I’m Always in Deep POV

(A confession, a defense, and possibly a warning label)

#writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle

The other day, my wife said something to me. I don’t know what it was. I didn’t hear it. Didn’t even register the sound.

I distinctly remember her letting the dog out, using my amazing peripheral vision, then I lost the thread, because I was back in Deep POV.

We were sitting outside on our beautiful deck in the sunshine. I was mid-scene. Typing, staring, obsessing over a line that was either brilliant or awful. I wouldn’t know until later. Time ceased to exist.

A minute or two later, I have no idea, it might have been an hour, but I come up for air as my son steps outside to let us know he is going to bring our other dog out. (Those two cannot be in the same space, they will go at each other) So I look around for the other dog. I tell him to hold on because she is out here.

My wife says, “I told you I was putting her inside.”

Sorry. Missed it.

I was in deep POV.

Like, really deep. The kind of narrative state where you no longer have a body. You are the character. You’re bleeding into the page. You are the dialogue. Your spouse could be juggling flaming swords in the kitchen and you’d just wonder vaguely if it smells like popcorn.

Later, she commented on my lack of attention.

My dry-witted reply? “I’m always in deep POV.”

She burst out laughing so hard I thought she might drop her tea. I don’t blame her.

But the thing is…I was only sort of kidding, and she knew it.

Look I get it, it’s pretty aweful. I should actually be paying attention to her, but I’m trying to finish this rewrite. She is very understanding. Amazing really. Really.

What  Is  Deep POV (for the blissfully unaware)?

It’s writer speak for when you inhabit a character so completely that you remove all narrative distance. You don’t say “she felt angry.” You say: He was late. Again. You don’t say “he realized he was in danger.” You say: The air shifted. Too quiet. Too still.

Deep POV is writing without a safety net. It’s full immersion. It’s storytelling without a narrator’s seatbelt.

It’s also apparently a really solid excuse for not hearing your spouse ask if you took the chicken out of the freezer. (I didn’t.)

Side Effects May Include:

Talking to yourself in character voices.Zoning out during real conversations because you’re mentally rewriting imaginary ones.Answering questions ten minutes after they were asked.Tuning out during meetings to mentally storyboard your next chapter.Narrating your own life in third person.Accidentally calling your spouse by your main character’s name (do not recommend).

So yes. I’m always in deep POV.

It’s not just how I write. It’s how I am now.

Sorry in advance if I miss your birthday party or forget to pick up milk.

It’s not personal. I’m just currently inside the head of a sarcastic hacker trying to defuse a situation with a vampire technocrat.

You know. Tuesday stuff.