writing emotion – Charlee Creative

Five Elements of Emotion for Beginning Fiction Writers

The most common mistake beginning fiction writers make is focusing on what happens, or external plot, while neglecting emotion. It isn’t the writers’ fault. They’ve been taught to do this. In school, facts are often preferred over subjective feelings, reactions, and interpretations. In modern fiction, emotion is critical to good storytelling.

I often forget the titles of favorite books I’ve read, but I never forget the characters. By the end of a good novel, I’ve grown close to them and experienced their joys, fears, and passions. In character-focused fiction, emotions drive the story as much, if not more, than the plot. The emotions must be as carefully crafted as any other element of the story. Let’s take a look at a scene from Night Sins by Tami Hoag:

Hannah shook her head. Her hand trembled violently as she set her mug back on the tray, sloshing coffee over the rim. Ignoring the mess, she folded herself in two, hugging her knees, dry sobs racking her body. Someone had stolen her son. In the blink of an eye Josh was gone from their lives, taken by a faceless stranger to a nameless place for a purpose no mother ever wanted to consider. She wondered if he was cold, if he was frightened, if he was thinking of her and wondering why she hadn’t come for him. She wondered if he was alive.

Although Hannah’s emotions are never explicitly identified in this passage, it is hard not to experience the agony, guilt, and fear of a mother whose child has been abducted. One of the first rules of writing good fiction is ‘show, don’t tell.’ ‘Telling’ the emotions present in a scene, would only distance the reader from the very emotions the author intended her to experience. So, by what means do we show emotion?

The Five Elements of Emotion in Fiction

Actions

The character’s actions are an outward indicator of inner feelings. When confronted with a fire-breathing monster the character turns and runs. He is feeling fear.

Dialogue

Dialogue is another outward indicator of emotion. At times it’s appropriate for a character to label their own emotions, but this can be as flat as labeling emotions in narration. More often the dialogue will indicate emotion in some indirect way. Later the fleeing character’s partner asks, “How could you just leave me there to face that monster alone? Did you want me to die?” We understand the character is feeling betrayed.

Body Language

You’ve heard that body language is 90 percent of communication. I don’t know how accurate that is, but the idea is an important one. Body language is super easy to add into dialogue tags to boost or contradict the words your characters speak. A character can claim to be happy, but you know there is more to the story if they are gripping the steering wheel so tightly their knuckles turn white.

Physical Reactions

Physical sensations, that tight feeling in the characters chest, the frantic heartbeat, and other telltale signs of some reaction can convey emotion convincingly. Keep in mind; however, a single reaction could be interpreted differently under different circumstances. A rapid heartbeat could be caused by excitement, fear, arousal, or simply exertion. It can be tricky to find new ways to word these generic reactions, but it is important to avoid overusing common phrases, such as “her heart leapt into her throat.”

Thoughts

A character might reveal emotions in their thoughts, but again avoid labeling. The character doesn’t think, “I’m angry.” She thinks, “I wanted to slap the smirk off his face.”

The passage from Night Sins incorporated actions, physical reactions, and thoughts to build a gripping, emotional scene. When a character’s emotions are straightforward all of these indicators can be used in combination to make those emotions crystal clear. When the character is feeling one emotion and trying to outwardly portray some other emotion, you’ll need to use contradicting indicators. This is bound to happen at some point in the story. The dragon slayer puts on a brave front, but inwardly he’s terrified. Typically, body language, physical reaction, and thoughts reflect the true underlying emotion while actions and dialogue convey what the character wants other characters to believe.

Complex Emotions

All of the techniques discussed so far, focus on the emotions of the moment. It is important not to forget the big picture. In a great novel, the characters are complex and their emotions change over time. Fiction is all about conflict, both external and internal. Emotional conflicts often come from conflicting motivations, desires, and goals. The character wants two things that conflict: to exact revenge on Mr. X—to keep the love and respect of Mr. X’s daughter. The character might love the daughter and at the same time resent her for standing in the way of his goal of revenge. The key to pulling off complex emotions is in laying the groundwork. Characters must be consistent to be believable. If you merely show moment-to-moment emotional reactions that conflict, the reader will be confused. Carefully build the reader’s understanding of each emotion and motivation before you mix conflicting emotions into a complex scene.

