Whose Head Are You In?

By Lois Winston

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I cut my writing chops in the romance industry, first publishing in 2006. During the years leading up to my first sale, I was a member of Romance Writers of America, an organization with both online and local chapters. RWA National and many of its chapters ran writing contests for unpublished authors, and I entered quite a few. The upside was that finalists in these contests were judged by agents and editors, which could lead to representation or a book deal.

The downside, unbeknownst to me at the time, was that the first-round judges were often unpublished authors with questionable knowledge or expertise. Case in point: I once had a contest judge write on my scoresheet, “I don’t really get Point of View, but I took off for your use of it because I don’t think you understand it either.” (There was nothing wrong with the point of view in my entry.)

Another time, a friend had a contest judge tell her that she’d gone into the dog’s Point of View. (She hadn’t.)

Point of View (also known as Viewpoint or POV) is often a very difficult concept for beginners to grasp. But if you don’t understand something, how do you know if you’re handling it correctly?

Simply stated, Point of View is the character chosen to be the camera lens for your story, the person from whose eyes the reader sees the action unfolding. It’s the telling of the story or part of the story from that person’s perspective.

Viewpoint is usually either First Person or Third Person. First Person stories are told by a single protagonist. They’re the “I” stories and can be written either in present tense or past tense.

First Person Present Tense POV: I sit by the window and stare out at the crowd in the street.

Example of First Person Past Tense POV: I sat by the window and stared out at the crowd in the street.

Third Person POV are the “he/she” stories. They can be written entirely in the viewpoint of one character or in multiple viewpoints. Third Person POV is almost exclusively used in past tense. Although there are probably some novels written in Third Person Present Tense, it’s not very common. The only place I routinely see it is in stage direction in play scripts and screenplays.

Example of Third Person Past Tense POV: Emma sat by the window and stared out at the crowd in the street.

Example of Third Person Present Tense POV: Emma sits by the window and stares out at the crowd in the street.

Omniscient Viewpoint is a story told through the eyes of a disembodied narrator who is privy to the thoughts of all the characters in the novel, even the most insignificant bystander on the street. It’s often referred to as God’s POV. Omniscient POV is considered archaic and is generally not used in any genre of modern commercial fiction because it distances the reader from the story. However, it does occasionally turn up in some literary novels.

Years ago, nearly all romances were told strictly through the eyes or Point of View of the heroine. Today, most romance novels employ the POV of both the hero and heroine and sometimes at least one secondary character. 

Most mysteries were told only through the eyes of the sleuth. Now, depending on the sub-genre, a mystery might also contain multiple POVs (even the dog or cat’s POV in some paranormal cozy mysteries). Suspense and thrillers often incorporate the POV of the antagonist. Multiple points of view allow an author to tell a bigger story because she can enter the thoughts of more than one or two characters. 

If a story is told in multiple points of view, the writer must decide which character should be the point of view character for each scene. Scenes will have the most impact if the chosen POV character is the one who has the most to lose at that moment. This makes for greater tension and emotional impact within the scene. It’s also the reason that omniscient POV, or choosing a disinterested bystander as a POV character, has come to be associated with archaic writing styles. 

There is no rule that states each chapter must be in one character’s POV or even that each scene must only be in one character’s POV. Some authors switch POV within a scene. However, the author should not be moving the point of view back and forth between characters throughout the scene. POV shifts should be logical and smooth, not jarring. If readers find themselves rereading a paragraph or a page because they’re confused as to whose thoughts they’re reading, the author hasn’t handled the shift well. Point of view that ping pongs all over the place will give readers a reason to toss a book aside.

It’s also important to remember that while you’re writing in a particular character’s POV, that character can’t be telling the reader what another character is seeing, thinking, feeling, or hearing. For instance, if a character is sitting in the living room on the first floor, she can’t be thinking about what another character is seeing as he looks out a window one flight up. She has no way of even knowing he’s in that room, let alone that he’s standing at a window. If she can’t see him, she has no way of knowing what he’s doing. 

If a book is written in first person, there probably won’t be any POV shifts, but there’s no rule that says there can’t be. For every rule there are exceptions and writers who have broken them. Many books are written in First Person from the point of view of two characters, including the first book I ever sold. Talk Gertie to Me, is written in First Person from the viewpoints of a young woman and her mother. The POV shifts in alternating chapters. There are also books written where First Person is used for one character, and the author shifts into Third Person for the other POV characters.

