POVs by J. S. Marlo

 

Red in the Snow

Coming September 2025

   

 

  

J. S. Marlo's Books

I would like to talk about the famous, or infamous, POV.

For anyone who isn't familiar with it, POV stands for Point Of View. If you're within someone's POV, you can only see, hear, smell, taste, or feel what that someone sees, hears, smells, tastes, or feels, and you're only privy to that someone's inner thoughts.

What does it mean for a writer? Well, it means every time you write a scene, you need to choose a POV. Will I write the scene in my hero's or my heroine's POV?

Let's say I choose my heroine's POV, let's say a scent draft into the kitchen, let's say it's lilac, and let's say my heroine has never smelled lilac in her life, so...

These are 3 examples of how the scene could go down:

1- If she's alone in the kitchen, she cannot say it's lilac, because she doesn't know what it smells like. She can say she smells something sweet, something floral, a strong fragrance, a delightful fragrance, but the reader will never know it's lilac.

2- If she isn't alone in the kitchen, she can ask whoever is with her (let's say it's her boyfriend) if he smells something. If her boyfriend knows what lilacs smell like, he can say it's lilac and he can provide as much information as the reader needs to know.

3- She's with her boyfriend in the kitchen, but she's nose blind to the scent wafting in. (Remember, we're in her POV, we can know what she thinks but not what her boyfriend smells or thinks unless he mentions it.) If her boyfriend smells it and knows it, he may say something about it, or he may dismiss the scent as unimportant and not say anything, in which case the reader will never know about the lilac scent drafting in.

(I picked lilacs because I have lilacs all around my house and for a week or two in the spring, it smells amazing... I'm digressing here.)

Every scene conveys bits of information that come together to form a story. If that lilac scent is an important bit of information, then the writer has two choices:

1- Stay in her POV, but develop the boyfriend's character in such a way that he's the type of guy who notices different fragrances and likes to comment about them, or...

2- Switch the scene to his POV, that way he can notice the smell (we're in his POV, so we have access to all his senses and are privy to his inner thoughts). He can simply walk in the kitchen where the scent of lilacs lingering in the air reminds him of his grandmother's cottage. No dialogue needed.

A long time ago, when I started writing romance novels, there were all those written and unwritten romance rules about POVs that circulated among different publishers.

- Only two POVs in the story.

- Each scene had to be written in either the hero's POV or the heroine's POV.

- Love scene should be written in the girl's POV, not the guy's. (Don't readers want to know what's going on in the guy's head when... you know)

- Happy endings, meaning hero & heroine end up together, not merrily go their separate ways.

- Some publishers even had POV ratios. 60% her, 40% him.

I wrote for many publishers (not all of them are still in business) and I had many wonderful editors. It happened that at the beginning of my writing career, I had an editor who was a stickler to all romance rules. I had to rewrite many scenes and switch POV even though the information I needed to convey was now in the wrong character's head. And I couldn't get away with writing even one short scene in the antagonist's POV.

I'm not only a writer, but I'm also an avid reader. I like to know how the vilain thinks.

Over the years I added more and more mystery and suspense to my stories. I went from writing romance, to writing romantic suspense, to writing murder mysteries with a dash of romance. Suddenly, these POV rules didn't apply as much as they used to.

I was reading a mystery novel written by a well-known author last month. I very much enjoyed the story but I wouldn't describe the ending as happy in any sense of the word. Now, let me talk about the POVs in his story. (I had just finished a round of edits when I read it so it might explain why they struck me so much). The author didn't have just 2, or 3, or 4 different POVs in the story, he had many more. Not only that, but he often switched POVs within the same scene.

None of the POV rules appeared to apply to his story--or to any other genres but romance.

So, what's my current take on POVs?

- Most of my scenes are in my hero's or heroine's POVs, but I choose the POV that conveys the information the most natural and seamless way possible.

- If there are love scenes, they can be in any POV. It's whatever rocks my boat when I write it.

- I try not to switch POV within a scene, but I write some scenes in other characters' POVs. My vilains have voices, very loud and disturbing voices.

- And I still like a satisfying ending. I want my readers to enjoy the ride and disembark happy--not curse me or throw the book back at me.

Next month I'll give you a taste of Red in the Snow. I know I said that last month, but my excerpt isn't quite ready yet. Besides, it's too hot outside to mention the word snow.

Stay safe! Enjoy the rest of your summer! Hugs!

JS

 

 

J. S. Marlo's Website

They Don't Make Them Like That Anymore by Eileen O'Finlan

 

                               

Whenever I do research for a new historical novel, I always find things that surprise me. Currently, I'm working on the research for the third book in my Children of Ireland series. Like Erin's Children, this one will also be set in Worcester, Massachusetts but a decade later during the American Civil War.

Naturally, I have to research the politics of the time, life in the military and on the home front, as well as the war itself. Equally important is research on everyday life at that time. That is my favorite type of research. I find it fascinating to learn about how people lived, what they wore, what they ate, what they did for work and leisure, and what things they had in their homes.

