A likable character is the reason readers want to know if the couple in that romance book will end up together, if the teenage protagonist will fulfill their destiny, and if the villain who pulls at our heartstrings (because we understand their wounds enough to care) will get the happy ending.

What this article is about:

• What actually makes a character likable?

• Likable as a person vs. likable as a character

• Likability and caring: what’s the deal?

• My likability matrix for characters

What actually makes a character likable?

A character is likable when they feel real. Like their own person.

The advice may sound simple. But this is the reason why many authors tell you to base your characters off someone you know in real life.

Because they’re real. This makes it easier to predict how they’ll act in different scenarios.

You won’t be wondering if a proud character should beg for their life when the stakes are high. You know them well enough. Their internal logic won’t allow it. And even if they do, it has to feel earned. Something must’ve changed throughout the story to make them beg.

Don’t fall into the trap of making them do or say something just as a plot device, which… leads me to the next thing.

Likable as a person vs. likable as a character

A likable character is very different from a likable person.

When it comes to people, we have standards. We want to be around someone who is nice, warm, and generally doesn’t commit crimes or murder people. (It’s difficult to like those kinds of people, at least for me).

A character can do all of that and still be likable. Because in fiction, a character doesn’t need to be entirely good for readers to root for them, or entirely evil for readers to hate them.

I’ve come to realize that for a character to feel real, they need to have these three things:

1. Coherence because you don’t want them to “act out of character”

2. Clear motivation because you have to make them want something

3. Agency because they need to end up where their actions lead them

Now, let’s bring Cersei Lannister into the discussion.

She’s not a person you’d like to know in real life. But she’s a really likable character. She’s cunning. She’s cruel. She surprises you. And she makes you feel things, whether that is anger, pity, respect, or even understanding.

We understand what she wants, the decisions she makes to get it, and the ways she pivots while we can confidently say “that’s Cersei Lannister.”

She, or well, the author, makes you care about her… in a very complex way. Even when you know that what she’s doing is wrong. But nonetheless, you enjoy her company because you know that when she’s on, something interesting will happen.

Likability and caring: what’s the deal?

When you create a character that feels real, your reader will start caring about them and the things they want to achieve.

Many writers make the mistake of creating characters that are… good. Just that. They can do no wrong. And if they do, it’s often because they were forced into it, but deeply regret it.

This could still work in a few cases, when it serves the story (not as a plot device), but most of the time agency is lacking. The reader may pivot their attention since there’s nothing interesting going on with the character.

Your reader not caring about your character can affect your book’s success. When the super evil character that you keep insisting is super evil dies, and nobody feels relief, maybe they were a plot device with a high body count.

My likability matrix for characters

Now, not all characters need to be deeply layered. Sometimes that doesn’t serve the story you want to tell.

I know I’ve spent most of the article saying that they do, in fact, need to be. But there are different kinds of stories. We have character-driven and plot-driven stories (to make this simple).

That’s why I came up with this matrix you see below:

(Yep, this image was AI-generated)

Generally, you’d like to have a balance between having likable characters and an interesting plot. But a story can still work with at least one of those.

The important thing here is: give something to the reader. Give them a reason to turn the next page of your story until the end. Be that by plot alone or by creating compelling characters that make the reader want to spend time with them.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers who 100% read their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

And if there’s a writing topic you’d like me to write about, drop it in the comments.

What makes your characters likable? Or are you writing a plot-driven story?

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

Because sometimes, you do have to tell. And sometimes, it doesn’t just end there.

When you master “show, don’t tell” in writing, the emotional scenes of your story land harder, you provide an experience rather than a report of events, and your reader becomes an active participant in your world… which is the whole point.

What this article contains:

• What “show, don’t tell” actually means?

• Is telling bad?

• When to show and when to tell: a best practice

• Am I showing or am I telling? (examples)

What “show, don’t tell” actually means?

The main purpose of “show, don’t tell” is to create an immersive experience for the reader. It means that you have to use sensory details, body reactions, or even dialogue to show what’s happening, instead of just saying it.

Stories are usually told, yes. But as with people, a reader remembers a story because of how it made them feel. And those feelings come from what they perceive and what they can piece together.

Oftentimes, you know you’re reading a great story because the feeling lands before it’s even mentioned.

Now, not all stories are going to have a ground-breaking plot. And my favorite part about it is that it’s completely fine.

Showing vs telling is one of the elements that will make your story different from others in the same genre. Even with a similar plot. You choose what matters and when to show it or tell it.

Sometimes a plot can be as simple as:

A talented necromancer apprentice has to deal with her incompetent master’s misdeeds.

This isn’t new.

It’s the typical talented apprentice and the messy master, whose knowledge we question all the time. I’ve seen it. You’ve seen it. Everyone has.

But the same information delivered differently can create a completely different story. (More on the apprentice and master necromancer later). The premise doesn’t make the story; the experience does. And choosing between showing and telling helps you build that experience.

