This series of articles discusses writing habits that upset editors.

Here’s article #3. Do you see the problem?

Introduction to Excerpt

The following paragraphs exemplify an ugly problem I encounter frequently while reading. Some violations are minor. Others are significant enough to make me reach for an antacid.

Excerpt

Orson sidled into the dark garage, searching the shadows for movement. No way he was gonna let his wife catch him smoking again. He sniffed the air. Ahhh, damp and cool, not a hint of her lilac perfume.

A smile crept over his prematurely wrinkled face as he removed the lighter from his shirt pocket. “Heh heh.” He intended to enjoy this, draw it out, savor every second. Cigars were better than golf, better than Andrea’s cooking, almost better than sex.

Andrea stood motionless behind the shelving unit next to Orson’s Harley, barely breathing, determined to catch her husband in the act. He slouched in the doorway, back to her, while he lit the cigar and formed his mouth into a wrinkled sphincter with every drag.

One hand fondled the lighter and the other held the infernal cancer stick in a sensuous embrace that made Andrea’s blood boil. He never had that look on his face when he touched her, never sighed like that in their bed, never smacked his lips that way when he ate her award-winning apple crisp. She shoved the Harley. It toppled toward the cement floor, knocking over the tool cabinet and pinning Orson against the wall.

She shrieked.

Orson massaged his throbbing knee and tried to cough up the lit cigar that had lodged in his throat.

Here’s the Problem

The point of view bounces back and forth between Orson and Andrea. That’s bad enough, but when the story switches to Andrea’s POV, it describes events impossible for her to see. If Orson’s back is toward her, she can’t know how his mouth looks or observe how he’s holding the cigar.

Modern editors and readers dislike head-hopping. Although authors don’t have to write an entire novel from one character’s perspective, they must ensure that events are possible and that POV shifts are unambiguous.

Most writers save POV changes for separate chapters or section breaks.

Here’s One Solution, from Orson’s POV

Orson sidled into the dark garage, searching the shadows for movement. No way was he gonna let his wife catch him smoking again. He sniffed the air. Ahhh, damp and cool, not a hint of her lilac perfume. A smile crept over his prematurely wrinkled face as he removed the lighter from his shirt pocket. “Heh heh.” He intended to enjoy this, draw it out, savor every second.

He slouched in the doorway, back to the garage, while he lit the cigar and formed his mouth into a relaxed oh with every drag.

One hand fondled the lighter, and the other held the cigar in a sensuous embrace. He ran his fingers over its length as he inhaled … closed his eyes … tasted the ambrosia … sighed. He smacked his lips and reached for a —

His Harley-Davidson rocked, knocking over the tool cabinet. It toppled toward the cement floor, pinning him against the wall.

Someone shrieked. No, not someone. Andrea!

Orson massaged his throbbing knee while trying to cough up the lit cigar that had lodged in his throat.

Notes:

• Would Orson be able to see a smile creeping over his own face?

• Would he think of his face as prematurely wrinkled?

Nope. The sentence containing these no-nos needs a rewrite.

For editors who demand strict point of view, something like this would work: A quiet cackle slipped between his clenched teeth as he removed the lighter from his shirt pocket.

Orson can’t see his face, but he can hear his cackle and try to stifle it by keeping his teeth together.

Here’s Another Solution, from Andrea’s POV

Andrea stood motionless behind the shelving unit next to Orson’s Harley in the garage, barely breathing, determined to catch her husband smoking.

He sidled past the motorcycle, noisily sniffing the air. With eyes squinted, he turned in a complete circle — probably looking for her. Whew. She hadn’t worn any perfume today, or he would have sniffed her out already.

After a few seconds he turned his back toward her and slouched in the doorway. Her attention shifted to his reflection in the stem mirror on his Harley. His prematurely wrinkled face looked even more wrinkled as he cackled and removed the lighter from his shirt pocket. He lit the cigar and formed his mouth into a knotted sphincter with every drag.

She cursed under her breath. Why did Orson insist on ruining his health?

One of his hands fondled the lighter, and the other held the infernal cancer stick in a sensuous embrace that made Andrea’s blood boil. He never had that look on his face when he touched her, never sighed like that in their bed, never smacked his lips that way when he ate her award-winning apple crisp.

She shoved the Harley. It toppled toward the cement floor, knocking over the tool cabinet and pinning Orson against the wall.

She shrieked.

Orson massaged his knee and coughed as though he had swallowed a hairball.

Notes:

• Prematurely wrinkled, an adjectival phrase representing Andrea’s opinion, works from her perspective. She has probably watched Orson’s face decay over the years, and the revised excerpt illustrates her concern for his health.

• While Orson thinks of his mouth as a relaxed oh, Andrea equates it with a sphincter — not a flattering image.

• Although editors frown on characters who study their own reflections so that writers can describe them without breaking POV, the inclusion of a mirror in this context would likely prove satisfactory.

• Award-winning apple crisp demonstrates the quality of Andrea’s cooking, which Orson doesn’t seem to appreciate.

• She can’t know he swallowed the cigar, but she can see his reaction to what happened.

P.S.

If you pretend to be your POV characters, you can intuit their perceptions. Unless they have special powers such as ESP or the ability to take over another character’s body, they will be limited to the senses of sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch.

P.P.S.

See also my post about opinion adjectives.