Head-Hopping: What it is and why it's not good for your story

I’m an indie author. What that means is that I independently publish my books. I am solely in charge of what is in them and how they appear. It is my responsibility to make sure I produce a quality product that will be enjoyable for others. Not having to answer to anyone but myself is nice, but it comes with a hefty price tag (and I’m not talking money).

So many others like me have taken the leap into self-publishing in recent years. Maybe you’re reading this because you’re thinking about doing the same, or maybe you recently have. In this and other articles, I will touch on some issues I have noticed in independently published books more than once, as well as traditionally published books. Does this mean my books are perfect? Most definitely not. MOST DEFINIETLY NOT. But I am not talking about an occasional misused word or incorrect punctuation or even unintentionally changing tense. I am talking about things that can really pull a dedicated reader from the story.

This article will delve into “Head-Hopping” and why it can be detrimental to your story.

What is head hopping? Head hopping is when the writer goes from telling one character’s thoughts and feelings to telling another character’s thoughts and feelings in the same scene. I have never seen head hopping used in a book in a way that worked. When writing, you are telling the story from a character’s point of view, whether it be first person point of view or third person point of view. Yes, the point of view can change. Just not in the same scene. I am not discussing omniscient point of view in this article. Head hopping makes an author appear unprofessional and amateur.

Now, I’m gonna go back to the basics for a moment to help get my point across. Here’s an example of first-person point of view:

This morning when I woke up, I heard the rain hitting the roof of the house. The day was already going to be rough with the big presentation Stephanie and I had to give at work. Now I had to deal with my hair being a frizzy mess and my shoes getting soaked too. I don’t even own an umbrella anymore.

Here’s the same passage in third person point of view:

When Sarah woke up that morning, she could hear rain hitting the roof of the house. The day was already slated to be rough with the big presentation she and Stephanie had to give at work but now she would have to deal with wet shoes and her hair being a frizzy mess. She wasn’t even sure she owned an umbrella anymore.

Do you see the difference between the two? We learn all the same things about Sarah’s morning in both passages. But first person is Sarah telling the story from her personal perspective. Third person is like a little birdy inside Sarah’s head who is privy to all her thoughts and emotions and senses and is telling the story for her.

Now let’s look at some examples of head-hopping in first person point of view:

My drive to work was slow. It was like no one even knew how to drive in the rain. When I arrived at the office, Stephanie wasn’t there yet so I called her to make sure she was okay.

“Hey, girl,” I said when she answered her phone. “Just checking on you. The weather is pretty bad out there.”

Stephanie sighed as she looked over her shoulder to change lanes. “Yeah, I’m fine. The stupid dog got off his leash and got all muddy.” She couldn’t believe the nerve of that puppy! Maybe it was a mistake to adopt him. “I’m on my way.” Her cup holder was empty. “Just gotta stop for coffee!”

Same passage in third person point of view:

Sarah’s drive to work was slow. It was like no one even knew how to drive in the rain. When she arrived at the office, Stephanie wasn’t there yet. Pulling out her phone from her purse, Sarah gave Stephanie a call.

“Hey, girl,” Sarah said when Steph answered. “Just checking on you. The weather is pretty bad out there.”

So, what’s the problem?

With each passage, we are introduced to Sarah as the narrator. Sarah is the one telling the story, not Stephanie. Since Sarah and Stephanie are on the phone, Sarah has no way to know what Stephanie is doing or seeing. Sarah cannot possibly know that Stephanie looked over her shoulder to change lanes. She has no way to know Stephanie’s thoughts on her dog unless Stephanie says those things. Doing this can pull a reader out of the story and give pause to wonder who is telling this story- Sarah or Stephanie?

Let’s look at another example of head-hopping:

Stephanie finally arrived thirty minutes late. She felt absolutely defeated and the coffee on the rocks she picked up on the way in wasn’t doing anything to make her feel better.

Sarah gave her a sympathetic look. “How’s being a dog mom working out for you?”

Sarah’s desk phone rang then and she debated ignoring it. Stephanie was not in a good mood and had a headache already. Not only had Fido made her late for work but now Stephanie noticed she had a muddy paw print on her linen pants.

The two friends exchanged glances as Sarah’s phone continued to ring. Sarah decided it wasn’t the best time to ask Stephanie if she was interested in going on a date with Sarah’s brother who had recently got divorced.

Again, who is telling the story? I'm not even sure and I wrote it! If it’s Stephanie, then how does she know Sarah debated answering her phone and was planning to offer up a date with her brother? If Sarah’s telling the story, how does she know about Stephanie’s headache and that she just now became aware of a paw print on her pants?