Recently, I read about some types of furniture that were common in the mid-19th century. I was amazed to learn that patent - that is, convertible, collapsible, or folding furniture - was all the rage in American middle-class homes. These included such items as sofas and lounges that converted to a bed, a bed or a bath tub that converted to a wardrobe, or a bench that doubled as a table.

Wanting to see for myself what some of these furnishings looked like, I did an online search for images of 19th century American patent furniture. My favorite is the Wooton Patent desk. Closed it looks like a intricately carved work of art. Open its double doors to reveal a multitude of drawers and cubby holes, many of them on the inside of the doors, and a pullout platform for writing. It is a masterpiece of a desk.

Another favorite is the metamorphic desk chair. Closed it's a round table, but pull it open and you have a chair with a rounded back attached by a hinge to a half-moon table with a drawer.

These are just a few of the innovative designs of 19th century furniture. I would welcome either as additions in my own home. I'm sure I will find a place for some of these items in my next novel. Meanwhile, I have more research to do. I wonder what else will surprise me.

The Travelling Writer by Debra Loughead

 

Amazon.com: Happenstance: 9780228632696: Loughead, Debra, Bell, Nancy M.: Books

It’s summertime and everyone is going somewhere, or so it seems. But me, not so much. Travel feels more like work these days, all that packing and ‘travelling’, sitting in one place for too long to get wherever you’re going, those endless lineups, and all those unexpected surprises, whether good or bad. And people! So many of them! Everywhere! (Yep, I’m an introvert!)

But once upon a time in my early days as a kidlit writer (when I was younger and far more energetic) school visits were the bread-and-butter of children’s book writers because they paid so well. Travel was a part of my job description, visiting schools near and far to promote books and the joys of reading.

I did several week-long reading tours in Sudbury, and a stint on Manitoulin Island once; a Young Author’s Conference in Montreal, and one in the Eastern Townships. The travel was never the fun part, but once I got there I totally got into the spirit with all those enthusiastic, animated faces gazing up at me. In the children’s naïve eyes you’re truly a god of words! My two favourite Q & A questions: ‘Did you come here in a limo?’ (hah, good one) and ‘Do you know JK Rowling?’ Now I actually did see her do a reading once in a gigantic venue in Toronto, so at least I could tell them that.

Every so often I can’t help but reminisce about November 2003, when I experienced the trip of a lifetime to the Labrador Creative Arts festival in Happy Valley / Goose Bay. It was one of those trips when you have to weigh the good points against the bad, and the good parts always wind up winning. Sometimes even the bad points turn into good ones in retrospect. Which is exactly what happened to me.

It was an eight-day trip, with a busy work schedule, school visits from Wednesday until Friday, drama workshops with students on Saturday and Sunday; for that first part of the trip I was billeted with a lovely lady whose home-cooked dinners included arctic char and caribou stew.  Every evening her elderly mother entertained us on the accordion. On Monday I departed on a  trip via Twin Otter to two northerly coastal villages, Hopedale and Postville, from Monday until Tuesday, followed by my return trip to T.O. on Wednesday. Oh, and there were soirees every evening that first week, my deah, with plenty of wine and food and partying with the other guest artists. Exhausting to say the least, but on one of those evenings I was treated to a dazzling display of the Aurora Borealis in all their multi-hued glory. 

Flying to the coastal villages on Monday in what amounted to a bus with wings, was nerve wracking at first—we were on a milk run, and stopped at every town. But once my stomach adapted to the elevator flips with each new take-off and landing, I enjoyed the stark subarctic panorama not that far below the plane. And eventually, after my Monday presentation in Hopedale, I was flown to Postville where I’d be presenting Tuesday morning before being flown back to Happy Valley / Goose Bay. Which meant I had to spend the night there.  

When I was dropped off at the airline ‘terminal’, a garage in the middle of nowhere, nobody was there to greet me. Finally, after the staff of one made a phone call for me, a van came crunching up the ice-encrusted road to pick me up. Never get into a car with a stranger, my mom always taught me, but I was doing this right now. Thankfully he delivered me to the local school (the only school) where I’d be presenting the next day. There they broke the news to me that since nobody had offered to billet me, I’d have to stay at the local boarding house. Huh? A boarding house in a town of 200 people? I started to feel uneasy. For good reason.

The teacher who ran the boarding house led me there—right up the hill from the school.  A clapboard four bedroom bungalow with two bathrooms. Then she announced I’d be staying there with two other boarders, a couple of men who were working in town.  

“Oh,” I said, stomach beginning to churn. “Will you be spending the night too?”

“Oh no,” my ‘hostess’ announced. “I’m going home after I make your supper.”

So there I was, ‘trapped’ for the night in a boarding house with two strange men I’d never laid eyes on in my life. Hmmmm. 