Fiction isn’t static; it’s always changing. Writers experiment and take chances all the time. Sometimes those chances pay off in successful novels. Editors and agents want well-written stories. It doesn’t matter whether you write in First Person or Third Person, Present Tense or Past Tense. What matters is an author’s voice and the story she tells. Most anything can work if done well. But to do something well, you first need a firm understanding of what it is and how to use it. That’s definitely the case with POV.

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USA Today and Amazon bestselling and award-winning author Lois Winston writes mystery, romance, romantic suspense, chick lit, women’s fiction, children’s chapter books, and nonfiction. Kirkus Reviews dubbed her critically acclaimed Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery series, “North Jersey’s more mature answer to Stephanie Plum.” In addition, Lois is a former literary agent and an award-winning craft and needlework designer who often draws much of her source material for both her characters and plots from her experiences in the crafts industry. A Crafty Collage of Crime, the twelfth book in her series, was the recipient of the 2024 Killer Nashville Silver Falchion Award for Best Comedy. Seams Like the Perfect Crime, the fourteenth book in the series, is her latest release. Learn more about Lois and her books at www.loiswinston.com where you can also sign up for her newsletter to receive an Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mini-Mystery.

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night: Effective Use of Weather to Create Tension and Introduce an Atmosphere of Menace

By Carol Willis

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Dark atmosphere and ominous weather can be effective ways to immediately introduce tension and establish a menacing mood. Let’s look at several psychological thrillers for a few excellent examples. Consider Imran Mahmood’s gripping thriller, I Know What I Saw (2021). The book begins with ominous weather:  

The sky is a bruised sea. It threatens to burst and split the night. 

These two sentences are short, but they create tension and a dark mood. I promise to not bog you down in grammar, but let’s linger on these two sentences a bit longer and consider the word choice. The image of a “bruised sea” immediately invokes an image of violence; a violence that is expansive and dark and deep as an ocean. Then look at the second line. "Threatens" is the main verb in the present tense and "to burst and split" is an infinitive phrase acting as the direct object of "threatens." The verbs "burst" and "split" are connected by "and," indicating two actions that "it" (the sky) threatens to do. The sentence ends with "the night" which is the object of the infinitives "burst" and "split," showing what the sky threatens to affect.  

The nouns sky, sea and night are expansive, all-encompassing. We know what they are and can even picture them in our mind’s eye. But they are also difficult to contemplate. The sea and the night sky extend beyond the horizon, beyond the limits of our vision. And the choice of verbs bruised (used as an adjective to modify the noun sea), threaten, burst and spilt are all violent. Two sentences. Fourteen words. There is immediate, almost epic feel of impending doom. Do you feel it? I can.  

Writers are often taught, don’t start with the weather. But this example proves that rules can be broken. The short punchy sentences also help characterize the main character who is a battered and bruised homeless man about to stumble over a dead body.  

Let’s take a quick look at Black Car Burning (2019) by Helen Mort, a poet and her debut novel.  

Today the sky is full of thunder. Great gobs of cloud above the Penistone Road. The girls don’t have an umbrella and they’re shrieking, laughing as the rain starts to strike.  

A brief description of weather can lend itself to beautiful and lyrical writing. These three sentences are wonderful – they set the scene but also tell us so much about the novel using weather as metaphor to the loss of innocence that is about to happen. 

In The Patient (2022), Jane Shemilt’s moody suspense thriller begins with a dark, rainy night to set the tone and create an atmosphere of menace: 

The footsteps were buried inside other sounds to start with. Rain pattering on leaves, branches sighing in the wind, a lorry in the distance on the Blandford Road. I thought I was hearing things again. Things that Nathan had told me weren’t really there. There were few street lights along this path. The floodlit Cathedral behind the trees cast shadows on the gravel. A woman had been murdered here at night a hundred years ago. On cloudy nights like this one, walking here felt dangerous… I was out of luck tonight. I began to hurry. The footsteps were louder now.  

As with all great openings, we get a lot of details in a few short sentences. She sets up the atmosphere: dark, rainy night and the sound of footsteps following—something every woman in the world has experienced at one time or another—and the immediate fear it invokes. Then we get the hint that she might not be reliable and the introduction of Nathan. Then we get the sentence about the murdered woman. So, we get a dead body—the body is not described for us—but we see it nonetheless. Murdered. She doesn’t say killed—which could be an accident—but murdered gives us the evil intent and links us to the sound of the ominous footsteps introduced in the very first sentence. Then she says, it felt dangerous. And we feel the danger, too. As the footsteps get louder, we sense the urgency, the immediacy of the situation. So far, the image in these sentences is very effective.   

Atmosphere is everything in psychological thrillers, and few things conjure menace more powerfully than the threat of something—or someone—lurking just out of sight. In just a few deftly crafted sentences, the author immerses us in a world of unease, where the sound of footsteps on a darkened path doesn’t just suggest danger—it demands we keep turning the page. 

