This week we kick things off with a publishing conundrum: a major publisher is now offering editors optional disclosure of AI use by writers after contracts are already signed. What's the point? We want your thoughts.
Then we settle onto the Overthinking Couch for a deep dive into multiple points of view.
Overthinking Couch Topics:
Next Episode: We're giving the narrator a break and heading to the query trenches for updates and a reality check.
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Music licensed from Storyblocks.
Welcome back to Writing Break. Over the last few weeks we've been figuring out what makes for strong narration. We rummaged through the point-of-view toolkit and discussed first person, third-person limited, deep and distant, and third-person omniscient. Today we arrive at the structure that seems to be the default of modern commercial fiction, which is multiple points of view. The ol' rotating camera, which makes me think of That 70s Show.
Multi-POV promises the best of both worlds: that is, the scope of omniscient with the intimacy of limited. It delivers exactly that if you know what you're doing; otherwise, you end up with a sprawling mess.
In this episode we're going to cover the point of multiple points of view, how to choose your cast of narrators, the mechanics of switching between them, and the common mistakes authors make when trying to hang out with that many people at once.
First, however, I'd like your thoughts on something.
The Writing Break cafe is open, and it's been storming all day in the subtropics, so let's hurry on into the Writing Break cafe and start this episode off with a coffee and a conundrum.
I would like your thoughts about something. Last month I started a project with a large publisher. I've worked with them for years, and we’re having our usual project kickoff video conference call. During these meetings writers and editors say what their role is and what they'll be working on. It's a nice little get-to-know-the-team moment.
Then, the project coordinator asked the editors something I had never been asked before, which is, did we want to know whether or not the writers used AI in completing their work? Mind you, the contracts have been signed, so this isn't a courtesy being extended so that we can turn down the project if we're not comfortable with AI being used. It was just a real casual, hey, let us know if you want to know.
None of the editors responded, a common occurrence during these calls. Editors have a tendency to just stare at people when they talk. I've been told it looks like I'm judging people. I'm not, but when I see other editors do it, I realize why people think it's weird, and . . . I'm sorry, I guess?
Anyway, it wasn't clear to me what would be the point of knowing about possible AI use. This publisher has never before mentioned AI in my presence, but I would not have thought that they'd be okay with it. In the end, I looked over the first few submissions from the writer I'm working with, and I'm happy to report that I'm pretty sure they're not using AI because they are extremely intelligent but have moderate regard for style guides, little regard for grammar, and no regard whatsoever for punctuation. And that is totally okay because that’s my job.
So, you tell me, what do you think is the point of making the disclosure of AI use optional? Clearly the writers have told the publisher whether or not they used AI, but it’s optional for the editors to know. If they know a writer has used AI, why not just tell their editor? Is this only confusing to me? Are we expected to edit differently? Like I said, contracts were signed, so it was too late to extract myself from the project, and it didn't seem like anyone imagined an editor would have a problem with it.
And now I’m wondering, do I need to ask about AI use before signing contracts from now on for all projects and with all clients? Are they under an obligation to tell me if they know?
Writers, editors, and readers are welcome to share their thoughts and experiences. Leave a comment or email me.
I'd love multiple points of view on this. Now, let's get into multi-POV in your writing.
Multi-POV means the story is told through two or more point-of-view characters, almost always in third-person limited or first person, with the perspective switching at clear boundaries, usually chapter breaks, sometimes scene breaks. The camera switches, so to speak, but the rules of limited POV remain in place: you are inside one character's perception, with access only to what they can see, know, and assume.
Multi-POV is not omniscient. As we learned last week, in omniscient, one narrator holds the whole story and visits heads at will; the voice above the story is the same throughout. In multi-POV, there's no voice above the story — there are only the characters' voices, taking turns. Every POV switch is a handoff. You're not pulling the camera back to see more; you're handing the camera to someone else who sees differently.
If your two POV characters would notice the same things, make the same assumptions, and use the same vocabulary, you don't have multi-POV. We'll come back to that.
So why rotate the camera at all? Three honest reasons.
