FOR EDITORS, PROOFREADERS AND WRITERS

Here’s how to build a knockout editing portfolio page even if you’re relatively new to the editing or proofreading field.

Deciding what to include, what to omit, and how to lay it out so that it grabs a potential client’s attention can be tricky. If your business is new you might not have a lot to shout about. If you’re established, you might have too much.

One thing’s for sure, though – an editing site without a visible portfolio is at a disadvantage. It’s the next best thing to the social proof of a testimonial because it demonstrates that you practise what you preach.

Using stories is a method every editor can use to bring their portfolio page to life.

Stories are lovely additions to any portfolio page because they give us the opportunity to take our potential clients behind the scenes ... to show them how we helped and how the project made us feel.

That’s important because it shifts the attention away from mechanics and towards emotion.

Those of us who work with non-publisher clients such as independent authors, academics, businesses and students are asking our clients to take a big leap ... to put their project in the hands of someone they’ve never met, and pay for the privilege.
It’s a huge ask and takes not a little courage for some. Think about it from the client’s point of view:

• An indie author has put their heart and soul into a work of fiction. It’s personal. They’ve used their own experiences to give life and depth to their characters.
• An agency has developed a series of advertisements for a big-name corporation. It’s not just the agency’s rep on the line. There’s a global brand at stake.
• An academic whose first language isn’t English is submitting their research to a peer-reviewed journal. Getting published could be career-changing for them.

These clients will be looking for an editor they can trust, someone who gets them, understands what their problems are and can solve them without making a song and dance about it.

Trust is something that is usually earned over time – think about your friendships and partnerships. Editors and their clients don’t always have the luxury of time. What’s needed is something that will fast-track the growth of trust.
​
Word-of-mouth recommendations are fantastic for this. Testimonials from named clients are also excellent social proof. Portfolios work in the same way. The problem is, they can be boring.

A partial screenshot of my boring but useful list!

I’m not going to suggest you dump your long lists. Boring though they may be, I believe there’s power in them, and for two reasons:
​

• Keyword juice: Book and article titles, and author names can be good for SEO. Some years ago, I secured a proofreading job with an academic who’d come across my website while searching for information about a social theorist. One of the theorist’s books was included in a bullet list in my academic portfolio, and the page popped up in Google’s search results.
• Demonstration of experience: Lists of completed projects can pack a punch because they show at a glance that you can do what you say on your editing tin.

So, if you want to keep your long lists, do so. I have. Make them more accessible and aesthetically pleasing by breaking them into subjects or genres.

Add thumbnails of book jackets, journal covers or client logos (subject to securing permission from the client).

Use a carousel or slideshow plug-in to show off multiple images without cluttering up the page.

​Now it’s time to add the wow factor. Stories take the portfolio one stage further. They’re basically case studies of editing and proofreading in practice. Can you recognize yourself in the following list?

• The established editor: You have a long, boring list but you want to keep your visitors awake.
• The NDA-bound editor: You’re prevented from publishing a long, boring list because of the non-disclosure agreements you’ve signed.
• The new editor: You’d love to have a long, boring list but that’s not yet your problem. Filling space is.

Stories work for all three groups of editors:
​

• The established editor: You can focus on two or three projects and talk about what the client was looking for, how you helped, what you loved and what you learned.
• The NDA-bound editor: You can omit brand names and concentrate on the client’s problems, how you solved them, and what the outcomes were.
• The new editor: Even if you’ve completed only 4 projects, you can make your portfolio page sing by going deeper into the story behind the editing project.

It’s up to you what you include but consider the following:
​

• The ideal client: What kind of voice will be most compelling to them? What’s worrying them, and how might you fix that? How do you want them to feel when they’re on your website?
• Your brand values: What do you stand for? What makes you tick? What excites you about your job?
• Problems and solutions: What challenges have you faced, how did you overcome them and what was the result?