The sky doesn’t have to be dark and stormy to create an atmosphere of menace. Take a look at what Laura McHugh does in What’s Done in Darkness (2021). This is the fifth book by Laura McHugh. She writes books inspired by true crime and often sets them in the Ozarks or rural Kansas. Her main characters are often poor and part of marginalized communities (religious or otherwise) but she does not veer into sentimentality or glamorization. Let’s take a look at the opening paragraph:  

Sarabeth – That day, age 17 

The blacktop road stretched empty in either direction. The sky hazy. The air heavy as a sodden sponge. The heat of the late morning sun amplified the autumn scent of drying cornstalks. The putrid sweetness of persimmons rotting in the ditch. Insects swarmed the fermenting fruit buzzing like an unholy plague. Sarabeth brushed away a sweat bee. She had walked the long twisting road from the house to roadside stand alone pulling a wagon with one bad wheel, her legs sweating beneath her ankle-length skirt. Her little sister, Sylvie, sometimes worked the stand with her but today she was home with a fever and vicious sore throat. Her mother had spent the morning praying over her.  

The book begins with the inciting event: 17-year-old, Sarabeth, is abducted while attending the family’s roadside vegetable stand alone on one hot autumn day.  

What do we see in the set up?  

We get a sense for the time of year—autumn with its smells, but still hot. The air is hazy and heavy. There is something already oppressive in this opening paragraph. The road stretching empty in either direction is a clear image and as we read on it adds to the characterization of this teenager who is alone and isolated in a rural community. Her family’s religion with a distinct undercurrent of something rotting is conveyed in this paragraph with the use of words like empty/alone/putrid sweetness/rotting/ unholy plague/ankle-length skirt/praying over her.  

Just from the opening, we know something is likely off or wonky like the “one bad wheel” of the wagon. Why is she in a long skirt on a hot day? Why is a 17-year-old not in school? Why is her sister, obviously sick and with fever, lying in bed and being prayed over instead of being taken to the doctor? The long twisting road she had to walk—we get the sense that her life is or soon will be a long twisting road. Just like the blacktop road, her life is empty in all directions.  

From this opening paragraph we know a lot. We know that Sarabeth is 17 years old, lives in a rural community, is isolated, not in school, and is likely oppressed (atmosphere of menace) and rotting away under a strict religious family. Again, we see the use of a crime or conflict in the beginning. The ordinariness of the day – a girl taking vegetables to sell at a roadside stand. It is the epitome of rural Americana which only adds to the internal dread and anxiety we feel.  

This is an excellent example of opening with atmosphere/weather that are brilliantly used to characterize themes of rural life in Arkansas, isolation, religious extremism, loss of innocence, women’s rights/inequality, which are all are part of this propulsive thriller.  

Next month, we will consider one of the biggest questions in psychological thrillers: the mind and behavior of the main character.  

The Difference Between Passive Voice and Passive Verbs

By Lois Winston

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I began writing fiction nearly thirty years ago. Over the years, I’ve attended dozens of writing conferences, both in the romance genre and the mystery genre. Most of what I learned was invaluable toward advancing my writing career. However, occasionally I’d come across inaccurate information. Such is the case with passive voice and passive verbs.

Once upon a time, somewhere during some talk or on some panel, someone emphatically stated that authors should NEVER use any form of the verb “to be.” That misinformed person said using “was,” along with its brothers and sisters (is, am, are, were, been,) was passive voice and a surefire way to receive a rejection from agents and editors. Like a bad rumor, this piece of writing advice flew from writer to writer, taking on a life of its own, until it became gospel. 

I’d like to set the record straight. There’s a huge difference between passive verbs and passive voice.

Passive voice is when an action is acted upon the subject, rather than the subject acting. The car was driven by Anna is a passive sentence. Anna drove the car is an active sentence. However, Anna was happy to drive the car is not a passive sentence. Anna is expressing emotion. She is acting, rather than being acted upon. Of course, there are more interesting ways to write the sentence to show Anna’s emotions, but that’s a separate discussion.

One of the easiest ways to tell whether your sentence is active or passive is to analyze the position of the subject, verb, and direct object. In active voice, the subject (the one performing the action) will come before the verb (the action), and the verb will come before the direct object (that which is being acted upon.)

There are instances, though, when passive voice is necessary to the unfolding of a story or better suited to the realism of the dialogue. When we speak, we don’t first think whether our sentences are active or passive before uttering them. We just speak them. The same is true when writing dialogue. Manipulate a sentence to avoid passive voice in a conversation between characters, and you often transform snappy dialogue into stilted dialogue. 