Is telling bad?

Telling isn’t bad. It’s necessary for clarity. Some paragraphs or scenes aren’t meant to make the reader feel something. They’re just meant to exist so the story can move forward, and they can carry important information.

The issue is when you tell too much. It signals that you may not trust your reader to piece things together.

Sometimes, you may want to tell because you’re the person who understands the story better than anybody else. And you want to share that with the reader.

But restraint is often better.

And restraint generates chatter.

Some things may be obvious to half of the readers. The other half may think more deeply and start coming up with theories. And readers coming up with theories about your story may be the highest praise as a writer. You wrote something that people are still thinking about.

Not explaining every single thing can be good.

When to show and when to tell: a best practice

A best practice that has helped me in writing my first book is this:

Show what creates emotion. Tell the information you need to move the story forward.

To recap, telling isn’t bad. And “show, don’t tell” isn’t a hard rule. The use of it depends on what the story needs in that specific sentence, paragraph, scene, or chapter.

If a scene is meant to make your reader feel something (like grief, dread, or particular ache), show it. Build around it so the reader can arrive at the feeling on their own. You can still tell; just don’t tell the feeling.

If you need information to get your reader from point A to B, tell it and move on. Not everything deserves the same weight.

At the end of the day, “show, don’t tell” is about making the story belong to the reader too. When they’re active participants, the story becomes theirs. Because you’re not giving them a picture of a flower field, you’re inviting them to step on it.

Am I showing or am I telling? (examples)

Now, onto examples.

Let me not only tell you but show you how to apply “show, don’t tell”. I wrote some examples in which I’ll use our talented apprentice and the master necromancer.

Example 1: Just telling

The apprentice was frustrated with her master. Him being both incompetent and overconfident had proved to be a problem for her from her first day on the job.

When her first customer came into the shop, the master misread bone divinations, even insisting on wrong interpretations when she corrected him. He also used the wrong materials during summoning rituals, which caused serious mistakes like summoning a ghost that wasn’t even related to the customer. And the potions he usually sold to clients, promising an outcome, were often completely off.

She had tried to help. Tried to suggest alternatives. Tried to explain. But he would dismiss her and tell her that everything would be fine.

This one is an example of pure telling. I’m just giving you information here and already telling you that the apprentice is frustrated and the master is both incompetent and overconfident.

Does that mean it’s wrong?

No, maybe this is what your story needs. Maybe this is just information to move on to the story. But now, let’s try the same example with showing.

Example 2: Just showing

“Someone is talking behind your back.” The apprentice traced the curve of the tooth in the cloth. “See how it points away from…”

“That’s a long journey.” The master leaned over the table and pointed at the tooth. He then gave one of his signature smiles to the customer.

The customer smiled back, nodded, and left.

The apprentice looked at the table for a moment, her eyes still fixed on the tooth that was pointing away from the customer. But she said nothing and collected the bones.

Three days later, a woman came wanting to talk to her deceased grandmother. The apprentice had already set the bone dust at the table, but the master shook his head.

“Use grave dirt.”

“But bone dust is better for…”

“Grave dirt, trust me.” The master winked.

And moments later, what came through wasn’t a grandmother.

Then, on another day, the master asked her to create a potion for slow aging. But when the customer came to retrieve it, he was paying for a potion to cheat death temporarily instead. Needless to say, she never saw that customer again.

This one is mostly showing (telling is very necessary). While this example uses dialogue and the characters’ actions to tell the story, it still sounds somewhat flat. Like it needs grounding or it’s missing context. We don’t know enough about the world, the apprentice, or the master to feel the weight of these moments.

Now, here’s how it looks when you combine both telling and showing effectively.

Example 3: Showing and telling

The apprentice had been working under her master for three months now. And while he was the most sought-after necromancer in the city, she was quickly learning that he was also one of the worst.

Her very first customer was a man looking for a divination service using bones.

“Someone is talking behind your back.” The apprentice traced the curve of the tooth in the cloth. “See how it points away from…”

“That’s a long journey.” The master necromancer leaned over the table and pointed at the tooth. Then he flashed a smile with very white teeth, which made the customer more confident about the prediction. So, he smiled back, nodded, and left.

The apprentice looked at the table for a moment, her eyes still fixed on the tooth that was pointing away from the customer. That usually meant that someone was positively talking behind his back. But she said nothing and collected the bones. Maybe she had gotten it wrong. It was her first actual job after the academy, after all.

Three days later, a woman came wanting to talk to her deceased grandmother. The apprentice had already set the bone dust at the table, but the master shook his head.

“Use grave dirt.” He crossed his arms and smirked, clearly satisfied.

“But bone dust is better for…”

“Grave dirt, trust me.” The master winked.

The apprentice raised her eyebrow. That couldn’t be right. Using grave dirt could summon anything but the deceased family member. Bone dust was more certain. But he was the master. So, she bit her tongue and put the bone dust aside.

