There’s one aspect of this whole novel-writing escapade that I was convinced I’d nailed from day one. Before I even committed so much as a single letter to my outline, I was adamant I wanted to write this from a first-person perspective.

My main reason for this was largely one of a technical matter. Seeing as I’ve spent the last eight years of my existence keeping a personal diary, it was by far the style of writing I was most adept at writing in. I’ve spent many evenings chronicling my life in the first person, from social anxiety to daily commutes. If there’s on person capable of weaving a tale through the eyes of an individual, surely it’s muggins over here. It’s about as second nature to me as complaining, procrastinating, consuming too much coffee.

The second reason for choosing this particular narrative lens was that I liked the idea of having events play out primarily through Quinn’s and Michelle’s eyes. There was an intimacy that I loved about hearing this vile world described solely through their voices. Quinn’s childlike wonder and Michelle’s overly dramatic teenage mind would help to filter the awfulness of their society through a more innocent and zestful perspective. In many ways, it made the story darker. Plus it fit in nicely with the themes of innocence and naïveté that I wanted to sit at the heart of the book.

My structure would be simple: one chapter would be told by Quinn, the next by Michelle, and so on and so forth. With almost a decade’s worth of experience in chronicling my own daily activities, I thought applying that style to a science fiction setting would be a piece of cake.

It didn’t take long for the cracks to show. It turns out that despite my diary writing, it really wasn’t as easy as I’d hoped. Quite the opposite, in fact. I found the process of telling this story through Quinn’s and Michelle’s eyes to be mind-numbingly difficult. Don’t get me wrong, penning prose is a taxing process at the best of times, but this was something else entirely. My main issue was writing Quinn’s chapters. I just couldn’t capture her voice in the context of narrating. Michelle’s wasn’t too difficult, largely because she’s a grumpy teenager during the first handful of chapters—a voice that’s surprisingly similar in tone to my own diary entries.

There were two issues with Quinn’s chapters. The first is that, as a day-old robot, she’s technically a toddler at the start of this story. The world is fascinating, weird, and wonderful to her. Yet she’s been born into a grim prison system where she’s being conditioned. Conveying the grimness of her surroundings was vital in that opening chapter. Yet no matter how many times I attempted to revise her wording, I could not get her whimsical, child-like voice to come alive. Everything was just so gosh-darn grim. I defaulted to my usual fiction-writing voice: all heavy prose and melancholic musings.

My second issue related to a plot hole this writing style presented. If Quinn is meant to be a day old, how on earth was she able to describe what a prison, an industrial metropolis, and an education system are? There is an in-universe logic to this, which is set to be revealed much further on in the book, yet for someone reading those words for the first time, their immediate assumption would be that this character has been knocking about on this planet for quite some time. Revealing she was switched on minutes before the narrative began risks causing confusion. I had considered having her describe everything as though she didn’t know what it was, but trying to explain what a prison cell is without using the words “prison” or “cell” for several paragraphs was about as challanging as it was boring.

None of what I’m saying is a declaration that this story can’t work in the first-person narrative. I think my reasoning for telling this tale directly through the eyes of Quinn and Michelle is a sound one. There’s undoubtedly a whole heap of pros to telling a story from this perspective. I also know it’s very possible to make this work from a first-person frame of reference. But to be blunt, I don’t feel I have it in me to do it justice; at least not at this stage in my writing career. My long-form fiction abilities are still developing. I’ve spent so many years dabbling in short stories and non-fiction that I’m still trying to find my voice in this particular field. I’m as nervous as can be at the moment, which means I’m defaulting back to my traditional narrator’s voice. That’s the voice that is melancholic, overly descriptive, and meditative.

This issue only seems to stem to that of my narration abilities. When it comes to speech, I have very little issue capturing Quinn’s and Michelle’s voices in their dialogue. Their mannerisms, outlooks, and quirks come through as clear as day when they open their mouths. It’s just when they attempt to narrate the story that it falls out of rhythm. It was with this realisation that I started to question the way in which I was executing my story. Had I made a miscalculation along the way?

After last night’s writing session, I decided to reread the first few pages I’ve written, pretending they were penned by a third-person narrator. Within moments of committing to this exercise, everything slotted into place. It just felt so right. Having a voice separate from Quinn and Michelle chronicle their story allowed me to have my cake and eat it. I could lean into my thoughtful and descriptive tendencies, all without being limited by Quinn’s compromised knowledge. It also allowed me to maintain a sense of dread, even while our lead character did not fully grasp the severity of her situation.

One of the rules I’d set for myself when I started working on this project was not to rewrite until I’d finished my first draft. Even if my plans completely shifted the shape and outcome of the book, I should simply make a note and return to it when all was said and done. I think I might rebel against that rule ever so slightly. I feel I need to go back and adjust the perspective. Jumping from first to third person in chapter three just feels wrong. It’s like two different books being written side-by-side. Plus, I really want to make absolutely sure I’m not wrong about my assumption. As much as I want to feel confident in this story, right now I’m doubting myself. Although I love the ideas and characters, there is something really wrong with this story that I’m trying to put my finger on. It just isn’t flowing properly, particularly during those opening scenes. I need to go back and retool it so it’s told from an external point of view. If it still feels forced and off, then I’ll know the perspective wasn’t the problem.

I wonder if all of this is yet another crafty form of procrastination. Could I just be delaying the writing process further by dedicating the next week or so of my time to rewriting the first two chapters? After all, this will be the second time I’ve broken my “no revision” rule in the space of a month. First, I redrafted the virtual reality “dream” sequence into a prison sequence. Now, I’m adjusting the novel’s narrative lens. In a state of ever-growing anxiety and self-doubt, there is certainly a chance I’m simply wandering around in circles for the sake of not wanting to move forward.