“It’s a good story, but I’m having trouble connecting with it.” Have you ever received that vague feedback? Maybe you’ve felt that way after reading someone else’s work. There’s nothing wrong with the mechanics, the plot is interesting, but something seems off.
In these cases, there’s a good chance the problem lies in narrative distance. It’s a crucial concept that doesn’t get talked about enough at conferences and isn’t always covered in-depth in craft books.
What is narrative distance? In the simplest terms, it’s how close the narrator is to the story. There’s a lot more nuance to it, but that’s a good place to start. Narrative distance is also closely related to point of view and voice, which is why getting it right can make a huge difference in readers connecting with your story.
Imagine you’re directing a movie. There are numerous options for how to film it. You could mount a GoPro on an actor’s heads, and everything we see is through that lens. (This would most likely be a first-person point of view with an extremely close narrative distance.) You could have a camera operator follow one of the actors and film over his or her shoulder, including some shots of that actor. (A third-person point of view, again with a close narrative distance.) Or, you could have a camera positioned in the middle distance, giving a wider view of the action and focusing on different characters at different times. You could even back way off and get the entire scene in one view. Each of these options offers the viewer (or, applying the concept to writing, the reader) a different level of immersion.
In reality, movie-makers (and writers) alternate between close, medium, and long distances, as there are good uses for all three. Imagine watching a movie where the camera is zoomed in on the main character the entire time. It would be uncomfortable after a while, even a little disorienting.
For writers, giving readers an immersive experience is a matter of choosing the right distance for each scene. Maybe you’re writing a fight scene with multiple combatants and the storytelling works best if you keep a longer distance, so the narrator can describe multiple parts of the battle. Or, maybe you’re writing about someone getting terrible news over the phone and you need to zoom in on that character, so the reader can feel with her. I write thrillers, and it’s important to zoom in frequently, so the readers feel imperiled along with the characters. But I recently read a novel where the narrator was interpreting events 40 years after the fact, and a wide narrative distance was necessary to achieve that effect.
Regardless of what distance you’re employing, it's important to be intentional. That vague feedback (“I just didn’t connect with it”) is a sign that there’s artificial distance between the narrator and the action, and the reader isn’t experiencing the level of immersion you intended. And that happens primarily through two ways: filter words and narrative intrusion.
Filter words explain a character’s actions or senses, rather than letting them stand for themselves. Common filter words include watched, saw, looked, heard, smelled, or touched. Overreliance on these words will not only increase your narrative distance, they will give your story a sense of being “told” rather than “shown.” Here’s an example:
“Mason heard the car door slam. He looked over his shoulder and saw them moving his way. Time to run.”
There’s nothing inherently wrong with those sentences, but they create the sense that story is being told a step or two removed from the character. This example removes most of the filter words and closes the distance between the narrator and the character:
“A car door slammed, the clang piercing the night. Angry footfalls approached. Time to run.”
In essentially the same number of words, I’ve drawn the reader closer to Mason’s perspective and included additional details that didn’t fit before.
Narrative intrusion is similar to filtering. It occurs when the narrator (or, perhaps, the writer) jumps into a scene to explain what is happening or how it feels. This practice reminds the reader that they’re being told a story, instead of letting them get lost in the moment. Here’s an example:
“Mason clutched the passport and waited his turn. He hoped the customs agent wouldn’t notice the tremble in his hand. He had a lot to lose if this went wrong. He’d spend the rest of his life in prison. But what he feared most of all was never getting the chance to explain his past to Sara.”
There’s a lot of unnecessary narration there, when actions and well-chosen details could carry the moment more effectively:
“Mason clutched the passport and turned his body away from the customs agent’s prying eyes. A bead of sweat snaked its way down the back of his neck and under his collar. He should leave, but he couldn’t. It was worth risking the years in prison if it meant he had the chance to explain his past to Sara.”
It’s still not perfect, but the second example feels much closer to Mason. We get greater access to his thoughts than in the first example, and the reader is empowered to interpret the emotions he’s experiencing.
The next time you hear, “I had trouble connecting with it,” think about your narrative distance. You might need to zoom in during parts of your story to allow it to have a greater impact.
Photo by Quimono at Pixabay.com
Travis Tougaw grew up in a military family. As a perpetual "new kid," he quickly learned the value of sharing stories to connect with others. Having settled down after his own stint in the Air Force, Travis stopped relocating, but he's never stopped telling stories. He's always on the lookout for characters and storylines that will grab readers' attention and keep them turning pages. Travis lives in Colorado with his wife and children. When he's not writing, he enjoys reading, outdoor activities, playing musical instruments, and trivia competitions. The first three books in his Marcotte/Collins investigative thriller series (Foxholes, Captives, Last Call, and Death Grip) are now available. Learn more about Travis and his books at https://travistougaw.com.