Moments later, what came through wasn’t even a grandmother. It was something worse, which resulted in the woman swearing she would never resort to powers from the beyond again.

Then, on another day, the master asked her to create a potion for slow aging, which had very similar effects to a potion to cheat death temporarily, but was certainly not the same.

When the customer came for the delivery, he paid for a potion to cheat death. And the master handed the slow aging potion she had prepared the other day. Needless to say, she never saw that customer again.

That evening, the apprentice grabbed her coat and went out for a long walk.

In this example, the telling and showing work well together. We get more explanation of how the necromancer services actually work and why the master is wrong. But we also experience the uncertainty and the frustration from the apprentice.

Neither showing nor telling works well without the other. The two are necessary to provide a great experience for the reader. You just have to choose which one the moment needs.

So, read your own work as a reader would. The more you write (and read), the more you’ll come to find out what the story needs. Things will feel off, sometimes flat, and others will land. The secret, most of the time, is just to keep writing and find out.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers who 100% read their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

And if there’s a writing topic you’d like me to write about, drop it in the comments.

Were you able to grasp showing and telling from the get-go or did it take you some time? Do you have any other tips for showing vs telling?

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

Subscribe now

I guess Narrative Baggage, my publication, is just my way of making that everyone else’s problem too.

I created it to share what I learn along the way as I write my first book. The craft, the process, the publishing industry, and even some thoughts that I don’t mind dumping into the void.

So here’s my first month on Substack wrapped with graphs, data, and numbers pulled directly from my dashboard (what can I say, I love graphs).

Table of contents

• The numbers

• The journey/strategy

• The results

• What’s next?

The numbers: my first month on Substack wrapped (June 2026)

Here are the numbers by the end of June 2026.

Subscribers: 41

Views: 889

Open rate: 42.86%

During June, I posted two articles:

• Point of view in writing: the questions writers actually ask (and nobody seems to answer clearly)

• How a strong narrative voice lets you get away with almost everything

And a number of 49 notes resulted in the graph you see below.

It’s important to mention that this reach was also possible thanks to friends or nice strangers restacking my notes.

However, I still had numbers in mind to track my progress (again, I like graphs).

So, my initial goal was simple: get 100 subscribers by the end of the year.

As of June of 2026, I’m 41% there thanks to 41 people who either liked my articles, engaged with my notes, or thought the name of my publication was funny enough to give it a chance.

Now, here’s how I did it.

The “strategy”: what I did during the first month

To create community and subsequently get subscribers from that community, I came to realize that it was important to create anchors to connect with people. Those anchors being conversations. Conversations that started with a note, a comment, or an article I wrote.

I also read somewhere that a sweet spot for growth in Substack is to post three notes every day and two articles per week.

But that was… too much for me.

I wanted to make sure I could commit to an easy writing schedule first. So, my strategy, if you want to call it that, was:

• Two articles a month on Saturdays

• One note daily (and maybe a second, if I had ideas)

All of it, scheduled to go live at 6 am PT.

My first post was an introduction post:

Just to say “hi” and tell people why I was here. It did well, but honestly, I think it did well because my friend Alley restacked it and welcomed me into Substack.

From then on, I scheduled funny posts…

Bits of knowledge of what I learned as I write my book.

And sometimes daily progress on the actual writing of my book.

I didn’t think I’d find enough “material” to write a post every day. But as I planned them every week, I realized that you don’t need masterpieces. Just talk about things you learn, things that surprise you, or things that are funny to you.

You’ll find your people.

The results: more graphs on engagement, visitors, subscribers, and channels

Views represent every time someone looks at a piece of content. Whether that’s on Substack, the web, or through email.

It seems I got the most views on June 6. The day I posted my first article, POV in writing (3k words), at around 150 views.

The second peak was on June 20, when I posted my second article on narrative voice (1.5k words) at 72 views.

What this tells me:

Engagement peaks or is higher on days I post articles on Substack. While Notes still bring views every day, people stop scrolling to actually read or skim articles.

So, long-form content is still very much valuable (I knew y’all’s attention span wasn’t wrecked!)

However, it’s important to also notice the specific engagement metrics of each piece:

The POV in writing piece got the most views at the end of the month. But the second, and shortest piece, for narrative voice, got the most likes and comments, and almost reached the same amount of views as the first piece in just ten days.

This means that, while people appreciate a long 3k word well-researched piece, they have a life outside of Substack.

So, a shorter article that’s easy to consume in, say, 5-10 minutes represents less friction. And people are more willing to dedicate time to read it.

Where did visitors come from?

My graph on unique visitors tells a similar story.

Most visitors came from my two long-form pieces. But there are also two peaks at the end that are higher than in the previous graph.

I’m assuming those come from these two Notes I posted by the end of the month. These got the most engagement out of any of my other notes.

