Time and tense: past or present, the writer’s dilemma

The critique session was billed as friendly, supportive, helpful. No one’s work, the group leader assured us, would be torn to pieces by the panel of four much-published authors. Until, that is, the authors sat aghast at my reading. Because it was, shockingly – and I beg you to contain your horror at this – the pages were written in present tense. 

One panelist declared she would never read a book written in present tense. Another, at a loss for words, said nothing, but only scribbled on the pages, “present tense – ick.” Still another delivered an impassioned monologue about the evils of present tense, a fad which could only appeal to millennials. 

image: pixabay

However, far from being a mere millennial-generation fad, a few minutes with a search engine turned up some thought-provoking examples of present tense novels written in pre-millennial days, including these from The Write Practice site: Bleak House, (admittedly, with some past tense sections) by that 19^th century codger Charles Dickens; Rabbit, Run, by John Updike; and All Quiet on the Western Front, by Erich Maria Remarque. 

All of which left me wondering why present tense ever got such a bad rap. And why, if it was so bad, no editor or writer in the numerous other classes and workshops I had attended had ever cautioned me against its use.

So, it was with a feeling of chagrin that, when checking my earlier posts at this site, I ran across my own admonition against the use of present tense: “. . . the equivalent of running (a marathon) in leg shackles.” 

My only excuse for such a shocking comment is that it was written in 2010. (I also had a strange prejudice at the time about writing with a first-person point of view. Go figure.)

Still, times change, and so do writers. Who doesn’t want to try a new technique, add a new tool to my box of craft. Why not try writing in present tense since, I told myself, it could always be changed later if it didn’t work. At first it did feel a lot like running in shackles. I found myself constantly pulled up short, constantly reverting to the more familiar, seemingly cozier past tense while hardly realizing what I was doing.

But like all skills, present tense got easier with practice.

In mid-2014, I wrote a science fiction short story for a contest. In past tense. It got some nice comments from the judges, but was only a runner-up. Not a winner. By the end of 2014, I had rewritten it in present tense. This time around, it sold. For the curious, the story was “Planet, Paper, Space,” published in 2015 in Luna Station Quarterly.

By that same year of 2015, I had revised an earlier novel into present tense, and achieved a first chapter which has since received thumbs-up from my online critique group. By late 2015, I even managed to overcome my introvert’s fear of first person and submitted the opening of a new novel with both the new-to-me techniques for the Writer’s League of Texas contest. I was driving down a country road on the way to a family reunion when a message popped up on my phone: “Congratulations! You’re a WLT manuscript winner!” 

I’ll admit, I’m still going back and forth with the agent who picked that piece of present tense writing out of the contest slush pile. But the small victories were enough to convince me that, yes, I can write in present tense if I want, and if the story needs it. 

Perhaps I should mention that some authors believe the use of present tense destroys a story’s suspense. However, through trial and error I had unconsciously learned the lesson author Jenny Martin would later put into words during her workshop at the Roanoke Writers Conference this past fall: that use of the present tense automatically raises the suspenseful question, “Does this person survive?” We know she’s alive now? But will she still be living at the story’s end?

If we’re going to get all grammatical, there are also multiple versions of both past and present tense, all of which have their own purposes. And for those asking, well, what about writing in future tense – Martin’s advice was, “just don’t!”. Although I can feel my fingers itching right now. . .  

Studying the techniques of thriller writers also clued me to another suspense-generating technique applicable to either present or past tense – use of multiple points of view. Which perhaps I’ll post about at some later time. 

Obviously, I haven’t embraced present tense for all purposes – as witness this post written in past tense. Because the events it describes are, well, in the past. As one of the panelists I dissed about at the beginning of this post told me later, readers’ – and writers’ – tastes differ, but the important thing is to tell the story that’s burning to be told. No matter what tense it demands. 

How to capture that elusive quality called 'voice'

With a novel I’m trying to pitch to agents, I’ve obsessed over those literary website posts that talk about “voice.” As in “writer’s voice.” The one that nobody seems able to define, but that -- like, art or pornography -- knows when they see it. Or hear it. Do I even need to say that I jumped at a chance to hear Texas writer Jenny Martin’s discussion of “voice” at the Roanoke Writers' Conference recently? She made it sound so simple. Or at least, more intelligible.

