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The threshold technique taps into something primal in human psychology. Anthropologists call it 'liminal space'—the in-between zone where transformation occurs. Wedding ceremonies, graduation stages, and courtroom entrances all use physical thresholds to mark the moment when someone becomes fundamentally different.

In your fiction, map your character's internal journey onto physical spaces. When they're about to confess love, betray a friend, or accept a dangerous mission, don't let them do it in the middle of a room. Move them to the edge. Make them cross something.

The technique is especially powerful for reluctant heroes. In John le Carré's 'The Spy Who Came in from the Cold,' Alec Leamas repeatedly crosses borders—each checkpoint representing a deeper moral compromise. The Berlin Wall isn't just setting; it's the physical manifestation of his impossible choice.

For maximum impact, have your character look back after crossing. What they see—or can no longer see—crystallizes what they've just sacrificed. The door closing behind them, the bridge disappearing in fog, the gate locking—these images haunt readers because they understand, viscerally, that some thresholds only allow one-way passage.