People like connecting with others.

But they also appreciate bits of knowledge.

As for the sources of the visitors:

About 38% came from direct, which, according to Substack, means:

“These users arrived at your content by typing the URL or using a bookmark. It also includes traffic from sources that fail to pass referral data.”

And 31% came from Substack. I also had a few Google and Bing searches.

What did my subscriber growth look like?

I had 41 subscribers at the very end of June.

And as you can see, it’s not like I had a dramatic peak when it comes to people who willingly gave me access to their emails.

It was more of a steady growth.

Looking at the number of people who subscribed on a day-to-day basis, I would get one, two, or three subscribers daily.

Sometimes zero. On the highest days (which were three), I got four subscribers at most.

I love these numbers. Because growth is supposed to be boring. Steady and consistent, but boring.

Now, about 90% of subscribers came from Substack, which makes sense with everything we’ve been seeing and the fact that I only have a social presence as an author on this platform.

I have a feeling that most of my subscribers are people whom I have connected with through notes or by having conversations until they eventually gave me the opportunity to surprise them.

The 49 Notes that I posted this month?

Honestly, I just scheduled maybe 30 (one each day). The others came from restacks and things that I wanted to post about at the moment. But most were probably from my book progress.

The goal for June was to make it to the 30k word mark, and I reached that goal by July 3. A little late but still there.

And while my book goal is to write at least 10k words in a month, it may need some adjusting in July due to the Cozy Quill Fantasy Writing Contest.

What’s next?

Now that my first month is up, I’ll be applying what I learned.

I’ll try to post at least two Notes every day and one long-form post every week to see what happens. Consider it a little experiment.

This is my second post of July 2026. Let’s see if we can do two more.

Also, I promise that I’ll start adding cover images to my posts soon. I know that may affect my engagement too, and it’s just not a good look.

I’m very excited to see what this month brings, and I’ll update you with another one of these articles by then, here at Narrative Baggage.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers who 100% their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

And if there’s a writing topic you’d like me to write about, drop it in the comments.

Was this post helpful? What have you learned in your writing journey and as you grow in Substack?

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

Subscribe now

I have a hot take that may gain me some sympathizers, haters, maybe one person will comment “well, actually…”, or someone may finally feel seen.

(If you consider yourself a pantser or a plotter, stay in for my hot take. Would love to hear your thoughts!)

What this article is about:

• Pantser vs plotter: my hot take

• Do you need to outline a novel before writing?

• Can you write a story without an outline?

Author’s note ✍️

I keep seeing the terms plotter and pantser all over the writing community. In the beginning, when I was starting out my book, I considered myself a pantser. I was invaded by a burst of inspiration to get into my novel. But it turns out that some habits are difficult to fight.

As a former SEO writer, outlining was the bread and butter of my work (this article was outlined too!). So, after writing a few rough chapters of my novel, I did the boring part. Outlining.

The result was a very ugly outline. Not perfect at all. With a bunch of grammatical errors. But it covered the main points of my story and helped me visualize the pacing.

Then, I didn’t look at it again for months…

Until I got to the messy middle, that is.

I was disoriented, having a slow week, and the chapter I was currently writing kept dragging. So, I decided to check my outline. Maybe there was something worth saving from all those scribbles.

And there it was, my messy middle. The “inspiration”.

That ugly outline contained ideas I didn’t even remember. Without looking at the outline the first few months, I was making good progress. I knew my beginning well. I was doing worldbuilding, introducing characters, and writing that inciting incident.

I knew what I wanted to achieve.

Until I got lost.

But going back to my outline gave the pacing back.

Now, am I saying that being a plotter is better than being a pantser?

No, I think it’s much more complicated than that :)

Pantser vs plotter: why I think they’re not exactly different

Here’s my hot take.

I think pantsers and plotters are not exactly different people. They’re different terms, yeah. But I would argue that they’re two steps of the same process of writing your book.

The pantser is the first half. The dreaming part. Where you get all that creativity to converge into this one project. Where you’re bursting with ideas. And well, you have to let them out, so yes, you better write them.

Then there’s the second half.

The plotter is the planning part. You have this fragmented story with all of these wonderful ideas. It’s time to organize them, so when those ideas go out into the draft, they come in a steady flow instead of bursts.

So, when someone asks: are you a pantser or a plotter?

I would think the real answer is “both”. Just at different points.

And yes, you can still be a pantser within the chapters of an outlined novel. As long as it gets you from A to B. Or if you want to completely change directions.

Writing a book, I believe, is a beautiful project of trial and error.

Edit: A Substack friend, (subscribe to him for great flash fiction), used AI to generate an image illustrating the concept that most writers are both, pantser and plotter.

But there are always a few outliers that either plot every beat or are discovery writers.

Here it is represented on a curve bell:

Now onto a few questions.

Do you need to outline a novel before writing?

