The Trouble with "I" in First Person Narratives

In response to my recent blog post on cutting "to be" constructions from your writing, somebody mentioned needing help with the preponderance of the word "I" in their first person narrative.

Obviously, in a first person narrative, the word "I" is going to make some appearances. But, with some creativity, those appearances can be trimmed way back. It just takes some concentrated effort. After all, did you know there was an author who wrote a 50k-word novel that did not contain the letter "e"?

More about that: here

Culling the word "I" should likely not be your goal while writing your first draft. Your goal in writing your first draft should always simply be finishing a first draft, warts and all. The exercise I'm proposing might even more likely be a third or fourth draft effort.

With some creativity, the "I" word can be trimmed way back. I wrote a passage as an example and then included a rewrite. The first passage contains the word "I" thirty-one (31) times. The second passage only contains the word twice. And, I would argue, even with maybe a few clunky moments, the second passage reads much better. I hope it helps you see where you can get creative with your own expunging of "I"... and likely improve your prose as a result.

First Attempt at Passage:

    I approached the partially open door of my apartment. I knew that the only other person with a key was my mother. I didn’t think she had any reason to be here after midnight. I opened the door slowly and stepped inside. I heard the familiar dripping of the kitchen faucet with the bad gasket. I could see it was dark except for a light coming from the back bedroom. I closed the door quietly behind me. I started my way across the living room floor, tiptoeing. I could feel my heart inside my chest like something feral trying to get out. I was sweating, and I dragged a sleeve across my forehead. I heard a loud creak come from a floorboard under the oriental rug. I stopped and listened. I couldn’t hear anybody stirring in the bedroom. I wondered if I had just left the light on. I didn’t know if maybe I hadn’t latched the front door when I closed it leaving that morning. Then, briefly, I heard the bed springs as somebody adjusted themselves in my bed. I heard my heartbeat in my ears as I approached the lit doorway. I set my palms on either side of the doorframe, and I looked into the room. I recognized the red hair fanned over one of my pillows. I knew it was Sheila, an ex of mine from five years ago. She was wearing a black teddy, and I could see she was asleep. I turned around and went back to the kitchen. I filled a mixing bowl with water as quietly as I could. I knew a watery wakeup would douse any kind of fire she was planning to start.

Second Attempt at Passage:

    The door to my apartment hung slightly ajar. My mother was the only other person with a key. She didn’t have any reason to be here after midnight. The door whispered the rest of the way open against the gentle urging of my palm. The only sound in the place came from the kitchen sink’s dripping faucet. The super still hadn’t responded to my requests for a new gasket. Only one light glowed in the dark space coming through the doorway to the back bedroom. The door closed quietly behind me, my hand on the knob slowly easing the strike latch into the strike plate. My tiptoeing across the living room floor gave nothing away until a floorboard beneath the oriental rug creaked under my footfall. My heart, like a feral animal, seemed like it wanted out of my chest. Dragging a sleeve across my forehead, I mopped the sweat from my dripping brow. The back bedroom remained quiet. Had it just been me that left a light on this morning in my haste, going so far as to not hear the front door properly latching shut? The groaning bedsprings from my mattress answered the question. My heart beating in my ears soundtracked my approach to the lit doorway. Resting my palms against the doorframe, I peered into the room. Wearing a black teddy, Sheila, an ex of mine from five years ago, lay asleep in my bed, her mane of red hair fanned over the pillow. My retreat back to the kitchen was soundless. Perched in my hands, the mixing bowl filled slowly with water from the faucet. A watery wakeup would douse any kind of fire she was trying to start.

On your own, you can analyze what I did to make those changes. In most cases, I am making something else be the subject of the sentence rather than having the narrator be the subject. I hope it gives you some insight into how you might trim the word "I" from your first person narrative. If someone can write an entire novel without the letter "e" then surely you can trim the word "I" from your work, at least by half.

If you find my blog posts instructive or illuminating, please consider purchasing a copy of my new novel, Rules of Order.

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