Storytelling Essentials: Deep 3rd Person Perspective

*This was originally posted over a year ago. I will have a brand new sketch posted tomorrow at 7:00 AM PST tomorrow. See you then!


So you’ve decided to write fiction, but have no idea what perspective to use. You love the way “Hunger Games” reads in first person, and wish to emulate it, but are uncertain how to describe situations and events that might be beyond your main characters current level of intellect. You decide to move to third person, but a short ways in realize that your story lacks emotion – and every time you try to broadcast the feelings of your protagonist, they come directly out-the-mouth through dialogue. Not very effective, seeing as how everyday people don’t commonly say, “I’m really scared right now.” And if they did, they’d be a pretty wimpy hero (Sorry, just saying).

I prefer deep 3rd person perspective. It’s sort of a hybrid of 1st and 3rd person that has become increasingly common in recent years. Here’s what it looks like –

* * *

George walked over to the wobbly wooden table, sat down, then stared at his now-cold cup of coffee. Since he’d first set that mug down, so much had changed…

George took a sip. He needed to think. He needed to be awake, no matter how much he needed to sleep. George groaned, ran his fingers through his oily, slick-backed hair, then crossed his arms and hunched over the table top. What could he do? Where should he start?

He winced his eyes closed, then gulped. The fact that he’d lost had yet to sink in. It was a terrible thought, but the fact that her murderer was still out there gave him something to keep his mind off her gruesome death. The way she looked, half naked, burn marks everywhere, and that thing she had on her face. What was that? Was it even human??

George shuddered then smeared his face. He took another big gulp of coffee, then smeared the brown from his sun-worn lips. He stood up so fast he knocked the mug down to the floor, bringing it to shatter.

He caught himself just short of swearing, then grabbed the chair backing with the tightly closed fold of his hand.

“Barbara,” He said with his eyes closed, then sniffed. “Who did it. For the love of God, show me something. Tell me who murdered you.”

After a short wait in dead silence, George let out a muffled whine, then scrunched his eyelids together.

A creak.

George’s eyes shot open. He slowly raised his gaze, and looked in the direction of the ominous sound. It had come from just above the mantle piece, right where he kept the picture from the fishing contest. The one Barbara always begged him to take down.

George remembered that picture fondly, almost able to smile even now from it. He’d caught the biggest fish in the water that day, won the contest and everything. He never understood why Barbara refused to smile when their photo was taken. He never understood why she always hated that photograph.

The creak sounded again. Same spot.

“Barbara?” Said George. The grin left him. He walked with a kind of slanted focus, keeping half-an eye on the picture. As he crept closet to it he felt his heart begin to beat a little faster.

“Are you… trying to tell me something?”

A thump. The sounds were coming from straight above, up in the attic. George didn’t think much of it – He was too rusty to even consider climbing the ladder to check it out.

George stopped by the picture. He placed his hand over the corner of the frame.

“Oh my God.”

He fell back a step, tripped, then crashed onto the short living room desk. He shut his eyes and pressed his hand to his heart. That man. That man in the picture Barbara had always asked him about. Jim was his name.

George gulped. A quick race of noises came from the attic – like footsteps.

After George won the fishing contest that day, he’d never seen Jim again – until this day. At the crime scene. Why the hell was Jim there, anyway?

George’s eyes flew open. He remembered something else – Jim asked where he was living at nowadays. And George had given him his exact address.

There was another thump from above. George had to get up, but he needed Barbara to help him…

* * *

Okay, so a lot of deep third person perspective in there, but you know what other story telling element was frequently employed? If you tuned in to my post a few days ago, you may have guessed it already – suspense. Once again, suspense is information withheld. Every time you found yourself asking, “Who? What? Why?” That was thanks to suspense, and is an effective tool to keep your readers reading. If you want to be a diligent student of the craft, you’d be wise to find and circle those sentences on your own, that practice employing them in your own scenes. When writing suspense, the questions are more important than the answers. In other words, your mind doesn’t compel you to keep reading because of how awesome the thing on Barbara’s dead face was – it compels you to keep reading because you don’t know what it was, but want to.

Deep third person perspective is merely a blending of plain, straight-forward depiction of events, persons, and things, with the inner thoughts and feelings of the protagonist. To better display the difference in perspectives, let me show you how the opening to this scene would have looked had I written it in third person limited:

George sat down at the wobbly talbe. He rested his hands on it, then let out a short winded breath. He balled his hand into a fist, then uttered a soft moan.

“Barbara… I can’t believe I’ve lost you.”

There was a creak. George raised his eyes to check it out.

The reason you now feel alienated from George, rather than involved with him, is because every description is entirely physical. The voice is that of the author, rather than George’s own, and the scene is akin to what you would see if observing, rather than partaking in. Here is how it may have read in first person:

I sat down in the chair and looked at my cup of coffee. It was cold by now. I couldn’t believe all the events that had transpired since the time I’d first brewed that cup. I couldn’t believe I’d lost Barbara. I couldn’t believe how she’d been killed; the way her body looked.

One of the drawbacks of first person is you must remain in character at all times. Your descriptions, your insights, even your suspense – everything is coming straight from the mind of your protagonist. She is the writer, not you.

Deep third person perspective may sound confusing, but after some practice you’ll get the hang of it. Of course, deep third person is my preference, and every author is different. Some even prefer second person:

You see George sit in the chair. You can tell he’s nervous by the way he stares at his coffee. You watch his hands tremble.