No, go ahead. Be a pantser. Let the demons, the muses, or your characters take control of the keyboard.

Great ideas often come from a single breeze of inspiration. You just have to keep pulling at the thread to see what happens next.

Organizing them so it makes sense?

That comes later when you’re in your plotter phase.

Can you write a story without an outline?

Actually, yes. It requires a lot of skill, years of practice, or maybe you knowing your story too well. But apparently there have been cases in which some writers produce great work without an outline. From beginning to end.

There’s this writer Shirley Jackson, who wrote The Lottery (1948). A famous short story in literature, that she claimed she wrote in one of those bursts of inspiration. From beginning to end. With minor edits.

But I would argue it was pure skill, rather than luck.

Shirley Jackson had been a writer for years before The Lottery (1948). She worked at a literary magazine and allegedly wrote a thousand words every day during a focused year.

So, yeah. It’s possible.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers that 100% their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

And if there’s a writing topic you’d like me to write about, drop it in the comments.

Do you consider yourself a pantser or a plotter? Was I able to convince you of my take?

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

Subscribe now

And if you have a strong voice, you can get away with almost everything. A slow start, a chapter that drags, and even a story that doesn’t seem that interesting initially.

What I did research on:

• What is a narrative voice?

• Narrative voice and point of view: what’s the difference?

• What makes a strong narrative voice?

• How to find your narrative voice?

• And most importantly… how to keep your narrative voice consistent?

What is a narrative voice?

Narrative voice is the personality of your narrator bleeding through the story. It’s the sum of their word choices, sentence rhythm, sense of humor, and what they choose to notice.

I like to think of it as how the description outside the dialogue lands.

Is your narrator just reporting what’s happening? Or are they opinionated about it?

This is how a flat narrative voice sounds:

The master sat down, grinning and sighing.

He put his boots on the table. Full of mud.

“Another day of successfully awakening the dead,” said the master. Then he peeled off his gloves, equally full of blood, and asked, “What’s for dinner?”

“Stew, with some apple pie.” The apprentice took the gloves.

This is how a strong narrative voice sounds:

The master sat down with that insufferable white grin and the relaxed sigh of a man far too content with himself.

He put his boots on the table. Full of mud, which was great, because now the apprentice would be the one scrubbing it off.

“Another day of successfully awakening the dead,” said the master. Then he peeled off his gloves, equally full of blood, and asked, “What’s for dinner?”

Poison, perhaps. Or a slap across the face would do.

“Stew, with some apple pie.” The apprentice took the gloves.

As you can see, this is the same scene with the same physical actions, same dialogue, but a totally different feel. We learn that the apprentice is bitter and the master is just insufferable. All of that thanks to the narrative voice.

Narrative voice is what makes writing feel like it came from a person. Your prose, grammar, plot, and structure can be pristine. But without a narrative voice, your story can feel empty.

Narrative voice and point of view: what’s the difference?

The difference between narrative voice and point of view in writing is that point of view (POV) is the “who” is telling the story (first, second, or third) while the voice is the “how” the story is being told.

(Plot, by the way, is the “what” that is being told.)

But the voice is the emotional core of a story. Whether a scene reads as funny, tense, dramatic, or dreadful depends more on the voice than on the events.

Let’s go back to the example with the master necromancer and the apprentice. But I’ll be using a different voice:

The master sat down, grinning and letting out a satisfied sigh. The sigh of a man pleased with causing misery.

He put his boots up on the table. Full of mud, which made the apprentice’s heart sink. He’d be the one scrubbing that off later.

“Another day of successfully awakening the dead,” said the master, the grin never leaving his face. Then he peeled off his gloves, with blood, so much blood, and asked, “What’s for dinner?”

The apprentice knew better than to upset him. He only wanted the evening to pass quietly. So he gave the answer he knew was safe.

“Stew, with some apple pie.” The apprentice took the gloves.

In both examples, we use the third person limited POV. But in the first one, the apprentice is sarcastic and bitter, while in this one, he’s scared and resigned.

Now, let’s change POV and keep the voice:

The master sat down, grinning and letting out a satisfied sigh. The sigh of a man pleased with causing misery.

He put his boots up on the table. Full of mud, which made my heart sink. I’d be the one scrubbing that off later.

“Another day of successfully awakening the dead,” said the master, the grin never leaving his face. Then he peeled off his gloves, with blood, so much blood, and asked, “What’s for dinner?”

I knew better than to upset him. I only wanted the evening to pass quietly. So I gave the answer I knew was safe.

“Stew, with some apple pie.” I took the gloves.

Okay, final example (I promise.)

Let’s change the POV and voice:

The master sat down with a grin and a satisfied sigh. The sigh of a man who had earned it.

He put his boots up on the table, mud and all. I didn’t mind it. Cleaning up after him was the least I could do.

“Another day of successfully awakening the dead,” he said, and I could only wonder at the words. Then he peeled off his gloves, soaked in blood, proof of everything he could do, and asked, “What’s for dinner?”

