Guest Post by Cate Lord

Writing First Person: This Chick’s Challenge

 

When I started writing Lucky Girl, my sassy contemporary romantic comedy released this month by Entangled Publishing, I stepped onto a new sidewalk of my writing journey—while wearing strappy, three-inch heels, no less.  Yeah, it was a little tricky for this Florida gal who wears flat sandals for ninety-nine percent of the year.

My previous six novels, medieval historical romances published in mass market paperback, were written in third person.  This meant I got inside the heads of my heroines and heroes, divulged all of their ambitions, motivations, and torments through their introspection, and thereby told the story from both points of view.

While I could have done the same for Lucky Girl, I adore the intimate style of Chick Lit style novels.  The first-person viewpoint lets the reader get super close to the main character; she becomes like a BFF.  I wanted that for Jessica Devlin’s book.  So, I challenged myself to write the whole novel from her perspective.  That was way out of my comfort zone, but I was going to learn.  I could succeed in the writing challenge I’d set myself; I could learn to walk like a runway model in those pretty three-inch heels.  Yes, I could, and I would.

In Lucky Girl, Jess, the rather plan Jane but hardworking beauty editor of Orlando’s O Tart magazine, flies to England to be maid-of-honor in her cousin’s wedding.  There, Jess runs into marketing exec Nick Mondinello, a gorgeous Brit she met briefly in an embarrassing incident two years ago, and whom she never expected to see again.  She’s convinced Nick is completely wrong for her.  She does her best to fight her growing attraction to him, but fate has its own plans for them.

When I began crafting the book, I soon realized that writing only in first person had some limitations.  Everything the reader learns about the story—sights, sounds, tastes, textures, and smells—is filtered through Jess.  Readers like to know early on what characters look like, but a gal wouldn’t normally describe her physical appearance to a BFF.  So, I included a scene where she’s standing in front of mirrors in a dress shop in her hideous, tight, peach-colored maid-of honor gown; she agonizes over the pounds she’s put on since her unfaithful ex fiancé dumped her.  This allowed me to work in what she looks like plus some details about her past, as well as show how anxious she is about being in the wedding party.  Once she’s at the church in England, right before the ceremony begins, she checks her reflection in the mirror, and I have another chance to describe her hair, figure, and other details, all relayed in her humorous, sarcastic, and self-deprecating way that again helps us better understand and relate to her as a close friend.

Another challenge of first person: developing the romantic relationship which is crucial to the book.  It’s easy to show what Jess thinks of Nick (that he’s a hottie even though she’s wary of getting involved with him).  It’s not so simple, though, to reveal Nick’s interest in her—because all we know about him is revealed through Jess.  What worked, though, was imagining my characters were acting in a movie.  What we notice most?  Facial expressions: Nick’s sexy raised eyebrows that show his curiosity and that he’s intrigued by something Jess just said; his lop-sided grin that’s pure sexual invitation; his brooding frown that cues us he’s annoyed.  Once I got the hang of this, I even had a bit of fun, with Jess misunderstanding what she reads from Nick’s expression.  Wicked me, I know. J

There were other challenges, too, to writing first person, including making sure all of the secondary characters were well-defined and ensuring I incorporated enough fresh details in the dialogue to move the story forward.  Overall, though, I was very pleased with how Lucky Girl turned out.  I loved writing about Jess and was sad to type “The End.”

Will I write another novel in first person?  As I type this blog post, Jess is nudging me, reminding me that her beautiful English cousins deserve their own books.  She’s right; they do.  And I’m about ready for a fresh challenge.

 

An excerpt from Lucky Girl—when Jess sees Nick again after two years:

 

A boisterous rendition of Bach’s Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring started up inside the church. I glanced in. The pews were almost filled. I recognized Aunt Prim. She was impossible to miss, even from behind, her curly gray hair poking out from beneath her enormous white hat spattered with fuchsia, yellow, and pink flowers.

The groom, Andrew Castleton, a handsome guy with wavy blond hair, stood with his best man near the altar. Andrew clasped and unclasped his hands as if he couldn’t keep them still. Yup, I’d say he was nervous.

Anna and Charlotte moved to my side. When Andrew saw them, relief softened his features. He grinned, and I knew exactly what he was thinking: “Tilly, the woman I love, is here.”

My cousins giggled and nodded.

My attention shifted to the best man. Mmm. Tall, broad-shouldered—

Oh. My. God!

My heart jolted like I’d just stuck my pinkie into an electrical outlet.

Nick Mondinello. The man my cousins had whispered about years ago. Sex God. Playboy. Heartbreaker.

Spy Man.

He still looked like a younger version of Pierce Brosnan, the actor who’d starred in a couple of James Bond movies. Nick wore his dark hair shorter now and spiked with gel. He filled out his tailored gray suit very, very nicely.

Memories whooshed through my mind. The day after Grandpa George’s funeral. The Creaky Wicket Pub. The potted plant. Heat flooded my face, hotter than if I had yanked open an oven set to ‘broil.’

Aaahhh! How could my mind torture me at a time like this?

Nick glanced at me. Vines seemed to have snaked up from the carpet and locked around my ankles. The heels of my sandals felt rooted to the floor. The murmurs and music around me faded into a weird, Twilight-Zone buzz.

Doo-dee-doo-doo, Doo-dee-doo-doo.

I forced my lips into a stiff, polite smile and adjusted my sweaty-handed hold on my bouquet. It would be just my luck to drop the pretty arrangement on the floor and turn it into a mangled hodgepodge.

Nick looked at someone on the other side of the church, and I exhaled noisily.

Then he looked at me again. He squinted, as though he was trying to place me. Maybe he was wondering why I was blushing so fiercely.

Severe sunburn. Hot flushes. Woman’s stuff.

I hadn’t blushed like this on my first date.

I held the roses tighter to my chest. Thank goodness the big bouquet would draw attention away from my boobs.

My face burned. Scorched, more like it. Embarrassing now, but not quite as mortifying as what I’d done two years ago.

Glancing away from Nick, I watched one of the ushers escort Aunt Cleo to a front pew, where she sat beside Aunt Prim.

I felt acutely alert, as if I was a taut spring, about to uncoil with a loud poing like a Jack-In-The-Box.

Was Nick still looking at me?

I struggled to quiet the desperate squeak rising in my throat. Maybe I was worrying for nothing. Maybe Nick didn’t even remember what had happened.

He’d been drinking that night. We all had. Some of us—specifically moi—a lot more than others.

I dared a glance. Nick nodded in response to something Andrew said. A smile curved Nick’s mouth.

Hushed voices along with the whisper of silk came from behind me. Valerie, Tilly, and my uncle had entered the church.

My belly squeezed tight. Any moment now, the ceremony would begin.

Dread shivered through me.

A countdown began ticking in my head.

Ten. . . nine. . .

Oh no. In the recessional, I would have to walk arm in arm with Nick. Help!

Seven. . . six. . .

Butterflies swooped in my stomach. My hands felt coated in olive oil. The ushers led the last of the guests to their pews.

Three. . . two. . .

When the guys returned, the organist paused for a moment then struck up a vibrant march.

The Wedding March.

Ping. The moment of truth was upon me.

I hadn’t prayed in months. But as the ushers began a slow walk up the aisle, I prayed I didn’t trip, stumble, or make a fool of myself.

Not in front of Tilly and my relatives.

Not in front of gorgeous Nick Mondinello.

Again.

Anna, Charlotte, and Valerie lined up ahead of me to begin their graceful stroll up the aisle. As I drew a deep breath, Nick’s gaze locked with mine.

He was still smiling.

In that moment, I knew without the teeniest bit of doubt.

He remembered.