Blows, doesn’t it? Yeah, don’t ever write in second person.

 Hope this helps!

– Thomas M. Watt

– Script Analyst for

– Author of A New Kingdom

Inciting Incident

Story Telling Essentials: Inciting Incident

The inciting incident – This is the event that propels your story forward. It is the reason your protagonist changes, the reason they take up their quest.

So what is it?

The inciting incident is an event that fundamentally changes your protagonist’s wants and needs. It can be a sudden, unexpected kiss. It can be the loss of a parent. Maybe your protagonist was robbed, maybe your protagonist got dumped. Whatever the inciting incident is, it will always leave your protagonist different than she was before. It provides the motivation for her first plot point decision, which will be the decision to take up her quest.

While the first plot point of a story is the protagonist’s decision to take up their quest, the inciting incident is typically an event that occurs to the protagonist. In “A New Kingdom”, my latest novel, James watches his father get brutally murdered at the hands of giant red aliens. This provides his motivation to overthrow the alien race, the first plot point decision that he makes later on.

You want your inciting incident to occur as early as possible. Some argue that it is imperative to show your real world beforehand, so that the reader can better notice the change. Others prefer the inciting incident to occur right away, claiming that readers prefer action over back story. Where you place the inciting incident is up to you – whether you include it is non-debatable.

– Thomas M. Watt

– Script Analyst for

– Author of A New Kingdom

Ticking Clock


The ‘ticking clock’ goes by many names in storytelling. It is a literary device used to add suspense. Suspense, remember, is information withheld. For this particular device, the information withheld is typically whether or not the protagonist will accomplish his objective before a ‘time-bomb’ goes off. Let’s take a look at a short scene that involves a ticking clock, and see if you can figure out what it is.

* * *

Barry sprinted out of the bank, twenty-five thousand dollars cash in his gym bag. He hurried to his rusty grey Camry, turned the lock, swung the door, then crashed inside. He heard the sirens then gulped. Cops were on the way.

Barry searched both pockets for his keys. His cheap, cotton face mask was at a tilt, covering his eyes. He ripped it off to get a better view. Instead of spotting his keys, he caught the red and blue lights flickering in his rear view mirror. He should have been blazing down the highway. Instead he was parked and waiting. A dead duck.

But where were the damn keys? He grabbed two fistfuls of his light, thinning hair.

“This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening!”

His breath was chaotic. His eyes fidgeted from one corner of the car to the other. It was a mess, as always. He reached over and opened the brown gym bag he’d had the banker stuff the green bills into. He tossed the stacks of twenty into the backseat, one after another. Still, no keys.


He looked at the mirror again. The cops were close. He was finished, done for – his dream had changed from a beach house in the Bahamas to a nightmare that involved his dropping the soap next to Bubba, who had a tattoo of his mom on one arm and a porn star on the other.

“Where the fu-“

Barry remembered.

He rolled down his outdated, turn-style window, and reached outside. There they were, just on the other side of the door. He’d forgotten to pull them out after unlocking it.

The sirens were blaring now. He took one last fleeting glimpse as he started the engine. The cops screeched to a halt as he turned the key, blew black smoke through his muffler, then pressed the pedal to the medal.


Too late for that now. Barry was on his way to the Bahamas, and he was going to get there. Some way, some how…

* * *

Did you figure it out? The ‘ticking clock’ in this example is the approaching authorities. The element of suspense, or information withheld, can be summed up best with this question – “Will Barry find his keys in time to start his engine and escape before the cops arrest him?”

Not knowing the answer to that question is what compels you to keep reading. If you read yesterday’s lesson, you also may have noticed the elements of exterior conflict, or obstacles, that got in the way of Barry’s quest.

Barry’s quest – Escape the crime scene; get to the Bahamas

Exterior obstacles – Misplaced keys, approaching authorities

Interior Conflicts – Barry’s inability to keep cool. His state of panic was the reason he was unable to think rationally and locate his keys. Barry must learn to compose himself in high-pressure situations if he is going to succeed in the long run.

Hope this helps!

– Thomas M. Watt

– Script analyst for

– Author of A New Kingdom

Story Essentials: Internal and External Conflict

STORY ESSENTIALS: Internal and External Conflict

What keeps the viewer interested in a t.v. program? What keeps a reader reading? What is the most basic element of story?

At its most basic level, a story is about a protagonist who is after something, and the obstacles she must overcome in order to attain it.

The obstacles your protagonist faces present the conflict that keeps readers interested. Conflicts are either internal or external.

External conflicts are physical elements that keep the protagonist from attaining the object of their desire. They can be the distance needed to travel, the antagonist who fights against them, or even the giant box blocking the entrance to that room they desperately need to pass through. These obstacles exist outside of the mind of the protagonist.

Internal conflicts, on the other hand, are the mental blocks your protagonist must overcome within themselves to attain the object of their desire. This can be a fear of heights, short-temper, or fear of success. Your protagonist must learn to overcome these mental and emotional roadblocks throughout the course of your story. Done correctly, this will create an effective character arc and lead to an emotionally fulfilling climax. Ideally, the protagonist demonstrates they have finally overcome their internal conflict at the precise moment they finally attain the object of their desire.

– Thomas M. Watt

– Script analyst for

– Author of A New Kingdom