I wanted to get it right for him. He deserved a proper meal after a long day.

“Stew, with some apple pie.” I took the gloves.

See what I mean about the voice being the personality? The examples keep the reader engaged for different reasons. But engaged nonetheless.

What makes a strong narrative voice?

A narrative voice is strong when it keeps the reader engaged. Especially during transition chapters or small moments, just because the reader enjoys the company of the narrator (even if not much is happening)

Your voice is a huge part of how the reader should feel about a scene, a character, or the story in general. It’s not only about fancy words, but about what the narrator notices and points to.

How to find your narrative voice?

Be judgmental… as a narrator, I mean. React to the scenes in your own book. Your narrative voice is in how you communicate, think, or generally express yourself.

Think: What do my unfiltered thoughts sound like?

If you see someone stop at the bottom of an escalator because they’re distracted talking to someone, how would you react?

• “Great, just great. Now I have to walk around him with very little space.”

• “He better move or I’ll move him!!!”

• “She stopped? Rude. Huh, I really like her shoes.”

An important thing to keep in mind is that very often your character is the narrator of the story.

The narrator can also be an entire character on its own. That doesn’t mean the process is any different.

If you know your character, you can get into their head. And if you can get in their head, you can notice the things they notice. Navigate the world as they would, while revealing something about their personality.

There’s something that I must clarify. Some books can do fine without a strong voice. The premise, pacing, and prose do a good job of carrying the story forward. But a strong voice raises your odds of creating an unforgettable book.

Now, and most importantly…

How do you keep your voice consistent?

To keep a consistent voice, make sure the same mind is behind the words and observations in the story. However, that doesn’t mean every passage should be identical. The rhythm and energy may be different. It depends on the scene you’re writing.

Quite simply:

As a writer and reader, you may find you need to recalibrate your voice after reading another book with a strong voice.

So, make sure you save a sample of your voice or read the chapters with the voice you’ve already established before going into another writing session.

If your book has multiple POVs from multiple characters, give each one a voice. And save a sample! Having characters with distinct personalities instead of using the same voice across will enrich your story.

Ultimately, there’s no correct voice, only yours. So, lean into what you can’t help but notice in your scenes. Point to things. Keep the weirdness. The thing that makes your writing sound like no one else’s (your voice) should be kept.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers that 100% their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

And if there’s a writing topic you’d like me to write about, drop it in the comments.

How would you describe the voice you’re using in your book?

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

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Besides sparing you a full rewrite, point of view (POV) shapes your reader’s experience with your story.

Be that a story in which your reader knows your character intimately (first person). Or one where they get to hover over their shoulder (third person).

What I did research on:

• What is point of view in writing?

• Can you use different POVs in a book?

• Can you switch POV between books in a series?

• Can you change tense when you change character POV?

• What happens if the POV character dies?

• 4 different types of POV in writing (and bonuses)

• What POV should you write in?

What is point of view in writing?

Point of view in writing is the perspective from which you want to tell your story and also the perspective your reader will experience.

Choosing a POV helps you determine:

• Who is telling the story?

• How much does the narrator know?

• How close, or distant, the reader feels to your character?

• And, of course, your pronouns

When it comes to distance, the same story told from different POVs can be completely different.

For example, think of a good thriller or mystery. They’re often told in first person to create intrigue as we follow along our main character and only know what they know or suspect.

But now, imagine if the story was told from the third person omniscient. Maybe we know who the culprit is from the beginning, but that creates another kind of tension as the story is told.

Different POVs can create different effects. However, it’s not like you have to lock in into a specific POV to get one single effect.

While the first person is known for giving you that intimacy between narrator and reader (because you’re hearing the character’s thoughts), you can create something similar with third person omniscient by describing what the character is feeling, even if they don’t do it themselves. It all depends on what your story needs.

Now, here are a few questions you may be trying to answer.

Can you use different POVs in a book?

No, you shouldn’t change your POV (first, second, or third) on the same book. However, you’re allowed to shift perspectives and follow different characters under the same person choice. This is what’s called multiple POVs.

Changing your POV mid-book can affect your reader’s experience negatively. They may be used to the pronouns, distance, and perspective you set from the beginning and suddenly they have to recalibrate.

Can you switch POV between books in a series?

Yes, a good rule of thumb to follow is one POV per book. A new book means your reader has time to relax and calibrate between volumes. So, changing POVs between books is acceptable.

However, there’s an important caveat.

Readers who loved your first book may find a change of POV for the second odd. Especially if it’s the same story and characters.

A best practice is to keep the same POV as you follow the same story. For example, Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games trilogy is told entirely from first person through Katniss.

In the prequel of the same series The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, the POV changes to third person limited. And we follow president Snow as a young man.

The change of POV here works because these are different stories. Even if they’re part of the same series.

