Why and how to avoid the repetition of "I"

It seems counterintuitive to avoid the repetition of “I” in first person, but it often delineates good writing from great writing. Rather than create immediacy and intimacy, it’s an unnecessary reminder to the reader that they’re being told a story, rather than being immersed in it. Unintentional “I” echoes can also feel like reportage, especially when “I” is used at the start of the sentence.

Let’s look at an example.

I would be sad that today is the last day of surf camp if I weren’t so busy trying to ignore the worst person alive.

I got a trophy from our instructor, Irene. I’m not the only one who got one, though. We all did. I turn mine over and it says EWING BEACH SURF CAMP with the year engraved underneath and a tiny gold surfboard sitting on top. I know all the other trophies have the same thing.

I turn to see Nicolette McKee kicking the balls of her feet into the sand. I notice she has the trophy slack at her side. I have to see her at school and all over town because Ewing Beach is tiny. I also have to live with the fact that she lives across the street. I have to see her just about every day of my life. I know she’s always worse around her friends. I’m not looking forward to the end of surf camp and the start of school.

I look away from Nicolette and focus on Irene, who says she’s going to miss us.

“I hope you’ll all come to the end-of-summer party this weekend,” she says, readjusting the knot of red hair on top of her head. “We’re gonna grill out, and we’ll have ice cream, and you can all bring your boards if you’d rather catch some waves.”

I hear Nicolette sneer. “These aren’t even gold-plated,” she mutters. “They’re probably going to turn green in, like, a month.”

I turn to Oliver Guzman, who is standing on the other side of me. He holds his trophy in the air, admiring it. “Where are you gonna put yours, Alberta?”

I try to ignore Nicolette. “In my room,” I say. “What about you?”

I give him a look and he shrugs. “My parents are into it. They like to show it off when family comes over.”

In this excerpt, sixteen sentences begin with the word “I.”

The writing isn’t bad, but it could be better.

Let’s see how the scene actually appeared in The Only Black Girls in Town by Brandy Colbert.

I would be sad that today is the last day of surf camp if I weren’t so busy trying to ignore the worst person alive.

Our instructor, Irene, just passed out the trophies. Everyone got one, of course. They all say the same thing at the bottom: EWING BEACH SURF CAMP with the year engraved underneath. There’s a tiny gold surfboard sitting on top.

Next to me, Nicolette McKee is repeatedly kicking the balls of her feet into the sand, trophy held slack at her side. I have to see her at school and all over town because Ewing Beach is tiny. And then there’s the fact that she lives across the street, so I also have to see her just about every day of my life. But the end of surf camp means the start of school, and Nicolette is always worse when she’s around her friends.

Irene stands in front of the whole group to say how much she’s going to miss us. “I hope you’ll all come to the end-of-summer party this weekend,” she says, readjusting the knot of red hair on top of her head. “We’re gonna grill out, and we’ll have ice cream, and you can all bring your boards if you’d rather catch some waves.”

Nicolette sneers. “These aren’t even gold-plated,” she mutters. “They’re probably going to turn green in, like, a month.”

On the other side of me, Oliver Guzman holds his trophy in the air, admiring it. “Where are you gonna put yours, Alberta?”

“In my room,” I say, trying to ignore Nicolette. “What about you?”

In this excerpt, only two sentences begin with “I.” The writing is more engaging, more intimate, more immediate. The feeling of ‘reportage’ (I did this, I feel that, I think this) is gone. The distance between narrator and reader has narrowed, because the author isn’t intruding with phrases like “I turn,” “I see,” or “I look.” (It’s often unnecessary to begin the sentences this way, because who else would be turning, seeing, or looking, if not our narrator?) Instead of telling us what the narrator is doing, we are shown first-hand.

Let’s look at another example. This is from The Next Great Paulie Fink by Ali Benjamin:

If the whole thing really had been a TV show, like everyone kept pretending it was, there are a million places the first episode could have started.

Like, maybe a good place to start would have been back in June, when I came home toward the end of sixth grade, and Mom greeted me with three fateful words: Caitlyn, we’re moving. Not Would you like to … ? or What would you think if … ? or Would you ever consider … ? Not a question at all. By the time she brought up the subject, she’d already accepted her new job as director of the Mitchell Urgent Care Center, given notice at the hospital where she’d worked as a nurse practitioner since forever, and taken out a lease on a tiny house in Mitchell, Vermont.

Which is to say, the middle of absolutely nowhere.

But that’s just one place where the show could start. There are other options. Like on the drive here, when we passed the big green sign: WELCOME TO THE GREEN MOUNTAIN STATE. I saw nothing but trees and fields in all directions, and suddenly it hit me: This is really happening. I had to pretend to sleep just so I could press my face into a rumpled old sweatshirt against the window and cry without Mom noticing. By the time I opened my eyes again, we were passing an abandoned factory, the words OXTHORPE TEXTILES, MITCHELL, VERMONT still faintly visible on the bricks.

Or maybe the show would begin the first time I pulled up in front of my new school. The sign said it was a school, anyway, but it sure didn’t look like any school I’d seen. This place was more like a haunted mansion: a huge wooden house with broken shutters, peeling paint, and a tangle of weedy vines snaking up the exterior. Near the front door, there was a bell, like a miniature version of the Liberty Bell, with a sign that read, THE GOOD DAY BELL: RING IF YOU HAD A GOOD DAY.

Notice how few sentences begin with “I.”

How do these authors choose to begin their sentences? In what ways do they avoid “I,” and how does that influence the text? Both excerpts have a strong first-person voice; how does the reduction of “I” contribute to that?

Take a look at your own first-person work. How many sentences start with “I”? How often do you use phrases like “I turn to see,” “I look,” or “I hear”? How can you make those sentences more dynamic and effective, as these authors did?