Write Like Marites: How To Master the 3rd Person Writing POV
Let’s be honest.
No matter who you are, you’ve heard a story from someone like Marites.
She lives three doors down. She waters her plants at 6AM. She “minds her business” but somehow knows the exact time your cousin’s ex-boyfriend left the bar last Friday.
But more importantly?
She’s a master storyteller.
She is the ultimate third person narrator.
She isn’t in the story—but she knows everything. And when she talks?
You listen. Cos admit it, you enjoy the tea.
Who Is Marites, in Literary Terms?
She’s not the protagonist.
She’s not the love interest.
She’s not even a family friend.
She’s the narrator.
A third person, emotionally-attuned, all-seeing voice that guides you through the drama with clarity, structure, and spice.
She’s never confused about who’s telling the story.
She doesn’t say “I” and make you wonder whose head you’re in.
She sees the big picture—and tells it with care, or sometimes no care at all.
Either way, she tells it so well, you can’t pull yourself away.
Because let’s be real—you need to know what happens next.
Why Writers Should Write Like Marites
In the writing community—especially in the local scene—there’s a growing trend of chaotic POV shifts.
You know the kind:
Chapter One: I am Princess. I’m a good girl, but I feel broken.
Chapter Two: I am Jerome. I’m emotionally constipated but in love.
Chapter Three: The sky wept as they passed each other. The air carried a secret.
(Now we’re in a novella about the weather, apparently.)
It’s disorienting. It breaks immersion. And it makes even the most emotionally invested reader suddenly feel like a third wheel in their own reading experience.
And if you’ve ever been a third wheel (which I am, proudly, an expert of), you know it sucks. You want attention—but you’re left with none.
But you know who never does that?
Marites.
She doesn’t need five POVs to tell a story.
She doesn’t slap bolded names at the top of every paragraph.
She doesn’t make you guess who’s speaking through vibes and vague emotions.
She owns the narrative—and your full attention.
And she’ll never make you feel like an extra.
Why Third Person (a la Marites) Works
It gives emotional structure.
Marites doesn’t just say what happened. She tells you how it felt.
“You should’ve seen Princess. Poor girl. The way she looked when he didn’t show up—ay, it’s almost like her soul left her body. Teary eyes, pale lips. Still standing tall, but barely. She didn’t even touch her red velvet cupcake. You know she loves red velvet.”
It controls pacing.
She knows when to dwell, when to pull back, and when to make you lean in.
“Anyway, they didn’t talk for months. Not a single message. She blocked him, he didn’t fight it. Then one day—just like that—a new bakery opened outside the subdivision. Pretty place. Marble counters. Smelled like money. The baker? Beautiful. Soft-spoken. Mysterious. You know the type.”
It shows character through action.
She doesn’t need to be inside anyone’s head. She just watches—and reads.
“Jerome didn’t say much when they bumped into each other again. But you could tell. The way he clenched his jaw? Guilty. Couldn’t even look poor Princess in the eye. And Princess? That girl. Her hands were shaking, but she smiled like nothing happened. Even offered him bread. Imagine that.”
And she makes it juicy.
Because it’s not just about facts. It’s about impact.
“Turns out, he was at the bakery that day. But not to see Princess. To see the baker. I nearly dropped my taho. The baker? The one who popped out of nowhere with warm bread and… a baby! That child—those eyes. Tell me they don’t look like Jerome’s. But hey, I’m not saying anything. I’m just saying.”
Every line?
Crisp.
Consequential.
Character-driven.
Marites is chaos—but she’s structured chaos.
And that, dear writers, is the key.
Marites’ Rules of Storytelling
POV commandments for writers who want their readers to stay emotionally attached and deeply entertained.
1. One POV per scene. Don’t be so thirsty.
Don’t hop heads mid-page like a teleserye recap. If you’re telling a story from multiple perspectives, separate them properly. Scene breaks. Chapter breaks. Not three minds arguing in one paragraph.
2. “I” is sacred. Don’t pass it around like gossip.
If you write in first person, you’re making a promise to the reader: this is your lens. You can’t break that by jumping into another “I” five pages later without warning. That’s not storytelling—that’s identity theft.
3. Your narrator isn’t just a camera. They’re the storyteller.
Whether you choose third person limited or omniscient, make sure your narrator feels. Marites doesn’t just describe—she judges, reacts, chooses details to emphasize. Be deliberate.
4. Switching POV? Bring something new.
Don’t change perspective just to repeat what we already know. Use new information, a contrasting emotional filter, or deeper context. Otherwise, it’s just echoing.
5. Show character through behavior—not internal monologue alone.
Marites doesn’t need to read minds. She can tell Jerome is guilty by the way he clenched his jaw. You can too.
6. Leave breadcrumbs, not confusion.
Mystery is good. Chaos isn’t. Readers should feel intrigued, not lost. Marites drops hints. She doesn’t drop the plot.
7. Be juicy—but in control.
You want drama? Marites will give you drama. But she paces it. She builds tension. She doesn’t spill all the tea in one scene, then backpedal with five POVs trying to explain themselves. She. Delivers.
8. Own the voice.
Every narrator has a personality—even third person. Whether it’s wry, lyrical, playful, or deadpan, commit to it. Marites doesn’t switch tones mid-story. She knows who she is.
Don’t write like you’re fighting for screen time.
Write like Marites—who stands at the edge of the story, arms crossed, mug of steaming coffee in hand, wearing her five-colored patterned daster, ready to tell it all.
She’s not in the story. But she’s in control. And your readers? They’ll follow her every word.
This is the Marites Method™.
Learn it. Master it. Pass it down like chismis worth remembering.
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