Can you change tense when you change character POV?

Yes, but it’s preferable (and simpler) if you don’t.

Using different tenses in a multiple character POVs book can be an interesting storytelling device. If done with intention.

For example:

• One character can have chapters in past tense. They’re remembering past events.

• Another character can have chapters in present tense. Things are happening to them right now

Now, imagine they’re in the same story. When their events overlap, it can be very satisfying for the reader when all the pieces fall in place.

On the other hand, tense inconsistency is one of the most common mistakes for writers.

What happens if the POV character dies? Can you keep writing from their perspective?

Technically yes, but you need a narrative reason for that.

Think: Why are they still talking?

There are two ways you can handle it:

1. Give the character a reason to narrate. Your character may have become a soul, ghost, angel, or any kind of supernatural being that is present after death.

2. The character narrates in retrospect. Your reader knows the character dies from the beginning. But they’re telling the story as if looking back.

If your character dies and there’s no supernatural framing or retrospective setup and they keep talking or telling the story, it becomes confusing. You break the logic of the narrative.

Can you as an author write in different POVs across different books or will readers find it jarring?

Yes, you can write in different POVs across different books. You don’t have to lock yourself into one style. Your readers will follow you anywhere for your specific narrative voice and the stories you write.

As long as your writing and stories are consistently good, readers won’t remember what POV was your last book in.

4 different types of POV in writing and bonuses

Now that some of the most common questions were answered, clearly, this is the part in which we go deeper into each POV.

I’ll go over each POV with book examples, main characteristics, and the genres that most use each POV.

First person POV in writing

In the first person POV, the narrator is one of your characters. Usually, the protagonist. They narrate the story with the “I” pronoun as events happen to them.

With this POV, you get to experience the story through the narrator’s eyes, thoughts, and feelings. While this gives your reader immediate intimacy with the character, by being the closest POV, it also limits how much they know to that of what the character knows.

So, if you need your reader to know something, the narrator either has to be in the scene or get the information from another character (or by other means).

First person POV in practice:

I didn’t want to make it a scene. But breaking into my apartment just to steal the last piece of cake deserved a scene.

Some examples of books in first person include:

• The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

• Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

• The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides

Even though the first person means that you have everything filtered through one character, which can feel like a limitation sometimes, it’s also the home of the “unreliable narrator”.

The unreliable narrator is when your narrator’s perception is deliberately deceptive. They can be wrong or biased. But they’re the ones telling the story, which leaves the reader with the challenge of finding out the truth from events or forming their own opinions.

Genres that typically use first person POV:

• Mysteries and thrillers: The information limited through your narrator’s assumptions and thoughts creates suspense which makes the reader more involved as they try to figure out stuff.

• Young adult: The intimacy of perceiving your character’s thoughts and feelings makes the reader bond faster with them, creating a character they can root for.

• Romance: The intimacy here helps readers get more involved and emotionally close to the narrator and their feelings.

• Horror: A combination of limited information and intimacy makes the reader experience fear as they don’t know what will happen but are experiencing it along with your character.

• Memoirs: The most reasonable choice when the story is about you.

Second person POV in writing

In the second person POV, the narrator addresses the reader directly using “you”. The reader becomes a character in the story that experiences events as they happen or think of themselves as information is shared.

With second person POV, your reader gets a more immersive experience. Instead of following the main character around, they’re the main character.

In this POV, you also get limited knowledge as you only know what you experience.

Second person POV in practice:

One thing about making a scene is that you need a good reason for it. And finding out that someone broke into your apartment to eat the last piece of your cake is reason enough.

Some examples of books in second person include:

• If on a winter’s night a traveler by Italo Calvino

• Bright Lights, Big City by Jay McInerney

• Most non-fiction books

• Videogames are a good example too

Another thing to highlight about second person POV is that, because the narrator is constantly addressing “you”, readers often become more engaged. That’s why, most articles on the internet like “how to guides” or informational blogs address you. Because you’re having “this issue”, so here’s “how you solve it”.

Genres that typically use second person POV:

• Non-fiction (like self-help, instruction, or educational books): Addressing your reader as “you” feels personal and direct when teaching them something or communicating information (better than a never-ending textbook talk).

• Fiction and literary fiction: Immersing your reader in the story, as a character, can be interesting to them as it creates complicity.

• Horror: Immersion works well here too because your reader is being told they’re experiencing something frightening.

Third person limited (close third) POV in writing

In third person limited, the narrator tells the story using “he,” “she,” “they” pronouns, but is “limited” by the perspective of the character they’re following along. The narrator only knows what the main character knows (e.g., feelings, thoughts, assumptions) and by extension so does the reader.

With third person limited you get a combination of first person intimacy (since you get the character’s perception) while still creating distance.

The distance that third person provides means that the narrator can occasionally make objective comments about the POV character. For example, it’s easier to describe what the character looks like instead of making them look at a mirror.

