How to Reveal Thoughts of Other Characters When Writing In First Person

A common struggle for new writers is that they want the reader to understand everything right away. That’s why new writers struggle so much with backstory and telling, because you don’t want the reader to feel confused. 

But a little confusion is an okay thing. When handled well, it can create intrigue.

So if your main character is struggling to understand why another character is behaving the way they are, that can work to your advantage.

How can you tell your sister is mad? Or that your mom had a rough day at work? How do you know if your dad is feeling stressed? Is it when the person says, “Hi, Jenna. I’m feeling so angry today because my co-worker took credit for work that I did.”

I’m guessing that with the people close to you, you can figure it out from the signals they’re sending. Like how they’re giving you one word answers when usually they would say a few sentences. Or the way they won’t stop biting their nails.

Your main character will experience the same things. She’ll wonder why Charles is looking at her like that or why Tara is being so quiet. Just like you and I walk away from conversations thinking, “Yikes, they woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” your character will think those same things.

A temptation for writers is to have the other character (the non-POV character) finally blurt out their story so everyone will know what exactly is going on. Sometimes blurting is okay, but you want to make sure you don’t use it too often and that you set it up logically. (Here’s another post that talks some about “strategy” in dialogue.)

If a character has decided to share something they’re feeling or an experience they’ve had with your main character, you need to provide a reason. It may not need to be stated in the story, but you need to know it. Maybe the character thinks this will help the main character with a tough decision? Or maybe the character wants to manipulate the main character into doing something? Whatever it is, make sure you think it through.

Remember to vary how characters tell stories.

For example, I’ve noticed my mom tends to feed me information in reverse order. A conversation between us might go like this:

Mom: I just wanted to call and let you know that Grandma has been released from the hospital and is back at Park Edge nursing home.

Me: Oh, I don’t know she was living at Park Edge.

Mom: Well, they kicked her out of Sunny Farm because she refused to cooperate with her medicine.

Me: She was at Sunny Farm? The last I heard she was living at Brookfield…
Mom: We decided we didn’t like Brookfield because…

This happens all the time with my mom. She gives me the end first, and then I have to dig out the other information. My sister-in-law, on the other hand, likes to build everything up for dramatic effect. 

When I’m writing first drafts, I often ignore that everything needs to go through my main character’s filter. That means when it’s editing time, I’m left with problems like this:

My nails bite into my palms. “But that’s a week away.”
“Don’t ask me to add something else to this week’s schedule, okay, El? I can’t take it.” Mom’s fingertips press into the nape of her neck where her head aches. 

The problem with this of course is that Ellie can’t know that her mom’s head aches unless her mom comes out and says it. She can only guess. So I revised it to this:

“Don’t ask me to add something else to this week’s schedule, okay, El? I can’t take it.” Mom’s fingertips press into the nape of her neck, the same place where my stress headaches strike.

Ellie isn’t come right out and saying, “My mom has a stress headache,” but her observations plant the idea in the reader’s mind.

Here are a few other ways I’ve hinted at other character’s thoughts:

In The Revised Life of Ellie Sweet, Ellie’s aunt has just dropped a bomb on the family that she’s moving:

“That’s . . . amazing, Karen.” Mom sounds as stunned as I feel. “What, exactly, is in Phoenix?”

Ellie is feeling stunned and that’s the way she’s reading her mom’s emotion too.

In this next example, Ellie is walking with her friend Chase and has noticed he’s being extra quiet. She’s wondering why when he asks her if she wants to come over for dinner next week:

“No big deal if you can’t, but it’s kinda my birthday. My mom’s making a special dinner and asked if I wanted to invite someone. So . . .” He shrugs and jams his hands deep in his pockets.

But not before I note the tremor in them. 

Poor Chase is terribly nervous. He’s using a lot of passive language (“it’s kinda my birthday”) to make it seem like this is no big deal, but his body language says otherwise.

And here’s one last example (this one from The Unlikely Debut of Ellie Sweet) where Ellie is observing two friends interact. She doesn’t understand what’s going on, but she notes enough clues for the reader to put it together:

As they come to a stop beside our bench, Palmer smiles at Harper. “Hey, Harper. I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Well, I do.” The gleam in her eye and the set of her jaw are far from friendly. They seem almost challenging.

Palmer blinks at her. “Okay, then.” He turns back to me. “You need a ride home?”

Again, your story loses effect if you start saying things like, “Harper is rude to Palmer. Palmer is surprised by her rudeness.” You want to look for body language and dialogue clues that your POV character would notice.