Example 1
I’m a crime fiction and thriller editor who works for a lot of first-time novelists. Many haven’t worked with an editor and don’t know what to expect. Some feel anxious and exposed. My two portfolio stories have a friendly, informal tone.
​
One of my case studies focuses on a self-publishing series author whose fictional world I’ve become close to. By showing how we work together and how his writing makes me feel, I demonstrate my advocacy for self-publishing and the thrill I get from working with indie authors, the emotional connection I make with the characters, and the delight I experience in seeing writers hone their craft.

Example 2
If you work with corporates, your stories might have a reassuring, professional tone that conveys confidence and pragmatism.
​
Your case studies could feature clients whose projects required the management of privacy and confidentiality concerns. You could use the space to talk about the challenges you faced and the successes you and your clients achieved even though the projects were complex and demanding.

Example 3
If you work with publishers, you could create case studies that show how you managed tight deadlines, a controlled brief, and a detailed style guide.
​
The stories could highlight some of the problems you and the publisher overcame, your enthusiasm for the subject area, the pride you felt on seeing the book published, knowing the part you’d played in its publication journey.

​If your home page is all about the client, the portfolio page can be all about relationships. By crafting stories for our portfolios, we can invite potential clients onto the stage and let them experience – if only fleetingly – editing in action.
​
And because the case studies are real, they’re a powerful tool for knocking down barriers to trust. They show a client how we might help them, just as we’ve helped others.

Louise Harnby is a line editor, copyeditor and proofreader who specializes in working with crime, mystery, suspense and thriller writers.

She is an Advanced Professional Member of the Chartered Institute of Editing and Proofreading (CIEP) and co-hosts The Editing Podcast.

• Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
• Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
• Learn: Books and courses
• Discover: Resources for authors and editors

Some crime writers are planners. Some are pantsers (so called because they fly by the seat of their pants). Neither is better than the other. What matters is that the method you choose to write your story works for you and results in a tale well told.

Being either a planner or a pantser won’t determine whether you sell lots of books. A story that makes sense – one that reads as if you had carefully planned it – is what’s key to creating an experience that readers will relish.

So what do some of the big-name crime writers have to say on the matter?

‘The more I talk to other crime writers the more I start to become fairly sure that for each writer there is an ideal way, but there isn’t one ideal way,’ says Sophie Hannah.

I think I’ve read everything Harlan Coben’s ever written. If I haven’t, it’s waiting in the pile or on the Kindle. If you’d asked me, I’d have marked him as a planner. His stories hang together so well; he ties up every loose end. And I always have that ‘Ah, that’s what happened’ moment. But in fact, Coben’s a pantser:

​Maybe you’re like him or Julia Heaberlin:

​Or perhaps you’re like Susan Spann:

Or Hannah:

​To help you decide whether to plan or pants, consider the following:
​

• Will planning impede your creativity?
• How fast do you write?
• When do you want to find out whether your plot works?
• Are you a linear or a non-linear writer?
• How will you decide where to plant your clues?
• How will you ensure your story has a cohesive structure?’

Some writers fear that planning will mute their creativity and the process of discovery. The following excerpt is from an article from the NY Book Editors blog:

Heaberlin feels that surrendering control to her characters is essential to the creative unfolding of her stories:

However, passionate planners feel differently. Their plans are as much a form of artistry as the actual writing. Here’s Hannah on how a plan needn’t thwart spontaneity:

Some authors write multiple drafts to ensure the book’s plot works. That slows down the process. Hannah’s detailed planning approach means her first draft works; she’s already identified where the problems are before she gets started on the actual writing process.

​Jeffery ​Deaver concurs:

He then walks around talking to himself, deciding where on the whiteboard the clues need to go so that the main plot and various subplots will work. And if he finds that a clue won’t work in a particular place because, say, character X doesn’t know Y yet, he moves the post-it note. It’s an eight-month process but once it’s done, ‘writing comes quickly’.
​
Still, don’t get too comfy! Andy Martin spent the best part of 12 months in the company of Lee Child as he wrote Make Me:

Which just goes to show that being a pantser doesn’t necessarily mean being a slow writer.

