How Does Your Choice of Tense Affect Your Story’s Tone and Impact?
I’ve lost count of how many stories I’ve read where tense choice seemed like an afterthought — and that’s a missed opportunity. Tense isn’t just about grammar; it’s about tone, pace, and even how your readers emotionally engage with the narrative.
As experienced storytellers, we already know this at some level. But when was the last time you deliberately chose your story’s tense based on its emotional needs — rather than convention?
Different tenses create different textures. Present tense can feel raw, breathless, almost claustrophobic. Past tense can evoke distance, reflection, and timelessness. These effects aren’t subtle — they’re profound. A tense mismatch can make a story feel tonally off, no matter how well the plot is crafted.
In this post, I want to dig deeper than the usual advice. Let’s explore how tense really works under the hood, with examples you can adapt to your own stories. You might just find a new tool to sharpen your craft.
How tense influences your story’s tone
Tense and emotional distance
At its core, tense controls proximity — emotional and temporal — between the narrator, the events, and the reader.
When you write in present tense (“She walks into the room”), you lock the reader into the immediacy of the moment. There’s no reflective filter; everything happens as we watch it unfold. That can be thrilling — or exhausting.
Take The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. The present tense amplifies Katniss’s uncertainty and the relentless pace of the Games. We’re with her, breathless, unsure what comes next. The tense choice reinforces the tone of fear and urgency.
Now compare that to Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall, written in the past tense with a deep interior perspective. We know events have already happened; we’re watching Thomas Cromwell process them. The tone becomes more layered, contemplative. The slight remove allows space for irony, commentary, and historical weight — all of which would collapse in present tense.
Tense and genre expectations
Expert writers know that genre subtly dictates tense conventions — and reader expectations.
In thrillers and young adult fiction, present tense is increasingly popular. It lends immediacy and intimacy, keeping readers hooked. But try writing a sweeping epic fantasy entirely in present tense — it often feels jarring. Why? Because epics traditionally rely on the past tense’s ability to suggest mythic scale and historical weight.
Now, of course, there are exceptions. Rebecca Roanhorse’s Black Sun uses present tense to powerful effect in an epic fantasy setting. But notice how she balances it with a lyrical, almost ritualistic tone that justifies the choice. The present tense there isn’t casual — it’s a deliberate tonal layer.
Tense and reader expectation
We also have to consider how tense primes the reader’s emotional stance.
When I open a novel in past tense, I instinctively expect a complete arc — a story being recounted, with some degree of perspective and wisdom. If that arc is suddenly disrupted (say, with an ambiguous ending), it can feel dissonant.
Present tense, by contrast, sets me up for uncertainty. The narrator doesn’t know the outcome yet — and neither do I. This works beautifully for genres that trade in ambiguity or immediacy, like psychological thrillers or literary flash fiction.
Here’s an example. Compare:
“She walked into the forest, knowing she might not return.”
vs.
“She walks into the forest, not knowing if she’ll return.”
The second version holds tension in the present moment. The first allows for reflection — even foreboding. Neither is better by default; each shapes tone in a distinct way.
Tense and the narrator’s reliability
One final wrinkle — tense affects how we perceive the narrator’s reliability.
Past tense often signals a narrator who’s processed events, possibly editing or interpreting them. Present tense suggests raw experience, but that can introduce its own kind of unreliability — think of Emma Donoghue’s Room, where a child narrator filters the story in present tense, highlighting gaps in understanding.
Choosing tense isn’t just about scene-level mechanics — it’s about shaping your reader’s trust. Are they hearing an account? Or witnessing an experience?
As experienced storytellers, we all know tense matters. But when we understand exactly how it shapes tone — and deploy it consciously — we unlock new layers of narrative power. Up next, we’ll get into the practical effects of tense on pacing, character connection, and more. Stay tuned.
How tense affects pacing, connection, and style
Let’s get practical. It’s one thing to say that tense influences tone; it’s another to see how it tangibly shapes how your story moves, how your characters breathe, and how your readers feel inside your narrative world.
I’ll break this part into a list for clarity, but don’t treat these as rigid rules — think of them as pressure points you can adjust, depending on what effect you want. Sometimes subtle tweaks here can transform how your story lands.
Pacing and rhythm
Present tense naturally speeds up your story’s pacing. Why? Because the narrative is locked to the “now.” There’s little room to pause, explain, or summarize. Each beat must play out moment by moment. This is why so many fast-paced thrillers and YA novels lean on it.
Example:
“I run down the alley. The footsteps pound behind me. I can’t think — only move.”
Compare with:
“I ran down the alley. Footsteps had pounded behind me. I hadn’t been able to think — only move.”
The first version is immediate; the second invites reflection and creates a slightly slower rhythm. If your story needs relentless momentum — chase scenes, emotional spirals — present tense helps you deliver that.
On the flip side, past tense gives you more flexibility to modulate pacing. You can zoom in or pull back, moving across time smoothly. This is crucial for longer narratives where constant high tension would exhaust the reader.
Tip: If you find your present-tense draft becoming breathless and monotonous, try past tense — it often creates more natural variation in pacing.
Character connection
Here’s where it gets really interesting. Tense controls how closely the reader aligns with your characters’ consciousness.
Present tense feels like a character’s raw, unprocessed experience. We’re right inside their skin.
