Writing Between Worlds: Crafting Authentic Dissociative Experiences in Fiction
A Behind-the-Scenes Look at Crafting Psychological Complexity in my Short Story "Tides"
Reality isn't always a solid shore, but sometimes more like shifting sand beneath ocean waves. As writers, we're often drawn to these uncertain territories—where identity blurs and perception becomes questionable. When I wrote my short story "Tides," I wanted to create more than just another unreliable narrator story; I aimed to immerse readers in the genuine experience of moving between realities, making them question which world was authentic alongside my protagonist.
Many readers have asked about the inspiration and techniques behind the story, particularly how I approached portraying a character who cannot separate dreams from reality. Today, I'm pulling back the curtain on the creative decisions that shaped "Tides" and exploring how narrative structure can authentically represent psychological experiences.
The Genesis of Drew's Dual Worlds
When responding to the prompt—"Center your story around someone who cannot separate their dreams from reality"—I made a deliberate choice to avoid the common "it was all a dream" trope. Instead, I wanted both of Drew's realities to feel equally viable, creating a genuine experience of dissociation rather than a simple twist ending.
The surf instructor's life represents freedom and escape from structure—literally riding waves, living by natural tides rather than corporate calendars. Captain Reeves' military existence embodies constraint, regulation, and responsibility. These worlds aren't randomly selected but represent the fundamental human tension between freedom and structure, individualism and duty.
I placed Drew/Reeves in this divided state to explore a question I find endlessly fascinating: Which world do we choose when both feel real in different ways? Is the life we imagine for ourselves sometimes more authentic than the one we physically inhabit?
Narrative Techniques for Portraying Psychological States
Creating a convincing portrayal of dissociation required specific technical choices. Here are the key narrative approaches I employed:
Limited Third-Person Perspective
By using limited third-person narration centered on Drew's consciousness, I created a perspective that feels reliable yet remains fundamentally unreliable. Readers experience Drew's confusion directly, rather than being told about it. Notice this passage:
“Drew's consciousness flickered between realities—the beach and the medical facility, freedom and captivity. Voices spouting military and medical jargon echoed through his mind.”
The narration itself fragments as the story progresses, mirroring Drew's deteriorating grasp on a singular reality.
Italicized Thought Interruptions
The italicized passages that increasingly interrupt the narrative serve multiple purposes:
Fluorescent lights. Metal desk cold against his palms. Walls painted institutional gray. A stern voice: "Captain Reeves, these reports are unacceptable. The operation failed because of your negligence."
These visually distinct sections create immediate disorientation, placing readers in Drew's dissociative mind state without explanation. The interruptions increase in frequency and length as the story progresses, physically representing the intrusion of one reality into another.
Physical Symptoms as Psychological Bridges
Rather than keeping Drew's struggle purely psychological, I gave him physical symptoms that manifest at the boundaries between worlds:
“Drew only just finished his question when pain shot through his nerves like an electrical current. His right arm seized mid-stroke. Muscles locked from fingertips to shoulder.”
These physical manifestations serve as tangible evidence of psychological distress, creating a bodily connection between mental states. The paralysis symbolizes Drew's resistance to acknowledging whichever reality might be "true."
Psychological Authenticity in Fiction
When writing characters with complex psychological states, authenticity matters more than clinical accuracy. That said, I researched dissociative experiences to ground Drew's experience while serving the story's needs.
Avoiding Stereotypes While Creating Tension
I was conscious of avoiding harmful stereotypes about dissociation and mental health. Drew isn't portrayed as dangerous or fundamentally broken—he's someone trying to make sense of competing realities. The short story's tension comes not from fear of what Drew might do, but from concern about what might happen to him.
The neurologist character serves as a bridge between narrative drama and medical reality:
"You're experiencing temporal lobe seizures," she said matter-of-factly after the others moved toward the water. "Not uncommon with your type of injury."
This character acknowledges a potential medical explanation without definitively resolving the mystery.
The Therapeutic Value of Ambiguity
By maintaining ambiguity about which world is "real," the story creates space for readers to project their own experiences of identity fragmentation. This ambiguity isn't a narrative cop-out but a deliberate choice reflecting the complexity of psychological experience.
The ending intentionally leaves both possibilities open, with Drew making a choice that could be interpreted as either acceptance or continued denial:
This is my post. This is where I belong. This is real.
“Behind him, the wave closed, water and sun in perfect balance, returning tides making his real dreams come true.”
Which dreams are "real?" The story doesn't definitively answer this question because the experience of questioning reality itself matters more than arriving at a single truth.
Water as Setting and Symbol
The ocean in "Tides" functions at once as literal setting and psychological metaphor. Water has long symbolized the unconscious mind in literature, and I deliberately played with this association.
Surfing becomes the perfect activity for the story's themes—a practice that requires balancing on the boundary between control and surrender. Drew's expertise in navigating waves parallels his navigation between competing realities.
The climactic storm scene, where Drew nearly drowns (or does he?), forces a confrontation between worlds. By placing him in a life-threatening situation in one reality, I created urgent stakes for his final choice between worlds:
“Far from shore, Drew scanned the horizon. The storm's fury built walls of water. A monster rose before him, dark and powerful. Drew turned his board, paddled hard.”
The dangerous water represents both threat and possibility—the risk of losing oneself entirely and the potential for rebirth into a chosen reality.
Advice for Writers Exploring Psychological Complexity
For writers interested in portraying complex psychological states authentically, I offer these insights from crafting "Tides":
Research thoroughly but serve the story first. Understand the psychology you're representing, but don't let clinical details override narrative needs.
Use format to create experience. Consider how page layout, typography, and formatting can physically represent psychological states.
Embody psychological states in setting and symbols. Find concrete representations for abstract mental experiences.
Trust readers with ambiguity. Avoid the temptation to resolve every question, especially when exploring perception and reality.
Treat psychological complexity with respect. Avoid using mental health conditions merely for plot twists or character quirks.
Conclusion
In writing "Tides," I sought to create a story that functions simultaneously as compelling narrative and authentic psychological portrait. The techniques discussed here—limited perspective, visual formatting, physicalized symptoms, symbolic settings, and maintained ambiguity—all serve to place readers within the dissociative experience rather than merely observing it from outside.
The enduring questions of identity, reality, and self-determination that drive "Tides" reflect universal human concerns. We all, at times, feel caught between the lives we have and the lives we imagine—between duty and freedom, between structure and fluidity. Perhaps that's why stories about uncertain reality resonate so deeply; they reflect our own daily navigation between competing versions of ourselves.
If you'd like to read "Tides" in its entirety, you can find it here: Tides on Reedsy