If you’re a pantser, the idea of finding yourself stuck in a hole after months of writing might not terrify you. Lee Child certainly doesn’t let it stop him.

Says Henry Sutton, 

In an interview with Harry Brett, Heaberlin acknowledges the need for third-party assistance to fill in the gaps and polish her stories:

Contrast that approach with those of these two planners:

In an interview with Henry Sutton in May 2018, Deaver discussed how planning can help the non-linear writer:

So Deaver’s method allows him to concentrate on telling the part of the story he wants to tell when he wants to tell it.

For every writer who frets at the thought of not knowing where they’re going, there’s another for whom that’s a thrill. Child is a linear writer, and Zachary Petit thinks that ‘very well may be the key to his sharp, bestselling prose’.

If you too enjoy sharing the rollercoaster ride with your protagonist, pantsing could be the best way for you to tell your story. If not, detailed planning might suit you better.

Spann has a two-handed strategy for planning. And it’s all to do with the clues.
The first outline – the one that will determine what she writes – needn’t be particularly detailed. It’s a map of each scene, and each clue, that enables her to keep her sleuth on track.
​
Just as important, however, is the other outline:

​I like her on- and offstage approach, and I think it’s particularly worth bearing in mind if you’re a self-publisher who’s not going to be commissioning developmental or structural editing.

What you don’t want is to go straight to working with a line or copyeditor and have them tell you your clues don’t make sense, because you’d be paying them to paint your walls even though there are still large cracks in the plasterwork.
​
That offstage outline could help you to complete the build before you start tidying up.

One thing’s for sure: whether you choose to plan or pants your way through the process, put structure front and centre. Recall my comment above about how Coben always leaves me feeling like he must have had everything worked out from the outset. That’s because however he gets from A to B, he understands structure.

Pantsing isn’t about ignoring structure, but about shifting the order of play. Says Deaver:

And here’s domestic noir author Julia Crouch to wrap things up for us:

Good luck with your planning or pantsing!

• Andy Martin. The man with no plot: How I watched Lee Child write a Jack Reacher novel. The Conversation. 2015.
• Harlan Coben. FAQ.
• How to write crime – Harry Brett in conversation with Sophie Hannah and Julia Heaberlin. Waterstones, Norwich. 2018.
• Jeffery Deaver – The cutting edge. Henry Sutton in conversation with Jeffery Deaver. National Centre for Writing. 2018.
• Julia Crouch. Five tips for keeping your readers gripped. Noirwich. 2018.
• NY Book Editors. Planning to outline your novel? Don’t.
• Sophie Hannah. Why and how I plan my novels. 2018.
• Susan Spann. 25 things you need to know about writing mysteries. TerribleMinds: Chuck Wendig. 2013.
• The different levels of editing: Proofreading and beyond. Louise Harnby. The Parlour, 2011.
• Zachary Petit. Lee Child debunks the biggest writing myths. 2012.

Louise Harnby is a line editor, copyeditor and proofreader who specializes in working with crime, mystery, suspense and thriller writers.

She is an Advanced Professional Member of the Chartered Institute of Editing and Proofreading (CIEP) and co-hosts The Editing Podcast.

• Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
• Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
• Learn: Books and courses
• Discover: Resources for authors and editors

If you don't like marketing, but you do like editing and proofreading, here's how you can learn to do your job better and market yourself at the same time.

Here are three questions:

1. Do you hate marketing, or at least dislike it?
2. How about editing or proofreading. That’s your job. Do you like it?
3. What about learning how to do your job better? Those courses you take, books you read, and conferences you attend – do you enjoy those?

​
​If the answer to all three is yes, you’re in marketing heaven!

​I’m not kidding you. If you love learning about how to do your job better, and are prepared to make time in your business schedule for this continued professional development (CPD), you have at your fingertips all the marketing tools you need.

Here’s another question:

Do you think there comes a point when you’ve learned all there is to learn about being a better editor?

If you answered no to that, you’re in even better shape from a marketing point of view because you will never run out of ideas to connect with your target client.