For example: Billy ran into the house and cried, “Mom! Come quick. Snoopy was hit by a car!”  This passage accurately illustrates the way a child might respond to a car hitting his dog. Snoopy was hit by a car is a passive sentence because Snoopy is being acted upon by the car, but the child mentions Snoopy first because the dog’s welfare is uppermost in his mind. Also, by placing the last sentence in passive voice, the author is ratcheting up the tension. We don’t know until the very end exactly what hit Snoopy. A stray baseball? A nasty neighbor? A falling tree limb? Although A car hit Snoopy, is active voice, using it lessens the impact of the sentence.

Still squeamish about the use of “was”? After you finish your manuscript, do a search of the word. Check each sentence to see if you can rewrite it to avoid using “was.” If you can, and it doesn’t detract from the pacing, dialogue, or meaning of the passage, do so. If not, leave it. Some “was” are meant to be.

EXCEPT in the subjunctive.

The what, you ask? Subjunctive case or mood is one of the most misunderstood rules in the English language because it runs counter to subject/verb agreement. In other words, if a subject is singular, the verb must also be singular. But not in the subjunctive.

The subjunctive applies to cases of “wishfulness” or “what if” situations. In these cases, “was” becomes “were,” as in, I wish I were taller. “Were” is also used when a sentence or clause uses “if,” “as if,” or “as though,” but only in instances where the statement is contrary to fact. 

Examples include: 
If I were taller, I could see the stage better.
Her twelve-year-old son acts as if he were in kindergarten. 
The maid behaved as though she were queen. 

Because I cannot grow taller, the twelve-year-old is not in kindergarten, and the maid is not a queen, all the statements are contrary to fact, and “was” becomes “were” even though the subjects are all singular.

Keep in mind, though, that the key statement here is “contrary to fact.” “If” statements that are not contrary to fact retain the singular form of the verb. If I was at the store that day, I don’t remember is a correct sentence because the statement is not contrary to fact whether I can recall the event or not. 

So don’t be afraid to use “was” and “were” in your writing but be sure to use them correctly.

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USA Today and Amazon bestselling and award-winning author Lois Winston writes mystery, romance, romantic suspense, chick lit, women’s fiction, children’s chapter books, and nonfiction. Kirkus Reviews dubbed her critically acclaimed Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery series, “North Jersey’s more mature answer to Stephanie Plum.” In addition, Lois is a former literary agent and an award-winning craft and needlework designer who often draws much of her source material for both her characters and plots from her experiences in the crafts industry. Her most recent release is Sorry, Knot Sorry, the thirteenth book in her Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery Series. Learn more about Lois and her books at her website www.loiswinston.com where you can also sign up for her newsletter and follow her on various social media sites.

Character as a Haunted House

By Aimee Hardy

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Establishing engaging and relatable characters is one of the most important parts of storytelling. Characters should have compelling backstories, relatable flaws, and fulfilling character arcs, but one of the best tools that I’ve learned about creating characters is to think of them like a haunted house. 

Each house has a facade that everyone sees. This is usually the most complimentary view of the house. Passersby can admire the paint, the sweeping porch, and the manicured lawn. Everything is usually neat and tidy, and all its secrets are safely locked away inside. Even haunted houses look best from the outside. 

Similarly, everyone sees certain aspects of a character. This is the image they present to society. It’s the suit jacket worn for status, the combat boots worn for protection, the high heels worn for seduction. It’s the gruff voice to establish dominance or the motherly coo to show nurturing, the helping hand they give when on the train or the kind words said at the gas station. These are the outward images that we must establish from the very beginning because they show how the character would like to be seen from the outside. 

Friends are allowed access inside the house, however. Acquaintances are invited in and can see the common rooms. Those rooms are still cultivated, yet they are a little more intimate. As acquaintances become friends or loved ones, they are invited further inside the house. They see the dishes that have been piled in the sink, the laundry that is overflowing, or the tub that is in need of a good scrub. In a haunted house, we can see the evidence of ghosts. We can hear strange footsteps, feel cold spots, and see apparitions, but we can’t quite determine what is haunting the house. 

Just as with houses, our characters will reveal more intimate details about themselves (and their own ghosts) as they make bonds with other characters and as we (the reader) get to know them in the story. We can see that they are kind by the way they treat their loved ones but that it hurts when no one says thank you. We can see that they are jealous of an adversary, but we can also see that it’s because they were never given the same opportunities to be great. We can see that they are smart but that they are terrified of losing their top spot. They become nuanced–both kind and resentful, jealous and righteous, smart and insecure. 

