The overlooked technique to unlock immersive fiction.


It adds life-giving depth to fiction writing but, for something so magical, there’s little talk of psychic distance.
While using it well takes skill, grasping the concept is simple. If point of view (POV) is the camera through which we see the action, think of psychic distance as the camera’s superzoom. It can go beyond a mere closer view to give readers a heart-beating, lived experience. That’s super indeed, because the ‘zoom’ can magnify everything beneath the surface, such as the most secret, revealing thoughts that take characterisation into the realms of alchemy.
In that sense, it captures the essence of great fiction writing by transporting us from the physical page into an imaginary world.
In book editing and writing circles, there’s much talk about POV and other important elements of fiction, with psychic distance – also known as narrative distance – on the agenda only rarely.
It flickered into readers’ thoughts after John Gardner’s The Art of Fiction. There, Gardner showed five levels of psychic distance, and that seems about right to cover an author’s needs. They cover the extremes from all-narrator delivery to all-protagonist, with the varying levels the key to the different distances. Gardner’s examples are from 1983, so here are my five updated versions:
1) Margot typed the last word of her novel, The Student’s Revenge.
2) Margot looked delighted as she typed the last word of her novel, The Student’s Revenge. She reached forward, pulled the paper from the typewriter and put it on top of the pile of pages.
3) Margot imagined worldwide fame as she typed the last word of her novel, The Student’s Revenge. It would be worth all the effort, the sacrifice. She leant back, surveyed the pile of pages and felt a sigh warm her lips.
4) Three chapters today, all brilliant. Margot yanks the last page from the typewriter’s roller and slaps it on the pile. The Student’s Revenge, finished, finally. Take that. She’ll show him. Sucker him in with an ego-stroking “You’re my inspiration,” get him there, then …
5) Hammer, thud, hammer, every pounding keystroke a letter nearer fame, a face-slap to Abbott, jabs to the eyes which guided his fat hand scrawling ‘C-’, ‘D+’ and ‘Rubbish. There’s no plot.’ I’ll give you plot, Mr Abbott. One about an English teacher, stage-side, tux and tie, basking, clueless until I take the mic: “This award was all me, so I’ve no one to thank. Least of all you …” I seize your eyes, see epiphany on a fidgety face, feel a freight-train heart as I clunk the metal down. “There’s my award, Meeeeester Abbott. Now …”
There’s an immense variety to describe the same action. Number 1 distances through an objective, wide-angle, information-led approach with a narrator in control, but 5 plunges us into a micro world with a subjective blend of free indirect style and immersive stream of consciousness.
That diversity is vital, because good fiction demands boredom-breaking variety, whether through changes of pace, POV (usually sticking to one per scene) or psychic distance. Within scenes/chapters, psychic distance is the best of those to manipulate, with skilled writers moving readers seamlessly from distant to intimate.
Along with giving variety, changes in psychic distance are needed to achieve the writer’s aims. It’s not that one approach is better, but about knowing the 4-5 levels of distance in the examples above make authentic-sounding revealing of information a creative challenge, while 1-2 lock us into an action-based focus which, without variety, would quickly become dull.
Level 5 contributes to characterisation, while 1 adds nothing to that aspect, but staying so close can hinder plot revelation and limit the scope to move between characters.
Level 2 shows an aspect of fiction writing that novice writers often miss: filter words. They’re not always bad, but they are when you want to close the psychic distance. In example 2, “looked” creates distance because it can only come from a narrator. The protagonist knows if she feels delighted or not, so if it was straight from her, she wouldn’t have to speculate. When the immediacy of direct thought has the extra barrier of a narrator, psychic distance can only be increased. Even if “looked” comes from your protagonist, it’s still being narrated, because such past-tense usage can only come from your main character recounting the events at a different time. Always be aware of your filter words and their effect on your psychic distance.
The great news for many writers is that you can only properly learn about psychic distance through trial and inevitable error. For the experimental, creative souls many fiction writers are, trying something new is bliss. I urge you to try them all, from 1 to 5, getting a feel for each, their nuances and uses.
As you test, notice one joy of closing the distance: it can help create ‘voice’. As the gold dust of fiction, and one loved by literary agents, a distinctive, authentic voice will enchant readers and improve your chances of a traditional publishing deal. Going back to our 1-5 examples, note the lack of voice in 1 but 5’s immersion in the character’s world and the unique timbre that helps create. Embrace that, but temper it, recalling the point above about variety. Think of your psychic distances as a symphony, not a solo.
Another benefit of narrowing the distance is help with showing instead of telling. You might have heard this referred to often among writers, with the advice to avoid passive descriptions in favour of creating images in readers’ minds. As Chekhov wrote, don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass. In the 1-5 examples, 1 has more Tells than William and his maternal wife, and 5 has more shows than Vegas. The latter could have simply told us the protagonist was consumed by anger and revenge and a bit unhinged, but showing that creates colour, depth and a lived, immersive experience.
Readers need pages to come alive and, used adeptly, no skill in the writer’s armoury can achieve that in the same way as psychic distance.
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© Lee Dickinson, Bookediting.co.uk, 2026
This article’s writer, Lee Dickinson, is an advanced professional member of the Chartered Institute of Editing and Proofreading and chief editor at Bookediting.co.uk. You can read his blog here.