How to Write Fiction Read Online Free PDF Page A

dominated by point of view often lacks the feeling of space and freedom, of security in the world, that permits the reader to transcend themselves, to grow and change by living for a period in the narrative. A writer such as DH Lawrence, himself the most flagrant offender in the English language against the “rules” of point of view, offers this space and freedom in abundance; indeed, one is freer to hate Lawrence than any other writer I can think of, and this in itself is proof that point of view not only survives but is strengthened by his fiction. Lawrence’s prose moves through his characters like a river moving through the landscape, intimate with but never confined by them. One can learn from him, at least, not to be limited by point of view, just as we try not to allow our own or others’ perceptions to obscure or limit our true understanding of the world.
    Rachel Cusk is the author of two works of non-fiction and six novels, including The Lucky Ones (shortlisted for the Whitbread novel award) and Arlington Park (shortlisted for the Orange prize for fiction). Her most recent novel, The Bradshaw Variations, is published by Faber

Writer’s workshop 3
    Why changing your point of view can conceal or reveal hidden truths
    P oint of view can be paralysing if you think about it too early. For the first draft or two, write in whatever point of view comes naturally, or in many different ones if that’s what comes out. Worry later about choosing a consistent point of view.
    English grammar lets us write in three ways:
in the first person, using an “I” narrator
in the third person, describing everyone as “he” or “she”
in the second person, “you”.
    First person
    A story told in the first person has the limitations, and the strengths, of being filtered through the consciousness of “I”.
    This means that an “I” narrator can only know about events he or she saw. Otherwise the narrator has to rely on what other people said.
    An “I” narrator needs to establish its authority for telling the story. Was the narrator actually there? If not, how does the narrator know so much? Is the narrator putting together evidence from somewhere else: what other people have said, letters found in an attic, messages in bottles? Or is the narrator just guessing?
    Also, an “I” narrator tends to become a personality: it’s an individual speaking directly to the reader, and a character in the story. So the reader tries to build up a picture of that “I”: what is “I” like? Do we like “I”?
    An “I” narrator is likely to have an axe to grind in the story because “I” was involved in it, even if only as an observer, or as the person who put all the evidence together. In that case, what motive does “I” have for telling the story? Does this narrator just want to get to the truth? Or do they want to talk us into something? Can “I” be trusted to tell the truth?
    The kind of language a first-person narrator might use depends on who “I” is. This is not to say that the language needs to match up with the type of character in a stereotyped way: a first-person narrator who was a child wouldn’t necessarily have to tell the story in childish language. But a child “I” using adult language would need to be made convincing to the reader: it’s another factor the writer has to be aware of.
    First person can give an immediacy, an idiosyncratic and personal energy to a piece of writing. It is limited, but limitations in fiction are not always a bad thing. The story may be more interesting, more dramatic, if it’s told by someone who doesn’t know the full story, or who gets it wrong, or who isn’t telling the truth.
    Third person
    Sometimes a third-person narrator can be almost as personal as a first person, with the same sort of limitations – this is called