THE THIRD PERSON IS VIBRANT!

One of my acquaintances tends to always refer to himself in the third person.
You can probably understand why this is annoying.

“John did NOT overturn the garbage can”, “John will now enjoy another refreshing malt-beverage while smiling innocently” , and “John refuses to speak about Atboth’s anger issues, and will not be accepting Atboth’s offer to slap him a good one.”


On the other hand, first person fiction is a drag too.
I did this, I did that, and I did something else. Boring.

The only alternative appears to be second person. Yet, as we all know, crazy people talk to themselves in the second person. “You shouldn’t have slapped John – at least not until he was sober enough to understand why”.
Also: “You really shouldn’t have taken John’s refreshing malt-beverage away from him and poured it over his stupid bald head”.


DOMINANT PERSONHOOD

First person narrative does work well in mystery novels:
“You see , Watson, when I saw him holding a smoking gun while standing right over the twitching corpse, I immediately suspected a dirty deed”.

“Brilliant, Holmes, absolutely brilliant!”


But first person narrative is an absolutely horrible fit in bodice-rippers and romance:
“With a sudden surge of passion, I grasped her in my strong wiry arms, and swept her onto the bed. Savagely, impatiently, I stripped off her delicate silken camisole, and laved her with my slobbering tongue. She was soft, warm, and salty. The last thing I remember is the marble ash-tray crashing down on the back of my head, cracking my skull in three distinct places.
I was entirely unconscious as she dragged my heavy form to the window and heaved me over into the thorn bushes below, breaking my shoulder bone with a sickening snap when I crashed through the branches.”

See? Doesn’t work. You NEED an observer.


Now compare that with this:
“The darkly romantic blogger Atboth stood in the middle of the bus, his battle-ship grey eyes drinking in the throng of passengers, while his strong masculine hands confidently held on to the straps provided for his convenience. He remembered when those things were leather, taught sensuous leather. So long ago, and yet it seemed like yesterday.

Out of the corner of his eye Atboth surreptitiously drank in the shapely blonde young clerical person next to him, obviously heading to a depressing dead-end job at a law office in the Embarcadero Center. Without knowing why (for she did not realize that his smoking cool grey gaze was upon her), she blushed.

Out of the corner of his OTHER eye, he observed the delicate curves of the Cantonese schoolgirl on the other side, so full of life and youthful vigor. She tensed. Somewhere close to her was a creep, she just knew it! But who? Surely not that dapper gentleman next to her, the man with the neatly trimmed foxy looking beard and kindly vulpine face?

Meanwhile, with his peripheral vision, which was aimed straight ahead because his actual focus was split sideways in two directions, Atboth keenly scoped out the young lady sitting in front of him. He couldn’t help noticing that she had small hands and a lovely pleated skirt.

Ah, life! Warm, pulsating life!
He drank in the freshly feminine perfumes all around him, and felt somewhat less gloomy.”

Now that’s eppes some poetry!

It describes the scene lovingly, in a way that everyone can understand.

Beauty, what?


AFTERTHOUGHT

I am the handsome vampire, tempting women with my sparkling personality.
Today will be an upbeat, positive, all round lovely young day.


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