I’m reading a book right now that I just can’t connect with. The premise is interesting, the characters have juicy secrets and there’s even a mystery woven in for good measure. And yet …

One of the best pieces of writing advice I’ve received is to look under the hood of the books you read and investigate what makes them work—or not. For the past few years, I’ve kept a notebook for that purpose. It fits easily into a pocket and its small size forces me to be concise.

Keeping these notebooks has made me a more careful reader. I’m noting examples of all those smart techniques that I’ve learned in conferences, classes, workshops and craft articles being used “in the wild”. This practice has also helped me to find patterns. Great stories tend to share the same characteristics, regardless of subject matter, genre or plot. Keeping a reading notebook has helped make the squishier elements of good writing more solid for me.

My reading notebooks have also made it easier to identify when a story isn’t working, and—most importantly—why.

Which brings me back to the book I’m reading right now. Why can’t I connect with this story, despite all it seems to have going for it?

Because the story lacks intimacy. It’s a middle-grade novel written from a first-person POV, but instead of walking around in the character’s shoes, hearing her thoughts, feeling her emotions, experiencing her trials and victories and failures firsthand, the character is written from 10,000 feet. We’re not in her head, we’re having an out-of-body experience.

This detached writing style—where everything is written as an observation without perspective or interpretation or emotion—comes off as cold and distant in first-person POV. Maybe it works for some readers. But for me, it makes it nearly impossible to connect with the character or to care about her journey. It reads like a report, not a novel. And while reports have their uses, it’s not the reason you pick up a book—a kids’ book in particular.

So, note to self: Don’t keep your readers at arm’s length. Let your character(s) invite them in.

© 2018 Rachel Martin. All Rights Reserved.