“A writer’s voice,” Martin quoted, “is the stroke of an artist’s brush.”

A brush is composed of parts -- bristles coarse or fine, long or short, of different materials; as well as a handle suited to the hand of the artist. And like a brush, voice also has components:

• Point of view (POV)
• Tense
• Word choice
• Syntax/sentence structure
• Subtext  

Some of these fit more closely together than others. The choice of point of view – whether to write in first, second, or third person – can also dictate the tense used – whether present or past tense. 

image: pixabay

First person POV – the ‘I’ POV – can be the most intimate, because it gives the reader direct access to the character’s thoughts, shows the reader only what that character can perceive or know. For the same reason, if mishandled, first person POV can be claustrophobic. We as writers will have to make decisions about whether the character is interesting and knowledgeable enough to carry off a first person POV. In some genres, especially mystery, using first person for a major character can be a handicap, but one that can be solved by transferring that first-person narration to a secondary, less knowledgeable character. Think Dr. Watson narrating the story of his friend Sherlock Holmes.

Although first person POV nowadays is often written in present tense, older stories such as the Sherlock Holmes chronicles were written in past tense. Miller cautioned that use of past tense with a first person POV leads readers to assume that the narrator/character survived the action, while present tense leaves the character’s survival in question. For this reason, first person is particularly useful for horror stories. Will the character survive the telling of the tale?

Second person POV – the “you” POV – “is really hard to pull off for beginning writers,” Martin told her audience. However, for those willing to try, she advised using past tense, “or it can sound like a script.”

Third person POV – the “he/she” POV – can have “different flavors,” as Martin termed them. Third person can be “omniscient”, with the writer having god-like access to information from multiple characters. Or it can be “limited” with access only to information available to a single character, much as would occur with first person.

Omniscience may distance the reader from the character – and is seldom used throughout a manuscript-length work now – brief brush strokes of omniscient POV can be useful for setting a scene. Writers of historical fiction or suspense, in particular, may open with an omniscient POV that gives readers an overview, and then move gradually into a closer, limited third person POV. The effect is similar to a movie scene that opens with a wide or distant shot that zooms in on the action or character.

Third person POV can be used with either past or present tense – remember that horror story option! In the end, the only absolute rule on which POV or which tense to use is “don’t bore the readers and don’t confuse them!” (With “don’t confuse” as the reason Martin’s advice about writing in future tense is “just don’t do it!”)

Word choice is “one of the most powerful tools in the writer’s arsenal. . . Are you interpreting or reporting?” Martin asked. “Is your lens the mind’s eye or a piece of glass? Is the reader pulled under the skin or seated in the mezzanine of the story, looking on? Are you the cataloguer or the curator of your story?

“A great writer curates the story and lures the reader through it. . . with context. Are the words the right words precisely the ones you, your particular narrator or particular character would use? Don’t waste time talking about things that don’t matter to your story!”

In determining both word choice and sentence structure, it helps to read your work aloud, Martin advised. For anybody who doubts the value of this advice, try listening to audio books, as I have. The annoying word tics my eyes skipped during reading were dazzlingly obvious when slowed to the speed of spoken words.

And about those words: Martin says, “Your words should be music of some kind. I’m not saying classical music, but the music of you.” 

And finally, subtext – the stuff behind or beneath what’s actually written. I’ve always found this difficult. I either rely on it too much, to the bafflement of beta readers. Or I flat out don’t have a clue what it is. In that case, I found Martin’s words reassuring: “Sometimes as a writer you may not even know what (the subtext) is until the revision stage of writing. . . (It’s) like the Loch Ness monster. It’s something that just peeks out and scares the bejesus out of you!”

Martin is a sought-after speaker at Texas writing conferences. And if you've become a fan of the Roanoke, Texas, writers conference, mark your calendars now -- the next one is scheduled to take place October 5-6, 2018.