Then, there are rooms in this haunted house that are so scary that the main character would not dare to enter. These rooms contain the worst secrets that will not leave us alone, and with characters, these rooms contain their deepest fears. The kind and resentful mother might fear that she isn’t worthy of being loved. The jealous and righteous bully might be afraid of being weak or controlled by others. The smart but insecure scientist might fear they are useless. The main character is haunted by these fears and can’t move on until they confront their ghosts. 

So, when I write stories, I always ask what is haunting my main character. If they are worried that they have no identity, maybe they fill their “rooms” with collections. They might appear to know a lot of things in their search for their identity and might even adopt different identities as they interact with different characters. On the outside, they might overcompensate by wearing elaborate costumes or may even be so insecure that they only wear black. However you design your character, keep in mind that their house is haunted, and that in the end, their ghosts will have to come out. 

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Aimee Hardy is a writer and editor in Birmingham, AL. She is the author of Pocket Full of Teeth (September 2024 Running Wild Press). She has been published in Stonecoast Review, Running Wild Press’ Short Story Anthology, Havik2020, Bluntly Lit Mag, Adelaide Literary Magazine, and Lost Pilots Lit and was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2020. She has a B.A. and M.A. in English from National University. When she’s not writing or editing, she enjoys going on hikes with her husband and two kids or curling up with a good book and a hot cup of tea. For more of Aimee’s work, please visit www.aimeehardy.com.

The Scene Of The Crime

By Shannon Hollinger

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Location. Location. Location.

It’s true for real estate, restaurants, and even books.

As a reader, I’ve lost track of the number of times that I’ve purchased a book based on the setting. Whether it was a place I’ve always wanted to visit, an area I was already familiar with, or a spot that promised a form of intrigue that I just couldn’t pass up, no other part of a book has the ability to create a picture quite as quickly and thoroughly as where it is set.

That’s because a location has the uncanny ability to transport the reader to a new world. It’s cheaper than a vacation, less crowded than the airport, and safer than traveling by car, but like anything you’re looking forward to, readers have certain expectations. Your setting is a promise you make to them, a pact that that small town will be brimming with secrets… that beach filled with romance… or that jungle saturated with suspense.

When writing, ask yourself—how much thought have you put into your setting? Do you craft scenes oozing with atmosphere? Are your locales drenched with details? Or is your setting simply the place where your fascinating characters bring your stellar plot to life?

I have to admit that while I occasionally focus on developing an atmospheric setting in my short fiction, in my novels, the settings tend to be the trunk on which my plot branches and my characters grow their leaves.

The idea for my Chief Maggie Riley series, set in the fictional town of Coyote Cove, was inspired by the real-life, no stoplight town where my husband and I spent our honeymoon years ago. 

That’s right. I spent my honeymoon plotting a murder. Fortunately for him, it wasn’t my husband’s.

But it wasn’t the thought of the impending ups and downs that marriage would bring once the honeymoon was over that had me thinking about death. There was something magical about that small town in Maine nestled in a mountain valley on the edge of a lake. A spot where moose outnumbered people three to one, the annual snowfall numbered in the triple digits, and everywhere you looked, you saw a postcard setting. 

It just seemed so… perfect. And I wasn’t buying it for a second. 

Call me cynical or jaded—or a mystery author—but the more we explored this seemingly flawless place, the more I became convinced that beneath the peace and the quiet and the enchanting beauty lurked something dark and sinister. I couldn’t help thinking to myself that this idyllic little burg would be the perfect breeding ground for crime. 

But would the setting be able to carry a series? To answer this question, I considered the location in terms of being its own character. 

It was wild. Unpredictable. Moody. Vulnerable. In short, yes, it would.

I decided that the remoteness, aided by the harsh environment, would be ideal for creating suspense as well as conditions that could be used to torture my heroine and further complicate her struggles. 

Sitting beside that lake—one that surely hid at least a few bodies—all those years ago, goosebumps peppering my flesh as I listened to the chilling cry of a loon, answered by the hungry howl of a predator, I knew the scene was prepped for murder. Coyote Cove was born. Some small towns hide big secrets. And some secrets are deadly.

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With degrees in Crime Scene Technology and Physical Anthropology, Florida author Shannon Hollinger hasn't just seen the dark side of humanity - she's been elbow-deep inside of it! She's the author of both adult and YA standalone psychological thrillers as well as the gritty Chief Maggie Riley series. Her short fiction has appeared in Suspense Magazine, Mystery Weekly, and The Saturday Evening Post, among a number of other magazines and anthologies. To find out more, check out www.shannonhollinger.com.