My creative writing group… who’s telling the story?

With my creative writing group today, we considered ‘voice’ who is telling the story. Most of my novels have been in the third person, but usually from the point of view of one particular character… which is quite limiting and I have made an effort to write differently. My two unfinished novels, ‘Frederico Milan’, and ‘Lucky Portbradden’ both have the narrative viewed, but not told by different characters with their own perspective on the events which unfold. MY recently finished novel, ‘Radwinter’ however, is a first person narrative and with my group I explained the ways in which I tried to get an outside perspective on the narrator.

One way in which I did this was to lock my character, Thomas, in a cupboard so he could overhear his cousins wives talking about him and his wife. He has gone to get a glass of wine for his wife, Rebecca, while they are at a party given by his brother Paul:

Paul stopped me as I was about to go into the kitchen and asked me if I could get some more peanuts and olives; his boys had disappeared and he had to get some more wine.

I went into the kitchen but there was no obvious sign of nuts and olives and I began to explore the cupboards. There was a pantry by the back door and I guessed I might be successful there. The door was stiff and I yanked it back and somehow as I wrenched it open I lost my balance and sort of fell into the cupboard and the door shut behind me. I was in the utter dark apart from a tiny line of light round the door. I felt for a catch or a light switch feeling very foolish.

There was a burst of laughter and I could hear women’s voices. I knocked gently on the door and was about to call out, feeling really stupid, when I heard them mention Rebecca’s name.

They were standing very near the pantry, no doubt getting drinks from the counter beside it. It would be too embarrassing to knock or call out again now.

“They are such an odd couple, aren’t they?” I think it was Amelia, Tony’s wife.

“They’re so old-fashioned, like an old aunty and uncle from a different generation; anyone would think he was older than Paul!” that was Andrea, Max’s wife. Rebecca would be appalled, she always thinks she’s so fashionable and she spends enough money on clothes!

“I don’t mind her, I suppose” said one of them and I waited, blushing, waiting for her to say that she did mind me. “But why on earth Thomas married her I cannot imagine. He is such a sweetheart, he’s gorgeous, why doesn’t he ditch her and get someone who would appreciate him?”

“I know, he’s utterly adorable, I love him, he’s so funny, and when he puts on those sad puppy eyes, well, who could resist him!”

There was a crash as one of them dropped an empty bottle into the box beneath the counter and I jumped, knocking something from the shelf which miraculously I caught. Their voices moved away and I heard a man say something and I banged on the door and called out.

The door opened and I almost fell over Django’s cajón playing friend. I mumbled something and thanked him as he laughed at me and I rushed out of the kitchen which was suddenly full of people.

“Where have you been? And where’s my wine?” it was Rebecca, still with Laura although John had disappeared. “And what have you got those chickpeas for?”

I looked down, I was still holding the bag of chickpeas which I’d knocked off the shelf and caught.

“Hummus,” and I hurried back to get her wine and to see if someone knew where the nuts and olives were. Sweetheart? Adorable? Puppy eyes? Unbelievable.

Thomas is telling the story, but I hope my readers will have an objective view of him; I tried to explain this to my group… I set them a task to write in a different way from normal, from a different perspective… I know they will come up with some interesting stories!