Mixed point of views
Point of View
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First person
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Third person
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Mixed POV
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Changing the POV
Once you've chosen a particular viewpoint from which to tell
a story, the most common practice is to maintain that perspective
throughout. However, there are occasions when a shift from one
kind of narrative voice to another can enhance a story.
For instance, switching back and forth between two first-person
narrators can provide the reader with information that is not
available to both characters. I wrote a short story called "The
Tavernkeeper's Sister," which was told from the first-person
viewpoint of Gabrielle, who was suffering from amnesia. After
the tale was posted, readers wanted to know how Xena tracked down
Gabrielle and why she made certain choices in dealing with the
bard. Unfortunately, this was more background detail than I could
provide through Gabrielle's eyes. My solution was to write a second
part presenting Xena's side of the story. The result was a much
fuller understanding of what happened to these two characters.
In "The Tavernkeeper's Sister, Part I," Larissa narrates
her first encounter with Xena:
There was one last cup left on my tray, so I cautiously
approached the stranger. I was no expert on warriors, but even
I could see the coiled tension in her muscled shoulders and arms.
Judging from the mud splattered on her boots and the faint reek
of horse sweat, she had been riding long and hard. With her unruly
black hair and deep brown leathers, she was like a storm cloud
of darkness.
Then she looked up, and I found more vibrant color in her
eyes than in this entire dreary village. When the silence between
us had stretched too long for comfort's sake, I recovered my
breath and said, "Port?"
She nodded, and that slight movement drew my attention
to the harsh planes of her face. "You look like you could
use some food, too. When was the last time you ate?" My
question startled her, and she frowned in thought, which was
all the answer I needed. "I'll bring you some soup from
the kitchen." She nodded again, and I began to wonder whether
she had a voice at all. But when I returned to her table with
a bowl of broth and a thick slice of buttered bread, the warrior
finally spoke.
"Thank . . ." Her voice had a hoarse quality
to it, as if she didn't talk often. She cleared her throat and
said more clearly,"Thank you . . . Larissa. I hadn't realized
how hungry I was."
"Can I get you anything else?"
"Yes," she said quickly, then seemed to grope
for an answer. "Salt . . . I could use some salt."
She hadn't even tasted her soup yet, but I fetched a small
dish of salt from the kitchen and watched as her lean fingers
sifted the grains into her bowl. There was no other excuse to
linger — not when it was late and we had so many customers
— but even if the warrior and I had been the only two people
in the room I couldn't imagine that I had anything to say that
would interest this woman. I left her to eat in peace.
In Part II of the story, I shift to Xena's viewpoint. See how
her flashback account of this same meeting with "Larissa"
provides the reader with a different insight into the scene:
Hearing the familiar sound of Gabrielle's footsteps, I
looked up. There was surprise in her expression, but no hint
of recognition. The healer had warned me, so I had thought I
was prepared for her reaction, but nothing could buffer the shock
of being a stranger to those sea-green eyes.
Looking back, I can't even remember what I said to keep
her near me as long as possible. I battled the urge to wrap my
arms around her and let her warmth melt away memories of touching
a cold, still body that looked too much like her. Instead, I
watched her move around the room as she served ale and wine to
the tavern's patrons. She answered to the name Larissa with an
ease that unsettled me. With all the trust that was in Gabrielle's
nature, she believed this was her life. And I began to realize
it wouldn't be as easy as I had expected to pull her away from
here.
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