And here’s another question:

Do you think you have no time in your schedule to learn how to become a better editor?

If you answered yes, you need to make time. Every editor needs to continue learning. Our business isn’t static. New tools, resources and methods of working are a feature of our business landscape. Language use changes as society’s values shift. Markets expand and retract, which requires a response from us in terms of how we make ourselves visible.
​
If you answered no, that’s great news because it means you have time for marketing. I know – you don’t like marketing. But that’s fine because we’re not calling it marketing. We’re calling it CPD, which you do like!

Everyone who knows me knows I love marketing my editing business. Lucky me – it’s much easier to do something necessary when you enjoy it.

What a lot of people don’t get is how I make time for it and how I get myself in the mindset to devote that time to it.

I don’t have a problem with calling it marketing. But the truth is that so much of the marketing I do is not about marketing. It’s about communicating what I’ve researched and learned.

I love line and copyediting crime fiction. I think I’m really good at it. But I don’t think I’ve learned everything there is to learn. Not for a single minute.

That leaves me with stuff to do. I have to learn.

So off I go to various national editorial societies’ websites. I head for their training pages. I look for courses that will teach me how to be a better crime-fiction editor.
There aren’t any.

I turn to Google. Plenty of help for writers, but not specifically for editors. That’s fine.
And so here’s what I’ve done: read books about crime writing, and attended workshops, author readings, and crime-writing festivals (I live a stone’s throw away from the National Centre for Writing and the annual Noirwich festival). And I’ve continued to read a ton of crime fiction.

And to help me digest what I’ve learned, I’ve taken notes along the way. It’s what I’ve done all my life when I’m learning – O levels (as they were called in my day), A levels, my degree … notes, notes and more notes.
​
How much time has it taken? Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve been having too much fun. I love reading; I don’t count the hours I spend doing it. How long did the author event last? I’ve no clue. My husband and I had dinner afterwards though, so it was like a date. And it would have been rude to look at my watch.

Some time ago I wrote a blog post about planning when writing crime fiction. I couldn’t churn out 2,000 words just like that; I’m not the world’s authority on the subject.

So I referred to my notes from the event with a famous crime writer. Turns out the guy talked about planning, and told us about his and a fellow crime writer’s approach to the matter.

Then I reread a chapter from a book on how to write crime fiction and found additional insights there. More notes.

Then I I read 14 online articles about plotting and pantsing too. Yet more notes.

And then I put all those notes together, which really helped me to order my thoughts. I created a draft. Redrafted. Edited it. Published it.

Now it's on my blog and in my resource library. Some people might call it content marketing. And it is, because it helps beginner indie authors work out when they will attend to the structure of their crime fiction – either before they start writing, or after.

From that point of view, it is useful, shareable, problem-solving content, which is a perfectly reasonable definition of content marketing.

​Let's look at it another way. I learned a lot of things I didn’t know before. I can use that knowledge to make me a better editor.

I took notes and drafted those notes into an article. This is no different to what I did at least once a week at university. I wasn’t marketing then; I was learning.
​
What is different is that no one but my professor was interested in my article. That’s not the case for my planning piece. That article will help some self-publishers on their writing journey.

A few might just decide to hire me to line or copyedit for them. It’s happened before. Maybe it will happen again tomorrow, or next month, or next year. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter – the article will stay on my site for as long as it’s relevant.

If the idea of marketing your business leaves you feeling overwhelmed, rethink the language you use to describe what’s required.

You probably don’t consider attending an editorial conference a marketing activity, even though it might lead to referrals. It’s more likely you think of it as a business development and networking opportunity.

You probably don’t consider a training course to be marketing. It’s more likely you think of it as editorial education.

You probably don’t consider reading a book about the craft of writing to be marketing. It’s more likely you consider it knowledge acquisition.
​
So how about this?
​

• Pick up a book, attend a course, watch a webinar, complete a tutorial – whatever you think will teach you how to be a better editor and do a better job for your clients. This is training.
• Make notes based on that research. This is embedding knowledge.
• Turn those notes into something readable, just like when you were at school or uni. This is writing an essay.
• Place that essay somewhere other than your teacher’s in-tray. Like a blog or somewhere on your website where a potential client might learn from it too. This is publishing research.
• Now use social media to drive awareness about that essay. It’s a kind of open-access thing … just like the academics do. This is sharing subject knowledge.