One: an intimate big picture. If your story is bigger than any one character's experience, let’s say a heist, a war, a family saga, a mystery where the detective and the culprit both get page time, a single limited POV simply can't cover as much territory as multi-POV. Multi-POV lets you stay close to individuals while the composite of their views adds up to something panoramic. Does that make sense? It’s like when a group of people go on vacation; you can look at one person’s vacation photos, and you might not see that person in their own vacation photos. Quite common. Or you might see only that person in their vacation photos, unfortunately becoming more common in today’s society. But if you look at everyone’s vacation photos, you get a more complete sense of what it was like.
Reason number two to use mult-POV is information management. Editors are always coming after you for your info dumps, your long passages of exposition, your character inventories, where you describe them head to toe. And all of those things are mismanagement of information, and it’s no good for your story. Different characters know different things, and the gap between what Character A knows and what Character B knows is where the tension lives. Without tension, no one’s turning the page. Let's give Characters A and B names. How about we bring Vivian back, Vivian our professional mourner from the past few weeks, and we’ll name the mystery man that sits in front of her. We’ll name him Dimitri. When the reader gets Dimitri’s point of view, and learns that Dimitri is lying because we spent a chapter inside his head, every smile he gives Vivian means something more to the reader, and we know that Vivian doesn't know yet that Dimitri is lying. That delicious dramatic irony is hard to get from a single limited POV. Not that I haven’t seen it done; it’s just easier with multi-POV.
Number three: subjectivity as subject matter. Sometimes the point of the book is that no one sees the whole truth. Different characters can experience the same event as a betrayal, a rescue, and an accident, and the reader is the only one holding all three versions. When the story is about interpretation itself, multi-POV goes beyond structure. Now, it’s the engine of the whole story.
Are there downsides to multi-POV? Some people will say yes straight away, but I think it depends on whether your reader likes multi-POV. And I’ve seen 1-star reviews of multi-POV books where the only infraction is that it’s a multi-POV. I think that’s totally unfair. If the book is not for you, it’s not for you. That doesn’t mean it was a bad book. Some people hate first person; they consider first person childish writing, and that’s usually because the author didn’t do a good job, but some people love first person.
I have no problem with first person. I have no problem with third person. I don’t even have a problem with second person. Maybe we’ll talk about second person in the future. I know I’m going to get messages about this, but I do not prefer multi-POV. I like bonding with one character, whether it’s the good, the bad, or the ugly. I’m not going to not read a book because it’s a multi-POV; I’m not going to dislike a book just because of that. I mean, I am a professional, after all. And some are great.
However, I think for readers who do like it, it really enhances the reading experience.
One thing that's considered a downside with multi-POV is that every new POV splits your reader's emotional investment. A reader who has spent eighty pages falling in love with Vivian does not automatically care about Dimitri. Now, in the middle of the book, the author has to earn that bond again, starting from zero. That's quite a bit of extra work for the author, but it can be fun for readers. If you're into that kind of thing.
Another downside is that pacing takes a hit every time you switch. If you end a chapter on a cliffhanger and cut to someone else, readers might skim the next few pages until they're back with the previous character to see how that cliffhanger ends. It can be a good way to keep readers turning the pages, but if it's not done in a controlled manner, it will feel like you're stalling, and it will frustrate readers.
Of course, each narrator needs their own arc, their own stakes, their own personality, their own voice, and their own reason for existing. A POV character who only observes the plot is dead weight. Getting to know the different characters can deepen the story, but every POV multiplies the author's obligations. Again, it's a lot more work if you're going to do it well.
If you're set on multi-POV, how do you decide who gets to work the camera? With romance, it's the main love interests, usually just two characters. Simple enough.
If it's not that clear cut in your book, answer these three questions:
First: who has the most at stake in this storyline? The strongest POV character for any plot thread is usually the person with the most to lose, not the person with the best view. A witness can describe an event; only a participant with skin in the game can suffer it, and suffering is what readers bond to.
Second: who knows what and when? Map the secrets. Which character's ignorance creates suspense? Which character's knowledge creates irony? Remember our Vivian episodes: part of what made her a strong POV was her trade knowledge. Every POV character should have something like that: knowledge, expertise, or a blind spot that makes their version of events uniquely theirs and uniquely limited.
