“Get in There!” — Learning to Write in Deep POV

#writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing

I was trying to explain what it felt like to write in Deep POV the other day and this image popped into my head that was a perfect analogy. Flash back to early 1987. I’m sitting in the left seat of the tandem T-37 jet trainer. It was my first formation flight, and I was on the wing. That meant the pilots in the other T-37 were flying lead and it was my job to stay on the tip of their wing. Literally.

The T-37 was first delivered to the Air Force in 1959 and had the highest G onset rate of any aircraft in the inventory at the time and was used for the first phase of Undergraduate Pilot Training, focusing on aerobatics and spin recovery. It was a blast to fly, despite being very basic.

Later, I flew this jet again in the ACE program. Accelerated Copilot Enrichment—for B-52 and KC-135 copilots to stay sharp. Mostly, I used this to fly to Muncy, Indiana to eat at Foxfire, Jim Davis’s restaurant (Yes, Garfield Jim Davis.) You could park your jet right in front.

But back to the story.

There I was…

(That’s how a lot of pilot stories start, usually with hands replacing the aircraft. Some referred to this as “shooting your wristwatch.”)

But there I was, sitting in the left seat, but not in control of the jet. My instructor was flying and had us in a loose trail position, behind lead, and he was about to show me how to move into position. Lead was flying straight and level. The IP accelerated, moved up, slid in—closer, closer—until we were 3 feet off of their wing.

Three. Feet.

Going a little over 200 mph.

He held us there, calm and steady, then asked, “You ready to take it?”

I said yes, nervously, and took the stick. “I have the aircraft.”

Within seconds our aircraft was like a ribbon in the wind, moving up and down and slowly but steadily away from the other aircraft.

I don’t know how many students my instructor had before me, but he was quite impatient. “Get back in there!” he barked.

20 feet away felt much better. I could stabilize.

Fifteen feet? Still okay.

But three feet? That was a whole different level.

And honestly, that’s exactly how it felt when I was writing close point of view before I understood Deep POV.

I tried to edge closer, to get tighter into the character’s skin, but I kept slipping out. I’d float into safer distance, into that 15 or 20 foot range of perspective, where it felt more comfortable, less vulnerable.

My instructor took the jet from me and quickly repositioned us at 3 feet. “Ok, take the jet.”

Once again, I maintained position for a microsecond and then we waffled out to 10 or 15 feet.

“Get in there,” he shouted again.

Rinse, repeat.

If only Deep POV was that easy. Just have someone else get me in there and help me stay there. But the first writing efforts mirrored those training flights, lots of drifting out, lots of pulling back. On each subsequent pass I could almost hear my IP yelling at me.

“Get in there!”

Eventually, I figured out how to stay at 3 feet. It just takes calmness and steady attention. And lots of practice.

(For the record: Close trail in the T-38—way faster than the T-37—was maybe the most fun thing I ever did with my clothes on.)

My editor had me do some Deep POV exercises, with my clothes on, and after half a dozen tries it started to click. I’m still learning, still refining. But I now understand what it feels like to really be in there, inside the character’s head, experiencing the world from three feet instead of twenty.

It’s not magic. It’s a skill.

And once you’ve got it, it’s yours for life.