When changing narrator, a writer should use some type of indicator that there is a change in time or narrator. I call these scene breaks. They are imperative when changing time or narrator unless you literally say “A week later…” to indicate the change in time. You cannot, however, use a passage of words to change narrator when writing in first- or third-person point of view. To change narrator, you can use a symbol of some type, or just simply hit enter a few times to leave space between one section and the next. When I am working on a first draft, I typically use *** as my scene break. My formatting software (Atticus) then knows that’s a scene break and automatically puts in a fancy little symbol in the place of the ***. If you don’t have formatting software that does that for you, the *** is perfectly acceptable as a scene break in your published works.

I cannot stress enough how important it is to break up your story when you have a passage of time or a change in narrator. As a reader, when this element is missing, I am immediately thrown for a loop and pulled out of the story. I have unfortunately been unable to finish more than one book with a great story line because of head-hopping.

Your narrator simply cannot know what other people are thinking. Unless they are psychic or have some superpower, but that should be established early on. Your narrator cannot know what the person on the phone is seeing or doing unless that person tells them.

Your narrator can only tell the reader the following things:

What their five senses can tell them
- How they feel (emotionally)
- What they feel (physically)
- What they see
- What they smell
- What they taste
- What they hear

Your narrator cannot tell the reader the following things:

What someone else feels (physically)
What someone else smells
What someone else thinks
What someone else hears
What someone else sees
How they feel (emotionally)

Anything attributed to a character other than the narrator has to be observed by the narrator. Example:

Sarah watched Stephanie’s cheeks flush with embarrassment. The smell that filled the room was comparable to opening an outhouse in the summer. Tears welled in Stephanie’s eyes when she looked at their boss Hank pinching his nose closed with his thumb and forefinger.

Here’s what we know from that passage:

Sarah is our narrator- we know this because she observed what was happening.
Stephanie’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment indicating she likely feels shame or embarrassment after letting one fly (as observed by Sarah).
The smell of the fart was really, really bad (smelled by Sarah).
Stephanie started to cry when she looked at their boss (observed by Sarah).
Hank also smelled the fart as indicated by him pinching his nose closed (observed by Sarah).

So, as you can see, you, as the writer, can share things your narrator is observing by describing them from the narrator’s point of view. We did not need to hop into Stephanie’s head to know she is absolutely mortified by the untimely passing of gas. We didn’t need to hop into Hank’s head to know he was about ready to lose his lunch after Stephanie cut the cheese. Some of this goes into the age-old writing adage of “show, not tell” which you may be familiar with. I plan to explore that topic in a separate article at a later date.

Bottom line is that head hopping can be detrimental to your story. It prevents the reader from getting fully immersed in and connected with your narrator. It can also give the reader more information than needed at that time. With the case of Sarah and Stephanie, maybe the whole plot of the story is about Stephanie and Sarah’s newly divorced brother falling in love (and not her inability to handle bean dip) but if Stephanie was our narrator, and we know Sarah’s already considering the set up, then it spoils the element of surprise for the reader later. It can also prematurely tell the reader how other characters feel or what they’re thinking instead of letting that be revealed through actions later on. Maybe Hank was secretly turned on by Stephanie's toots and will reveal his love for her later, but we don't know that because we didn't hop in his head in this scene. If you need to show how a non-narrator character is feeling, you should try to show what the narrator observes that draws them to that conclusion. Your story should never read like a power point presentation where each slide is interrelated but is just hitting the highlights of the story. When you head-hop, it’s distracting and makes the reader second guess who’s telling the story.

Here’s another example of something that will pull your reader from the story:

I was so embarrassed. I could not believe I had just farted in front of the whole conference room. My face turned red with humiliation.

Tell me, how on earth does the farting narrator know their face turned red? They cannot see their face! Here’s a better way to write that passage:

I was so embarrassed. I could not believe I had just farted in front of the whole conference room. The heat of humiliation flushed my face.

In this passage, our flatulent narrator feels the heat of the humiliation on their cheeks. Maybe they’re red. Maybe they’re not. The narrator doesn’t know. Now, check this one out:

Sarah couldn’t believe Stephanie just farted in front of the whole conference room. What had she eaten? Bean dip? Sarah felt badly for her friend as she watched Stephanie’s cheeks stain red with shame.

Sarah observed her farty friend’s cheeks turned red. While Sarah does not actually know or say how Stephanie feels (maybe she’s secretly proud), the color of her cheeks leads the reader to think Stephanie is embarrassed.

I hope this has been helpful, or at the very least, entertaining. Who knew there were so many ways to describe a fart.

I am in no way a profession editor or an expert in anything. I’ve just been writing and reading all my life and self-publishing for eight years. My goal is to help out up and coming indie authors in whatever small way I can.