Third: whose absence would make the story more interesting? This is the counterintuitive one. Sometimes the most compelling choice is to deny a character a POV. The moment you let readers inside someone's head, you usually demystify them. The love interest, the villain, the mentor with a hidden past; some characters do more work as a question than as an answer. A character we only ever see from the outside keeps their power.
And one hard rule about headcount: every POV must carry plot that no other POV could carry. If you can give Dimitri's scenes to Vivian and nothing is lost, do it, and cut Dimitri's camera. Three worthy POVs make for a much better book than five POVs that take turns just watching.
Now, let's get practical. Once you've cast your POVs, how do you actually run the rotation without confusing your readers?
Rule one: switch at boundaries. Chapter breaks are the gold standard; scene breaks are the acceptable minimum. Switching POV mid-scene without a break, drifting from one head to another inside a single conversation, is head-hopping, yes, we talked about this, and will yield many 1-star reviews.
Rule two: anchor every switch immediately. The first sentence after a break should tell us who has the camera, through the character's name, their location, their situation, or better yet, their voice. If a reader gets three paragraphs into a chapter before realizing whose eyes they're behind, you've taxed them for no reason. Some books go further and put the POV character's name on the chapter heading. I wouldn't call that cheating, but you can't stop there. The characters need to sound different.
Rule three: the rotation must have a rhythm. If you alternate Vivian-Dimitri-Vivian-Dimitri for six chapters and then vanish Dimitri for eighty pages, readers feel betrayed or assume they missed something. What happened to Dimitri? Is he dead or what? Your pattern doesn't have to be rigid, but it has to feel intentional.
Rule number four: manage your timeline. If Vivian's chapter and Dimitri's chapter happen at the same time in different places, the reader experiences them sequentially, and will assume they happened sequentially unless you tell them otherwise. Time-stamp your openings, or anchor with shared reference points: the storm both characters see, the phone call one makes and the other receives. And beware the retelling trap: showing the same scene from a second POV will feel like a rerun to the reader. It only works if the second pass reveals something that reframes the first. It's not perspective if it's just the same scene, same information, and just new pronouns.
Each POV should be identifiable from a random page with the chapter headings removed, which means differentiation at every level.
For Vivian the professional mourner, her pages should be saturated with the language of grief work. If you put a camera operator in her head who doesn't use that vocabulary, the effect is ruined.
Characters should interpret what they're experiencing in ways that are unique to them. Two characters should be able to look at the same man in a gray suit and reach different conclusions. Vivian sees a suspicious stranger; an anxious character sees a judgmental stranger; and a lonely character sees a possible friend. If you’ve ever sat and people-watched with somebody, you might have experienced this. You look at someone, or you look at a couple, and you say, what’s their story? Neither person is going to come up with the same thing. They might agree once you’ve said something, but they will have different stories in their heads or different details to add. And I recommend you try it. It’s actually a lot of fun.
In multi-POV, the stakes should be different for every character. Each POV should want something in every scene they're in, so their narration leans toward what matters to them and slides past what doesn't.
The purpose of multiple points of view is not necessarily to show the reader more events but to show them more interpretations of reality. As we've said all series, no character experiences objective reality. They experience their version of it. Just like us; they’re people too. Multi-POV done well shows that everyone is the main character of a slightly different story.
Which brings us to this week's Overthinking Prompt, and we're returning to a familiar funeral.
Two weeks ago, we took a first-person look at the moment Vivian, the professional mourner, notices a man in a gray suit sit down across from her. Last week, you thought about how that moment changes across third-person POV. This week, your assignment is to think or write about that same moment from the man's POV.
What's his name? Where is he from? What does he want? Why is he at the funeral? Why is he looking at Vivian? Is he even look at her? What does he notice about her? What does the room look like through his eyes?
Think about it. Overthink about it. Write it out if you've got the time, and share it in the comments or email it to me.
Next week we're giving our narrator a break and checking in on the query process. I've got updates and a reality check. Until then, thank you so much for listening, and remember, you deserved this break.
Writing Break is hosted by America’s Editor and produced by Allon Media with technical direction by Gus Aviles. Visit us at writingbreak.com or contact us at [email protected].