How do I keep a close third-person narrator from sounding like the author?

Close third person uses “she,” “he,” or a character’s name, but the narration stays close to that character’s experience. It can feel detached when a sentence supplies a broad explanation or judgment the character has no reason to make at that moment.

For this example, assume Mara is nervous about a job interview and dislikes places that seem designed to impress. A more distant version: “The lobby was designed to convey calm. Its pale walls and carefully arranged furniture gave visitors a reassuring first impression.” This explains the room’s purpose and effect as if describing it for everyone.

Closer: “The lobby had the color of oatmeal left too long in a bowl. Two armchairs faced each other across a glass table, as if the room expected her to confess something.” The narration remains in third person, but Mara’s nerves and distaste shape the comparisons. You don’t need to add her name to every sentence; make the details and judgments feel like hers.

Start with what the character is trying to do, then ask what might matter or interrupt them. Waiting for an interview, Mara might notice the receptionist calling names, the clock, or whether other applicants seem confident. She may not assess the lobby’s overall design unless something about it catches her attention.

Try this revision pass: circle general labels such as “the room was welcoming.” Ask what this character would actually see, hear, or care about. Replace the label with one or two specific observations, then add an interpretation only if it fits their mood or beliefs.

For example, “The office was busy” could become “A printer coughed behind the wall; someone hurried past with a stack of folders.” If Mara thinks everyone else belongs there, add, “They all seemed to know where they were going.” That last sentence is her impression, not necessarily an objective fact.

Use consistent preferences in attention and judgment instead of forcing a flourish into every line. If Mara sorts things into useful and useless, she might call the lobby’s glossy table “impossible to put a coffee on without leaving a ring.” A comparison can help, but plain wording is fine when no particular habit matters.

Be wary of claims that come from the author’s knowledge rather than Mara’s perspective. “Designed to convey calm” assigns an intention to the designers; Mara may not know that. She can describe her experience instead: “Everything was pale, soft-edged, and silent. Even the clock seemed to be trying not to bother anyone.”

Ask, “Could Mara notice or think this now?” If not, give her a reason to know it, mark it as an impression, or remove it. Keep the language clear enough that readers don’t have to decode her distinctive vocabulary.

Assume Mara is anxious and skeptical of the polished office. The first version reports the setting from a distance:

Before: “The receptionist’s desk stood beside the entrance. The lobby was quiet and attractive, with pale walls, a green plant, and two comfortable chairs. Mara waited for her interview.”

After: “The receptionist’s desk stood beside the entrance, exactly where Mara could see it without looking as though she were watching. The plant had one brown leaf. She fixed on it while the receptionist finished a call. The two chairs were too soft; Mara sank into hers and sat up again before anyone could see.”

The revision selects details linked to Mara’s concern about being observed: the desk, her gaze, and how she sits. The brown leaf gives her something to focus on. The chairs are “too soft” from her perspective, not an objective verdict. Her attention and actions suggest nerves without naming them.

For a final check, mark each detail as something she senses, remembers, knows, or infers. If a sentence makes a broad claim about the room or another person, ask whether it’s her impression or established information. Then read the passage aloud and remove comparisons that feel more like a display of style than her way of seeing.