I checked the lock on my bedroom door, one of those press-in buttons. At least it worked. I checked the window, to make sure that if someone were trying to break in through my door, I could jump out and flee into the subarctic night, screaming for help clad only in my nightgown and likely not be heard by anyone. I was trapped there, and had to make the best of it. Because there is no escape from Postville. You can only get out by boat, plane or snowmobile.  

I took every medication I had in my kit, which wasn’t much. Tylenol, stomach antacid, and an Ativan. It worked. I went to bed early so I wouldn’t have to sit in the ‘common room’ with the two strange men. I actually slept, and did a great presentation on Tuesday. Then, while I was awaiting the plane, I had the good fortune to meet an elderly Innu man, the oldest man in Canada with a working dog sled team. He proudly displayed his Queen’s Jubilee medal. I met his dogs, and saw their food, a crateful of seal entrails. I took photos. It was amazing.  

What a great trip—and almost worth every bit of angst!

From the Editor's Desk: Creativity - JD Shipton

 I was wandering around in my mind the other day, kicking over the occasional mental rock in search of plot devices for this book I'm planning to write. Essentially trying to imagine the unimaginable: a post biological intelligence, in this case. 

 As a motive for their investigation of our humble and bucolic little lump of dirt, I had given some thought to creativity as being something they'd come to value in their machine age- so much so that perhaps they'd send probes to their galactic neighbors in search of it. One could make the argument that its a faculty which must be lost when all your synapses become circuit boards, and all your thoughts algorithms. I suppose some manner of random number (binary, in our digital case) generator could be implemented to bring forth novelty (much as our DNA seems to do), but the result would be almost complete conceptual gibberish, rather than, say, Dali's "Swans Reflecting Elephants".  

 However, nothing in this painting is a truly created concept, just re-imagined.  Everything we do and see is processed by our meat computer in exactly the same way as would be by a silicon/gold matrix of circuits and diodes- which shouldn't be surprising, as have we not built computers as emulations of our own, lipid-based thinking machines? Short and long term memory, interconnected circuits, binary outputs down at the level of the receptors at the end of the synapse, programming based on commonly understood notions that are coded as fact. 

 So don't beat yourself up too badly when you can't seem to conjure from the ether completely novel concepts, unheard of and unseen by the eyes of man or machine.  I say it is simply not possible, given our tools and programming. What we can do is what has ever been done: stretch the boundaries of the framework we have to the point that maybe you can burst the seam a little at one side and spill into the unknown. 

Lazy? Summer Days by Julie Christen

Tally the Barn Cat (Currently NOT murdering something.)

"But you have your summers off?!" I hear so often as a teacher when I happen to have a weak moment and accidentally let it slip that I am tired, exhausted, pooped. But the truth is, I actually think I work harder throughout the summer than I do any other months of the year. 

And I LOVE it!

On a farm, something is always hungry, dirty, empty, broken, sick, too long, too short, too dry, too wet, not quite done, or needs redoing. Plus, as I get older, at the end of each summer day, my back hurts, my hands are sore, my shoulders ache, and my brain is mush.

And I LOVE it!

No need for a gym membership here. 

Sometimes, however, I find it hard to balance my inside time with my outside time. Like today, though it's an absolutely beautiful, sunny 79 degrees out, I am inside writing for the morning. I've tried taking my laptop outside to write on the front or back porch, but my brain feels too pulled toward distractions whenever I try that. Not to mention the glare on my screen. My solution has been to think of my day in chunks of work/reward time. 

I just put in a load of laundry and steam-cleaned the living room carpet. Now I get to revise a chapter of Nokota Voices 2 (working title).

I just filled bird feeders, mowed the lawn, and scooped poop. Now I get to write my blog.

I just cleaned the chicken coop and swept the barn. Now I get to read a friend's pdf book so I can give them a review.

It works in reverse, too. 

I just finished my blog. Now I get to trim a pasture tree and go make some junk art.

I just wrote 5 pages. Now I get to weed my vegetable garden and eat all the sugar snap peas.

I just did a bunch of research for my book. Now I get to enjoy a drink with my husband on the porch and watch a thunderstorm roll in.

See what I mean? It's just my weird little way of finding balance as I blaze through the summer. Then, I'll be on to autumn!

Make hay while the sun shines! Then enjoy a homemade slushy reward. 

Echoes of the Nokota, Nokota Voices, and Sparkslingers nestled on local bookstore shelves.

Frank Kuntz and I will be in Medora, ND, 

at Chasing Horses Gifts and Decor Store, 

signing books on 

August 16 and 17th! 

 

"Sisters" Rock Art (Thanks, Pinterest.)

National Sisters Day was August 3! My four sisters and I finally found a day to spend together. 

We laughed and talked and even cried a little on our special day out.

"Happy Place"

98 Degrees. 

RainyDay and I often stand in front of the barn fan, enjoying the scenery.

Click to go to my website and order your copy!