Example:
“I press my fingers to the scar. It’s still there, faint beneath the skin, and I wonder if he remembers.”
In past tense, the same moment can gain layers of perspective or even irony:
“I pressed my fingers to the scar. It had faded, but somehow it still felt fresh. I wondered, not for the first time, if he remembered.”
Key difference: In present tense, we stay in sensory experience. In past tense, we often get interpreted experience.
Neither is inherently stronger. But if your story hinges on intimacy — say, first-person literary fiction or psychological realism — present tense can amplify that closeness. If your story requires depth, memory, and layers of meaning, past tense may serve you better.
Flexibility of time manipulation
This is where past tense truly shines. If your story needs complex temporal structure — flashbacks, nested timelines, jumps between now and then — past tense gives you the freedom to do this gracefully.
Present tense, by its nature, resists time shifts. Flashbacks feel clunky unless handled with extreme care. I’ve seen this trip up even skilled writers.
One workaround is to combine present tense narration with past-tense memories, but be very deliberate:
“She walks along the pier. The wind stings her face. Ten years ago, a different wind had caught her hair as she’d stood here with him.”
Notice how the shift to past tense clearly signals memory. Done well, this can add emotional texture — but too many tense shifts can disorient the reader.
General guideline: If your story’s structure demands frequent time movement, past tense is your friend.
Voice and style
Certain narrative voices pair naturally with certain tenses.
Present tense often complements minimalist, lyrical, or visceral styles. Think The Road by Cormac McCarthy or Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk. The style strips away artifice, putting the reader in the moment.
Past tense allows more stylistic range — from spare to ornate, from cool distance to rich interiority. It can sustain epic or omniscient voices that present tense struggles to support.
Example of omniscient past tense:
“The villagers whispered that the forest was cursed. No one had entered it in a hundred years. But tonight, that would change.”
Present tense struggles to carry this kind of mythic framing without sounding odd.
Reader immersion
Here’s the paradox: present tense creates immediacy, but can also break immersion if handled poorly. Some readers resist it instinctively — it can feel too stylized or artificial if not fully supported by voice and tone.
Past tense, being more traditional, offers smoother immersion for most readers. But it can also feel safe or distancing if not energized by the right narrative voice.
Your challenge as an expert storyteller: Know your audience and your intent. If you’re using present tense, commit fully. If you’re using past tense, use its flexibility to enrich your narrative layers.
How to make tense work harder for you
Now that we’ve explored the effects, let’s get tactical. How can you use tense as an advanced storytelling technique — not just a default choice?
Shift tense to reflect psychological states
One of the most powerful tools in your kit is the intentional tense shift to reflect inner change or emotional shifts.
Margaret Atwood does this masterfully in Cat’s Eye, where past-tense narration occasionally slides into present tense during moments of trauma or emotional intensity. The shift signals that, for the narrator, those moments are still alive — they haven’t been processed into the safe distance of memory.
You can use this subtly:
“I had left him long ago. But even now, sometimes, I wake and the room smells of his cologne. I am there again, heart hammering.”
Notice how the shift to present tense mirrors the character’s flash of lived experience.
Advanced tip: Use this sparingly. Too much tense shifting can confuse or exhaust the reader. But used strategically, it’s devastatingly effective.
Play with genre expectations
Expert writers know that playing with — or subverting — genre expectations around tense can create fresh effects.
Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall shocked many by using present tense in historical fiction — traditionally a past-tense bastion. The choice created an eerie sense of watching history unfold now, stripping away the comfort of hindsight.
Likewise, Rebecca Roanhorse’s Black Sun brings present tense to epic fantasy, heightening its ritualistic immediacy.
If you want to signal that your story is doing something different — questioning history, destabilizing reader assumptions — tense choice becomes a powerful signal.
Combine tenses for layered meaning
Another advanced move: use present tense in dialogue and memories within a past-tense frame (or vice versa) to layer temporal textures.
Example from a memoir draft I once critiqued:
“I had always thought I knew her. Then she looked at me and said — “You don’t know anything, do you?” That voice — present, biting — still echoes.”
Here, present tense in the quoted dialogue emphasizes its emotional immediacy and lingering impact.
Tip: Pay close attention to transitions when combining tenses. Signal shifts clearly through syntax, paragraphing, or narrative cues.
Ethical considerations
Here’s something we don’t talk about enough. Tense choice can carry ethical weight, especially in memoir or trauma narratives.
Present tense immerses readers in raw experience. Used irresponsibly, it can re-trigger trauma for both writer and reader, or create voyeuristic effects.
Past tense can offer a safer narrative container — a signal that events have been processed, that distance exists.
Ask yourself: Does this tense choice honor the emotional truth of the story? Does it serve the reader’s experience — or just my stylistic preference?
Great storytelling demands this level of awareness.
Before You Leave…
So — tense isn’t just about whether you write walks or walked. It’s one of the most powerful tools we have to shape tone, pacing, voice, and reader immersion. And as expert storytellers, we should be making these choices consciously, not by default.
Whether you’re chasing immediacy or layering reflection, whether you’re subverting genre conventions or aligning tightly with character consciousness — your tense choice can either amplify or undercut your story’s intent.
Play. Experiment. Reconsider. The next time you sit down to draft or revise, ask: What emotional contract am I creating with my reader through tense?
Mastering that is one of the finest — and most thrilling — edges of the craft.