One idiom I have heard a lot regarding writing—regarding many things, actually—is to first learn the rules before trying to break them. I have been writing seriously for several years, taking classes, writing stories, and trying to improve the quality of my craft. And it was only recently that I finally understood this idiom with regard to writing, at least in part.
While studying Ursula K. LeGuin’s book on writing titled Steering the Craft, I have learned that changing tenses when doing flashbacks can both help set off the time shift as well as further engage the reader.
The Foundational Rules
In high school, we learned about the difference between verbs in the present tense (I am) and verbs in the past tense (I was.) For the most part, we were told to pick a tense and stick with it as it can become confusing when jumping around from sentence to sentence, paragraph to paragraph, and scene to scene. Of course, some tense changes are normal, but they need to be understood and planned.
When I really focused on writing fiction, I learned that most stories are told in past tense. That makes total sense as the storyteller (the author) is relaying something that has presumably already happened, even if it is fictitious. Whether sitting around a campfire or a water cooler, stories generally occur about events in the past. Read any classic novel and ninety-nine percent of the time, it will be in past tense.
In the Now
Then some authors started telling stories in present tense. Charles Dickens’ Bleak House is an early example of present tense narration. And the approach is interesting as it really pulls the reader into “that moment” of whatever the characters are experiencing. Meant to seem more immediate, more impending, it can connect a reader more closely to the character and their emotions.
I have only written sparingly in present tense, but I agree on how it better connects the reader into the immediacy of the moment. I like it. It’s challenging. And it works well for some stories. But not all. There are also scenes and stories that just make more sense told in the past tense.
Getting Spicy
But what really hit me recently is changing the tense in certain situations. Right in the middle of a scene. (We should probably still keep sentences and paragraphs consistent.) We can change from past tense to present tense, or vice versa. Wait a minute – I thought we weren’t supposed to do that. Right. But in certain cases, it is wonderful.
Specifically, when writing a story in past tense, it is common for the character to have memories or flashbacks to the past. This helps build backstory and context to their emotional journey. And what if those flashbacks are told in present tense. Instead of just transporting the reader further into the past when kept in past tense, it connects the memories more to the current point in the story. To put another way, by telling the memory in the present tense, it grounds it in the present.
Here’s an example I wrote for a workshop on chapter 6 of LeGuin’s book on Person and Tense. This first example includes everything in past tense.
Dot Collins followed her young grandson up the steps into the arena grandstands. As he bounded up the stairs, she took each step with care, grasping the railing. It had been decades since Dot had last attended a rodeo, but the sights and sounds were familiar and welcome.
Timmy had never attended a rodeo, so when Dot discovered the pro tour would be in town, she bought tickets for them to watch the barrel races.
A horse lover, Timmy asked dozens of questions from the moment they sat down, being sure to ask something about each mount as they made their run.
A girl raced into the arena on a buckskin mare, rocketing toward the first barrel and capturing Dot’s attention.
You’re taking it too wide, Dot thought, echoing the same advice given to her from her father years before. After each of her runs, he jogged along next to her. His hands illustrated where she did good and where she went wrong. You’ve got to have faith in the horse, he would say. They know what they’re doing.
And he was usually right. Her own horse–Oatmeal was its name she finally remembered–was a freight train around the barrels, carrying Dot as an afterthought. Oatmeal could dig around a corner and rocket away while barely shortening its stride. Dot had to clench her legs as hard as she could to keep from falling off.
Her thighs ached with events of long ago, and she rubbed them as she had a thousand times since.
“Are you okay, Grandma?” Timmy asked. He rolled up his jacket into a pillow. “Want to sit on this?”
With a smile, Dot stood so Timmy could place his jacket on the wooden bench.
“Thank you, dear. That’s very kind,” she said and patted his leg.
Timmy smiled and scooched closer, but his attention quickly returned to the riders racing through the arena.
“What kind of horses are these?” he asked.
“These are all quarter horses,” Dot replied, thinking of the questions her father would ask her over and over until she knew the answers by heart. And why are they called that? he would ask.
Because they are bred to sprint a quarter-mile, and, boy, could Oatmeal sprint. God, she loved that horse.
“Grandma, why are you crying?” Timmy asked.
It is okay, but nothing particularly stands out about it. Now, here is the same scene with the flashbacks written in present tense. (I also shifted the POV from third person to first person.)
My knees creaked as my grandson and I climbed the steps up the stands of the arena. Timmy loved horses–we both did–and he had never been to a real rodeo. For me, at least fifty years had passed since I’d smelled the dust, leather, and musk of horses, bulls, and cowboys, but it smelled like home. Like I had never left.
We were there for the barrel races, and as I tried to explain the rules to Timmy, the first rider shot out of the tunnel in full sprint headed for the far barrel. She reigned up and dug in, but she took it too wide.
“You're taking it too wide,” Dad says as his hands replay my approach around the barrel. He jogs alongside as I slow Oatmeal to a walk. “You’ve gotta have faith that Oatmeal can make the turn. Take her right at the barrel. She’ll make it.”
A freight train with legs, Oatmeal proves Dad right. I send her right at the barrel, and she sticks the turn, rocketing away toward the next barrel while barely shortening her stride. I grip my legs with everything they have to keep from falling off.
I rubbed my thighs as aches throbbed in places long forgotten.
“You okay, Grandma? Do you want to sit on my jacket?”
Timmy wadded up his jacket as a pillow and waited for me to stand so he could place it on the wooden bench.
“Thank you, dear. That’s very kind.” I patted his leg which made him smile. But his attention jumped to the next rider racing through the arena. As one rider exited down the tunnel ending her run, another would quickly shoot back out at the start of hers.
“What kinds of horses are these?” he asked from the edge of his seat.
“These are all quarter horses,” I replied, my mind accessing ancient information as though it were yesterday.
“And why are they called that?” Dad asks as he helps me off Oatmeal. “The more you know, the better you’ll be,” he says.
“Because they’re bred to sprint a quarter-mile,” I say, “and Oatmeal is the best sprinter of them all!”
Oatmeal nudges me in the back with her snout and nods her head in vigorous agreement.
I laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Timmy asked.
In my opinion, this second passage pops with an energy that the first doesn’t have. There is a greater closeness to the protagonist and how she is experiencing her past. And with the memories expressed in present tense, there is less of a filter to the reader; we are closer to experiencing these memories and connecting with them.
Conclusion
Understanding the rules is key to becoming a good writer. The rules are there for a reason. But, in truly understanding the rules of writing, we can find the gray areas and play with the narrative. Writing the story’s present time in past tense and the flashbacks in present tense sounds absolutely counter-intuitive. I mean, in school we were taught the exact opposite.
But creative writing is a different animal, and pushing these boundaries can lead to engaging narratives. So, be bold on your writing journey. Learn the tools, but then play with them. I know I will.
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