Training, embedding knowledge, writing essays, publishing research, sharing subject knowledge. Smashing stuff. Nicely done.

And between you and me, it’s great content marketing too. But, shh, let’s keep that quiet. I know you don’t like marketing.

If you don’t like marketing, maybe that’s because the kind of marketing you’re doing isn’t likeable. In that case, think about what you do like about running your business, and make those things the pivot for your marketing.

In other words, it doesn’t need to be about choosing between marketing your editing business and learning to be a better editor, but about the former being a consequence of the latter. Two birds. One stone.

Me? I’m off to read the Harlan Coben. Just for fun, mind you!

Louise Harnby is a line editor, copyeditor and proofreader who specializes in working with crime, mystery, suspense and thriller writers.
​
She is an Advanced Professional Member of the Chartered Institute of Editing and Proofreading (CIEP) and co-hosts The Editing Podcast.

• Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
• Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
• Learn: Books and courses
• Discover: Resources for authors and editors

Are you using free indirect speech in your writing? This article provides an overview of what it is and how it can spice up crime fiction and thrillers.

In a nutshell, free indirect speech offers the essence of first-person dialogue or thought but through a third-person viewpoint. It’s also referred to as free indirect style and free indirect discourse.

The character’s voice takes the lead, but without the clutter of speech marks, speech tags, italic, or other devices to indicate who’s thinking or saying what.

It’s a useful tool to have in your sentence-level toolbox because:

1. It’s flexible and can add interest
2. It can make for a leaner narrative
3. It can deepen our understanding of a character

Let's look at three contrasting third-person narrative styles in action so you can see how free indirect speech works:

​Indirect/reported​

• ​Rathbone thought Cumberbatch’s portrayal of Sherlock Holmes was excellent and decided it was time to hang up his deerstalker.

Direct/quoted

• ​‘Time I hung up my deerstalker,’ said Rathbone. ‘That Cumberbatch chap’s doing a sterling job with Holmes.’

Free indirect speech​

• ​Time to hang up his deerstalker – that Cumberbatch chap was doing a sterling job with Holmes.

Free indirect speech (FIS) is flexible because it can be blended seamlessly with other third-person narrative styles.
 
Let’s say you want to convey information about a character’s physical description, their experiences, and their thoughts – what they think and delivered in the way they’d say it.
 
You could use third-person objective for the description, third-person limited for the experience, and free indirect speech for some of the thought processes.
 
In other words, you have a single narrative viewpoint but styled in different ways. You’re not changing the viewpoint, but rather shifting the distance between the reader and the character. And that can make your prose more interesting.
 
Here’s an example from Val McDermid’s Insidious Intent (p. 14). She begins with a more distant third-person narrator who reports what had been on Elinor Blessing’s mind, and when. Then she shifts to free indirect speech (the bold text). This gives us temporary access to Blessing’s innermost thoughts – her irritation – and her lightly sweary tone, but still in the third-person:

Espionage author Philip Prowse employs a similar shift in Hellyer’s Trip (p. 194):

FIS is a useful tool when you want to declutter.
 
Direct speech and thoughts are often tagged so that the reader knows who’s speaking/thinking:
​

• ‘Blah blah,’ she said.
• Blah blah, she wondered.

 
With regard to thoughts, there’s nothing wrong with a reader being told that a character thought this or wondered that, but tagging can be interruptive and render your prose overworked and laboured if that’s the only device you use.
 
Imagine your viewpoint character’s in a tight spot – a fight scene with an arch enemy. The pace of the action is lightning quick and you want that to be reflected in how your viewpoint character experiences the scene. FIS enables you to ditch the tags, focus on what’s going on in the character’s head, and maintain a cracking pace.
 
