the police were investigating a string of recent assaults in that neighborhood? Or she’d just had a friend who was assaulted?

Do you see how immediacy can shape a character’s perception of everything around them and shape their responses? It’s all interconnected.

Have a question about writing with immediacy? This is the third post in the deep POV FAQ series, have a question you’d like to see answered – post it below!

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How To Write A PTSD Flashback In Deep POV

December 4, 2019 by Lisa Hall-Wilson 3 Comments

Flashbacks are super popular among writers, but less popular among editors and agents. Partly because some writers call info dumps and backstory “a flashback.” If you’re interested in diving deep into writing flashbacks caused by trauma and PTSD, read on because I have some good tips for you!

Quick Recap: What Is Deep Point Of View?

Deep point of view is a stylistic choice to remove the perceived distance between the reader and the point of view character. This technique puts the reader IN the story as it’s happening. The reader knows everything the point of view character knows/sees/hears/etc. but that’s all they know.

If you’re not sure if you’re writing in deep point of view or not, check out this guest post I did at Writers In The Storm and then come back here and learn more about writing flashbacks in deep pov.

What Is A Flashback?

In my online classes, I often get asked for help in writing two kinds of flashbacks. One kind of flashback is the idea of a glimpse into a character’s past, basically a cut scene to something’s that happened before. This is usually written as a dream or as backstory. These are really hard to do well in deep pov because much of the time they come across as author intrusion.

Be objective about whether the reader needs to know ALL of that info in one place. My personal rule for backstory is to answer one question for the reader and leave them with two more. To drip in the backstory a sentence, a phrase, at a time. If you’ve got a paragraph, two paragraphs, a whole chapter — that’s just a look at the past, for the sake of looking at the past, “kill your darlings.” Yes, other authors use them, and they’re not wrong per se, but there’s a great post here by K.M. Weiland about writing this type of flashbacks.

Flashbacks As A Symptom Of Past Trauma

I’ve written before about writing trauma backstories and even writing PTSD in deep pov. So, let’s dig a little deeper into flashbacks as a symptom of PTSD as a storytelling device.

First, please do some research into PTSD before tritely using flashbacks. According to Psychiatry.com PTSD occurs in 7%-8% of the population and is twice as likely in women as men. PTSD makes a great source of internal conflict in fiction especially as general awareness of the condition grows, but don’t be a source of mis-information. Don’t cheat your reader! **climbs off soapbox**

We want to show and not tell, but deep pov takes this to all new levels. So, how do we show a flashback so readers know that’s what’s happening without TELLING them it’s a flashback?

Here’s the thing: a flashback is your body reliving the worst event of your life over and over without any warning or control to stop it from happening. It’s more like a nightmare than a memory, because it can be completely immersive and block out all sense of time and place.

Think about that for a moment. How would that daily reality affect you? If you’re using flashbacks, be sure to learn about all of the other symptoms of living with PTSD: hyper-vigilance, inability to sleep (not always insomnia), nightmares, avoidance, exhaustion, heightened startle reflex, trust issues, inability to concentrate, irritability, physical pain, sweating, etc.

Actors use this trick called Emotive Memory – they are able to recall an event from their past with such intensity they can relive that emotion. When you’re writing flashbacks, think about the absolute worst thing that’s ever happened to you, really let it well up and overwhelm you (stay safe), and recapture how that felt. How did your body respond? Now, imagine those feelings amplified by a life or death consequence to that event. Now, imagine living with the constant reality of having that memory pouncing on you like a starving lion at any moment. And knowing that people will think you’re insane if they find out what’s really going on with you.

Fight, Flight And Freeze Responses

Many are familiar with the fight or flight responses. Anger and violence are common responses to PTSD flashbacks. Leaving immediately, without explanation, or avoiding any situation that could trigger a flashback is also common. The survival response fewer know about is Freeze.

For those who experienced a trauma where they couldn’t escape, they were literally overpowered. They couldn’t fight back because the perpetrator was too strong (physically, or because of a power imbalance). The brain turns to the last option available to it in order to survive – dissassociation. They go numb. Their mind goes blank, or they disconnect mentally from what’s happening to their bodies. They comply.

These survival instincts will all trigger a similar physical response – increased heart rate, sweating, tidal wave of adrenaline, you breathe heavily. The processes not needed to help you take quick action are turned off or un-prioritized – like thinking. Unlike a general anxiety attack, you can’t think your way out of a PTSD flashback or attack. All you can do is remove yourself from the perceived threat.

Here’s the thing about a fear response. When faced with a real life-threatening situation, your body will act without you thinking about it. It’s an instinctual response right, like being startled. Most of the time, when faced with an imaginary fear (such as public speaking, where there’s no real physical threat), we struggle with indecision, second guess ourselves, etc. Do you see the difference?

Flashbacks Should Be An Individual Response

Flashbacks come in various severities, so do some research into them. At its most severe, a flashback can cause you to lose all connection with your current reality, like a nightmare you can’t wake up from.

“…When discussing the topic of flashbacks with friends and family, most assume it’s just a memory, like remembering your first kiss or your first time at Disneyland. However, that’s not what it’s like at all. For most people, myself included, flashbacks are an intense re-experience of a traumatic event, which feels like it’s happening now and involves all your senses. In effect, it feels like being re-traumatized, even though you are not actually experiencing the event for real…” Read the whole post here.

There are emotional flashbacks, where you remain conscious of where you are and whether you’re physically safe, but your body is convinced you’re in imminent danger and that emotional response tangibly controls you.

“…Because most emotional flashbacks do not have a visual or memory component to them, the triggered individual rarely realizes that she is re-experiencing a traumatic time from childhood…” Read the whole post here.

Don’t Cheat Readers On The Consequences Of Flashbacks

Flashbacks, particularly if they sneak up on you, are exhausting. Like, bone weary, sleep for a week and still be tired, exhausted. There will be heightened vigilance following a flashback, because the character will want to make sure that doesn’t happen again. There may be actual consequences because of their behavior. You can’t randomly run out of a board meeting without explanation and there not be social or professional consequences. Most people don’t want others to know they’re struggling, so do some research into the coping mechanisms used.

Writing Internal Dialogue During A Flashback

The internal dialogue is what most people tend to struggle with. Remember, in deep pov, internal dialogue must be written as though the character is alone in their own heads. They won’t explain to themselves what the traumatic event was, when it happened, who hurt them. You’ll have to strategically build in the necessary backstory for readers, one drip at a time, over the course of the story.

Do you have any questions about flashbacks in deep pov? Is this a device that you’re using? Where are you struggling?

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