Mark Bertrand on Writing in Present Tense

I’m currently reading J. Mark Bertrand’s latest novel Back on Murder and thoroughly enjoying it. Not only is it a compelling police procedural that pulls you right in, Mark’s craft is exceptional. The story is written in first person present tense, a stylistic POV choice that makes everything real-time. The method can be off-putting to some and tricky for inexperienced writers to pull off. But when done well, it is one of the most powerful forms of story-telling available to an author. As I’ve been enjoying Back on Murder, I couldn’t help but appreciate Mark’s handling of the tense and decided to interrogate him regarding it… and when it comes to interrogations on the craft of writing, Mr. Bertrand is a glutton for punishment.

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MIKE: One of the first short stories I ever wrote, admittedly as a way of experiment, was in first person present tense. I had a lot of fun with it, but my critique group promptly disowned me. Not really. However, their consensus was that this was not an acceptable point of view for a commercial novelist. I’ve since found quite a bit of resistance to first person present tense. Have you found similar resistance and, if so, why do you think this is?

MARK: Not an acceptable point of view for a commercial novelist? Ha! This explains why The Time Traveler’s Wife tanked and why nobody’s ever heard of Fight Club, not to mention why John Updike isn’t a household name.

Seriously, I know what you mean. For some people, writing in present tense is an affectation, and compounding the error with first person just pushes them over the edge. But there are people who won’t watch black-and-white movies or read subtitles, too. They exist, but I can’t claim to understand them.

First person present is a natural way to narrate. Instead of “once upon a time,” think “so this guy walks into a bar.” What’s so hard about that? When you’re telling your friends what happened over the weekend, when you get to the really crazy part where only a blow-by-blow account will do, you’re going to be talking in present tense.

I know I’m exaggerating a little. Writing in first person present is harder. And it is out of the ordinary. But as the examples I mentioned suggest, it’s not as strange as all that.

So why the resistance? If I had to guess, I’d say that if you’ve been told that the path to commercial success lies in playing it safe—figuring out what most successful people do, and then copying them—writing in anything other than third person past must come off as hubris. I can even hear the retort: “Updike? But you’re no Updike!”

The sad thing is, you hear all the time from editors how they’re looking for something different, something fresh. Meanwhile hopeful authors are being told the only “acceptable” choices are the predictable ones.

MIKE: I’ve heard that the crime genre often employs first person present tense. But being this is your first solo novel, why did you choose this POV (as opposed to something more mainstream or, from a craft perspective, easier)? Either you are eminently confident or intolerably myopic. Which is it?

MARK: In this case, I’m merely a pragmatist. I made the best choice for my story, that’s all. The original draft of Back on Murder was written in third person past, reportage style. I’d been reading a lot of crime journalism. The story worked, but there was one problem: I couldn’t seem to get into Roland March’s head the way I wanted. I couldn’t hear his voice. But when I slipped into first person present, there he was.

There’s a section in Chapter 1, probably the earliest piece I wrote in first person present, where March is explaining the life of homicide detectives, distinguishing between fiction and reality. He’s doing the same thing Cyrano de Bergerac does when asked to present the Gascon cadets—mythologizing—only in demythologizing terms. After getting that passage right, I couldn’t choose another point-of-view.

Reviewers talk a lot about the book’s authenticity and want to know about all the research that must have gone into it. But the sense of realism, if you ask me, comes from March’s narration. You believe that this guy speaking to you knows what he’s talking about. And that’s thanks in part to the point-of-view choice. I’ve written in present tense before, but this was the first time I did anything in first person present. It was a joy.

And actually, first person present isn’t all that common in crime fiction. But first person past tense is another story: that’s the stereotypical voice of the hard boiled noir of yesteryear. Denis Johnson channeled it very well when he wrote Nobody Move. Some readers have linked March’s voice in Back on Murder to that tradition—but this shows how much attention most of us pay to point-of-view when it works (i.e., none).

If you dress well, people notice you instead of your clothes. The same applies to perspective. It’s a big choice to make and will dictate much of what happens afterward, but readers don’t read for that sort of thing. Which is why, when you ask people what tense their favorite novels are written in, they often have no idea.

MIKE: What are some of the unique problems writing in first person present tense?

MARK: Writing in present tense, you have to decide how you’re going to handle backstory. If simple present equals story time, then anything happening before that should be in simple past, right? There’s an elegance to this. You’re slipping form “he does this” (right now) to “he did that” (in the past), which sounds much nicer, much more natural than “he did this” and “he had done that.” So what’s the challenge? In most novels, simple past narrates the story’s present, and that can trip some readers up. Alden Bell’s The Reapers are the Angels is written in third person present, and to reveal some backstory he drops into third person past. To signal the reader, he makes the change back and forth at scene breaks. (By the way, Charlie Huston calls this book “a disconcertingly beautiful tale of zombie apocalypse,” so given your love of horror writing I highly recommend it.)

When you add first person to present tense, you take on an additional challenge. First person changes how the story needs to be told. The reader has to be able to make sense of it getting only the same information as the narrator. Personally, I like this. I’m writing about a detective, after all, a man trying to piece together the truth of what happened. In third person past, it would be easy to jump from his point of view to that of the killer—a common gambit—to fill in details for the reader. Writing only from March’s point of view means the reader has to do more work, and has to experience things as he does. For some stories, that would be devastating. In this case I think it’s ideal.

MIKE: What are some of the unique advantages writing in first person present tense?

MARK: Everything you can achieve in first person present can be pulled off in a different point of view. I’m not making any special claims for it. And changing person and tense isn’t a magic formula to convert a mediocre story into a great one.

In fact, it’s probably true that something written in first person present is more likely to suck than something written in third person past. It’s quite a bit harder, after all.

Still, there are some wonderful advantages. First person present can give such a sense of immediacy, plunging readers into the story without the usual narrative distance. And the same way certain spices bring out the flavor, first person present brings out the voice. For some stories, voice isn’t as crucial. For sweeping detachment, nothing beats third person past. I love a well-written omniscient point of view. First person storytelling demands a voice, though, and present tense can bring it into sharp focus.

MIKE: What advice would you give to someone who is thinking about writing a novel in first person present tense?

MARK: The advice I always give, no matter what point of view you’re writing in, is to read everything out loud and revise for sound. With first person present, it’s even more important. You’ll hear if your “now” and your “then” are getting mixed up. You’ll hear if a staccato “I do this, I do that” rhythm is creeping in.

Circling back to this story of yours you mentioned earlier, here’s my question: did it work? If the story worked, and your critique group was just throwing an arbitrary flag on the play, not realizing that some pretty successful books have been written this way, that’s one thing. But maybe the choice didn’t work. Sometimes it doesn’t, in which case you’re right to change. Some authors struggle quite a bit with point of view, going through all the options until they find what’s right for this particular story. Others work with third person past as a default and only stray from it under extraordinary circumstances (or not at all). For the March series, I found myself following the first course and point of view became a defining choice.