The opening chapter of Stephen Lloyd Jones’s The Silenced contains numerous examples of free indirect speech dotted about. Mallory is being hunted by the bad guys. She’s already disarmed one in a violent confrontation and fears more are on the way. Jones keeps the tension high by splintering descriptions of step-by-step action with free-indirect-styled insights into his protagonist’s deepest thought processes as, ridden with terror, she tries to find a way out of her predicament:

​Here’s an excerpt from Lee Child’s The Hard Way (p. 64). Child doesn’t use FIS to close the narrative distance. Instead, he opts to shift into first-person thoughts. Reacher is wondering if he’s been made, and whether it matters:

Some might argue that this is a little clunkier than going down the FIS route, but perhaps he wanted to retain a sense of Reacher’s clinical, military-style dissection of the problem in hand.
 
If Child had elected to use FIS, it might have looked like this:

It’s a good reminder that choice of narrative style isn’t about right or wrong but about intention – what works for your writing and your character in a particular situation.

A third-person narrator is the bridge between the character and the reader. As such, it has its own voice. If there’s more than one viewpoint character in your novel, we can learn what we need to know via a narrator but the voice will not be the same as when the characters are speaking in the first person.
 
FIS allows the reader to stay in third-person but access a character’s intimate world view and their voice. It closes the distance between the reader and the character because the bridging narrator is pushed to the side, but only temporarily.
 
That temporary pushing-aside means the writer isn’t bound to the character’s voice, state of mind and internal processing. When the narrator takes up its role once more, the reader takes a step back.
 
Furthermore, there might be times when we need to hear that character’s voice but the spoken word would seem unnatural:

• Perhaps they don’t have time to verbalize (a high-octane escape scene).
• Maybe they’re on their own and talking to themselves isn’t a known trait.
• Speaking out loud would give them away.
• Dialogue would seem forced because a character wouldn’t give voice to the words in real life.

 
FIS therefore allows a character to speak without speech – a silent voice, if you like.
 
Think about transgressor narratives in particular. If you want to give your readers intimate insights into a perpetrator’s pathology and motivations, but are writing in the third-person, FIS could be just the ticket.
 
Here’s an example from Harlan Coben’s Stay Close (chapter 25). Ken and his partner Barbie are a murderous couple bound together by sadism and psychopathy. Ken is preparing for the capture and torture of a police officer whom he believes is a threat:

This excerpt is from an audiobook. While listening, I could hear how the voice artist, Nick Landrum, used pitch to shift narrative distance.
 
The book’s entire narrative is in the third-person, but Landrum used a higher pitch when presenting the narrator voice. Ken’s dialogue, however, is in a lower pitch, and so is the free indirect speech of this character – we get to hear the essence of Ken even when he’s not speaking out loud.
 
If you’re considering turning your novel into an audiobook, FIS could enrich the emotionality of the telling, and the connection with your listener.

To decide whether to play with free indirect speech, consider narrative distance and the impact it can have on a scene.
 
Look at these short paragraphs, all of which convey the same information. All are grammatically correct but the reader’s experience is different because of the way in which the information is given, and by whom.

Example 1

• Dave glanced at the guy’s hand and spotted the absence of the signature tattoo. It forced him to consider the integrity of the intel he’d been given. Again. And it bothered him.
• Third-person: A narrator reports the situation and what the character’s thinking.
• Most distant. There’s shallower emotional connection between the reader and the viewpoint character. The narrator’s voice is more clinical and dominates.

Example 2

• Dave glanced at the guy’s hand and spotted the absence of the signature tattoo. ‘Christ,’ he muttered under his breath, not for the first time questioning the integrity of the intel he’d been given.
• Third-person: A narrator reports the situation and most of what the character’s thinking.
• First-person: A character reports a little of what he’s thinking.
  
• Less distant. The dialogue burst gives voice to the character, which introduces tension.

