#WritersCoffeeClub #WCC 2025.07.22 — Do you write your characters’ thoughts, or let their actions speak for themselves? Why?
I write in 1st person. The narrator is the POV. The reader gets to experience a continuous description of what is important enough for the POV to notice, what they are willing to report doing, what they want you to know about what people are saying and doing—and especially what they think about it. It is a stream of thoughts and reactions, often presented with snark or filtered by worry, and if the reader pays attention, spun in subtle ways to fit the MC's agenda. Sometimes my characters even quote their own thoughts!
Here's what it looks like in practice from the POV of the devil-girl in Reluctant Prizefighter. She's been wolf-whistled by a street gang member, but she has some defense training and has subtly dodged his grabs, but has verbally and physically bruised him. #excerpt
I hadn't learned yet how to reliably work the miracle I'd created defeating The Monster. Was this miscreant the one who might help me break through?
I looked at how his muscles moved, his legs and rear when he turned momentarily to retort to a gang mate, how he held himself erect—
I blinked. He had dimples!? Arguably cute, and not enough of a threat, nor cute enough to sway me either. I turned and walked on, trying not to grin, saying, "I doubt it."
"Doubt what?" I heard his shoes catching up.
"I thought you might teach me something." I gave him, his not exactly scrawny body, more of a dismissive look than it deserved. "I was mistaken" that you're sufficiently threatening to help me.
He sped to cross my path, but I must have intimidated him; he didn't block me. I took a much better look at his rear end. Squarish. Muscular above the hip, too. I rather liked the view, but now he'd turned red and I had to look up at his angry eyes. My hit struck home.
He asked, "What are you? Spurs? Or 2nd Street Fist Gang?"
"What are you? Besides rude?"
"NGG Syndicate. We all are." He pointed to his shoulder, and lifted a sweaty sleeve. Hiding what he revealed might be the whole purpose to him wearing the t-shirt.
"Wow. You let someone brand you!" How stupid can you get? It read NNGS in cursive, burnt into his skin with either a wire pattern heated by fire, or by an application of reluctance, but reluctant force would require him to absolutely trust the miracle worker—which might be the point! Still foolish. The scar was pink; the hair had only partially grown back. I didn't want to shudder, but did so anyway.
He added,"You're going to regret trespassing—"
[Author retains copyright (c)2025 R.S.]
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