Third person limited POV in practice:

He opened the fridge and there it was. Or well, it wasn’t. The last piece of cake he had left was nowhere to be found. Frustration couldn’t start to describe what he felt.

Some examples of books in third person limited include:

• The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

• Dune by Frank Herbert

• Tender is the Flesh by Agustina Bazterrica

Third person limited is one of the most popular POVs in fiction because it gives you as a writer flexibility when it comes to descriptions or perceptions. However, it still has the same limitation as first person. The reader only knows what your character knows.

Genres that typically use third person limited POV:

• Fantasy and science fiction: The objective comments while still being anchored to your character gives you the opportunity of doing worldbuilding (which could feel weird in first person).

• Romance: The limited perspective means you can follow both romantic leads and understand their thoughts and feelings.

• Young adult: The intimacy from first person and distance from third person keeps your readers bonded to the character while allowing flexibility.

• Mysteries and thrillers: The limited knowledge creates suspense while the third person distance gives the narrative room to breathe.

Third person omniscient POV in writing

In third person omniscient, the narrator (similar to third person limited) tells the story using “he,” “she,” “they” pronouns. However, the narrator knows everything. Every thought, feeling, or motivation from any character. They even know what will happen in the future and can hint at it.

With the third person omniscient, you get the most flexibility as you can tap into any character’s mind. Even if they’re in the same scene. Sometimes, if you have a strong voice, it may even feel as if the narrator has become a character too.

Head hopping vs. third person omniscient

Now, tapping into a different character’s mind in the same scene, can risk you doing head hopping. To avoid this use the flexibility of third person omniscient to zoom in and out of a scene to your advantage.

If you’re going to tap into many character’s minds, zoom out so there’s more distance between narrator and characters, leaving everyone to be their own person, so it doesn’t feel like the narrator is hovering over one character’s shoulder only.

Third person omniscient in practice:

He opened the fridge and there it was. Or well, it wasn’t. The last piece of cake he had left was nowhere to be found. Frustration couldn’t start to describe what he felt. He swore he would find who did it. And he would… in about ten minutes.

Some examples of books in third person omniscient include:

• Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

• The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

• Pachinko by Min Jin Lee

Another thing to keep in mind is that third person omniscient can come as the furthest POV from the reader. If you use this POV you may lose intimacy with the main character.

Genres that typically use third person omniscient POV:

• Fantasy: The flexibility of tapping into different character’s minds is a great advantage when you have an extensive cast.

• Multi generational sagas: Again the flexibility to be able to move across a large cast of characters and multiple plotlines while zooming in into intimate moments.

First person plural (bonus)

In first person plural, the narrator is a collective voice using the pronoun “we” to tell the story. Instead of one character telling the story, a community, a group, or a collective consciousness narrates together.

With first person plural, you get a sense of shared identity or fate. However, you lose intimacy as it’s easier for readers to bond with “she” or “he” rather than with “we”.

Some examples of books in first person plural include:

• The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides

• Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris

Sustaining a “we” voice over a whole novel can be difficult, so first person plural is often better used in shorter narratives. However, it can be a strong choice if you’re writing a novel about a group identity.

Genres that typically use first person plural POV:

• Horror and psychological fiction: The collective “we” can be unsettling in a horror or psychological setting as it can imply erased individuality.

• Stories about communities or groups: The logical choice when the community or group identity is the most important part of the story rather than an individual.

Fourth person POV in writing (bonus)

In fourth person, the narrator uses “one” as a universal pronoun to refer to everyone and no one in particular. It’s a voice that speaks about human experience in an impersonal way.

Unlike other writing POVs, the fourth person isn’t really a narrative fiction tool. There’s no character to follow along or to bond with. You could even say that it’s the furthest POV from the reader.

Some examples of places where fourth person POV appears the most:

• Essays

• Academic and philosophical writing

The fourth person POV is mostly a grammatical curiosity that appears in sentences. For example “One would say…”, “one must consider…” or a popular movie line “one does not simply walk into Mordor.”

So… what POV should you write in?

You should write in the POV that you feel most comfortable with and best serves your story.

When you write in a POV that feels natural to you, it’s easier to get those words out!

Your voice will resound more and you’ll grow into your style.

Now…

The second part about using the POV that best serves your story has to do with two things:

1. How much does the reader need to know?

2. How close do you want your reader to be to the narrator?

For example, if the suspense comes from having limited information you could use first person. If you want intimacy and character bonding while getting more information (but not everything), third person limited may work better.

You can also check the POVs that are most used in your genre and choose from there.

While different POVs have their own strengths, limitations, and genre associations, it still is your choice. You may follow the rules and create something staggering. Or you may want to break the rules and create something equally extraordinary.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers who 100% their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

And if there’s a writing topic you’d like me to write about, drop it in the comments.

What POV did you choose for your book?

Take care and keep writing.✍️

Subscribe now