Example 3

• Dave glanced at the guy’s hand and spotted the absence of the signature tattoo. Christ, he thought. Maybe my intel’s been compromised yet again.
• Third-person: A narrator reports the situation.
• First-person: A character reports what he’s thinking.
• Closer. Readers might find italic thoughts and tags disruptive, or believe that such well-structured thoughts aren’t authentic.

Example 4

• Dave glanced at the guy’s hand and spotted the absence of the signature tattoo. ‘Christ, maybe my intel’s been compromised again,’ he muttered.
• Third-person: A narrator reports the situation.
• First-person: A character shares his concerns out loud.
• As close as (3) above. Dialogue might seem forced, unnatural, spoken purely to help the reader understand what the problem is.

Example 5

• Dave glanced at the guy’s hand. No signature tattoo. Christ, had his intel been compromised again?
• Third-person: A narrator reports the situation, and a character reports what he’s thinking via free indirect style.
• We’re right inside the character’s head but there’s no cluttering italic, speech marks or tagging. The free indirect style feels natural precisely because it’s rendered in the third-person and yet it holds the intimacy of a first-person experience offered in (3) and (4).

Example 6

• I glanced at the guy’s hand. There was no signature tattoo. Christ, had my intel been compromised again?
• First-person: A viewpoint character reports the situation and what he’s thinking.
• Closest. We’re right inside the character’s head, there’s no clutter, and the narrative feels completely natural. However, this only works if you’ve chosen a first-person narrative for this viewpoint character throughout the book, which you might find limiting.

Your choice will depend on your intention. Think about your character, their personality, the situation they’re in, which emotions they’re experiencing, and the degree to which you want your reader to intimately connect with them.
 
Consider the following examples in relation to the table above:

• Is the scene fast-paced and do you want to keep your sentences lean and keen to reflect that pace? The viewpoint character might not have the mental space to articulate fully rounded thoughts or speech because they’re in a fight or trying to escape. In that case, the free indirect style of 5 might suit you. So might 6 if you’re writing in the first person.
• Is the viewpoint character hiding, observing something going on but invisible to those around them? If they feel in command but are taking care to remain unnoticed, 2 might offer you the required tension while enabling you to retain tight control over the narrative via a narrator.
• If your character has the space to think but is panicking, you might prefer 3 or 4. Anxiety can lead people to articulate complex thoughts, even voice them out loud, in the search for clarity.
• If your viewpoint character’s personality is cooler, more detached, you might prefer the emotional disconnectedness of 1.
• And if you’re writing in the third-person, but want the reader to feel intimately connected with the viewpoint character, you might swing back to the free indirect style of 5.

FIS is used across genres, but I think it’s a particularly effective tool in crime writing because of its ability to simultaneously embrace brevity and communicate intimacy.
 
Jon Gingerich sums up as follows: ‘Free Indirect Discourse takes advantage of the biggest asset a first-person P.O.V. has (access) and combines it with the single best benefit of a third-person narrative (reliability). It allows the narrator to dig deep into a character’s thoughts and emotions without being permanently tied to that person’s P.O.V. Done correctly, it can offer the best of both worlds.’
 
If you haven’t yet played with it, give it a go, especially if you’re looking for ways to trim the fat.

• Making Sense of Point of View (book by Louise Harnby)
• Editing Fiction at Sentence Level (book by Louise Harnby)
• ‘The Benefits of Free Indirect Discourse.’ LitReactor, 2012
• Hellyer’s Trip by Philip Prowse. Kernel Books, 2018
• Insidious Intent by Val McDermid. Little, Brown, 2017
• Stay Close by Harlan Coben. Whole Story Audiobooks, 2012
• The Hard Way by Lee Child. Bantam Press, 2006
• The Silenced by Stephen Lloyd Jones. Headline, 2018

Louise Harnby is a line editor, copyeditor and proofreader who specializes in working with crime, mystery, suspense and thriller writers.
She is an Advanced Professional Member of the Chartered Institute of Editing and Proofreading (CIEP) and co-hosts The Editing Podcast.

• Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
• Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
• Learn: Books and courses
• Discover: Resources for authors and editors