Conflict and emotions drive your novel forward and keep your reader involved. The time you spend motivating them and helping the reader understand your characters is crucial to successfully crafting a complex, rich story your reader will remember long after The End.

Demystify Sequels: Why you can’t afford to ignore them.

I’ll let you in on a secret. I agonized over whether or not to use the word ‘sequel’ in the title of this post. Why? Because I know writers who cringe at the mention of the word. I know other authors who flatly deny using sequels in their fiction. Odds are they do use them and just don’t recognize it.

Why is sequel a must?

I’m not talking here about the kind of sequel that continues a story in a subsequent book or movie. Rather, I mean the sequel that is an integral part of your story’s structure. Sequel gets the reader from one scene to the next. It is that part of the story that is not conveyed in the action of the plot. It is the character’s reaction to that action. It is, in short, the emotional connective tissue of any novel. Without it characters rush headlong through a story without the reader understanding why they are doing so. A sequel may be a few words or a few pages, but if your goal as a writer is to deliver an emotional punch, sequel is indispensible.

Why study sequel?

It took several workshops and a few great craft of writing books before the idea of sequels clicked for me. When that happened, I realized immediately that I’d already been writing them. Most writers include them instinctively. That being the case, why bother to study them? Once you better understand sequels you can use that understanding to strengthen them in your work, mold them to suit your storytelling style, ensure they are working at peak effectiveness to deliver the emotional experience readers crave.

The structure of the sequel.

Although the characters in your story need not act perfectly logical at all times, the structure of your story needs to function in a rational manner. Action leads to reaction, cause to effect, and one action must connect to and grow rationally from the last to propel the story forward. Sequels provides the bridges between the action of your scenes. They gives the character time to react. Sequels can vary greatly, but should generally follow the logical pattern we know from real life. When something happens, something significant, your first reaction will probably be an emotional one. How do we deal with that emotion (and more importantly for storytelling, how does the character deal with it in a way that gets us to the next scene)? We think it thorough, come to some decision and then take action. Depending on the circumstances, this process may happen very quickly or take a great deal of time.

For example, a character sees her child fall into a river. She immediately feels fear (emotion), but quickly pushes past her fear to assess that her child cannot swim and will drown if the child is not immediately rescued (thought). In under a minute she has realized she will jump into the river (decision) and has taken that desperate leap (action). She went through the entire pattern of emotion, thought, decision, and action in a few seconds. Because the moment is so urgent, you as author might choose to deal with the entire process with a single sentence. If you also want to get the most emotional punch, revisit the character’s reaction to almost losing her child at greater length in a more expansive sequel.

No navel gazing required.

One reason I often hear for why authors don’t like sequel is that they think sequel must always be paragraphs of internalization dumped in and allowed to stick out like a sore thumb. That is not necessarily true. Internalization, well written and well placed, can be used very effectively, but it is not the only option for sequel. The clever sequel can masquerade as a scene. A sequel can take the form of a conversation with another character or it can be dealt with while the character is doing something active.

The first step in sequel is emotion. Emotion can be deftly conveyed through body language as a character is set in motion. Perhaps not the purposeful motion of a true scene, but deceptively close. Using the example of the woman who leapt into the river to save her child, later that night the woman processes her fear. Rather than sit on the couch and think, she climbs up to the attic and digs out a box of keepsakes from when the child was a toddler. The way she moves and handles the items in the box conveys emotion. This looks like action but the only thing truly happening is the character processing emotion. As she unpacks the items in the box, she will think about what has happened, what it means to her and what she wants to do about it.

Patterns of scene and sequel.

Continuing with our mother and child example, the time between the river incident and her evening at home might be described in summary (a tool eschewed in scene but useful in sequel) or it might be shown as a series of moment by moment scenes (if they further develop a story conflict) before finally getting to the sequel. There is no one correct pattern of scenes and sequels. No definitive length requirements. That pattern is uniquely your own and becomes a part of your story telling style and voice. It is up to you to determine how to use sequels to meet the goals of your story and fulfill the expectations of the genre you are writing.

Put a sequel check at the top of your editing checklist.

I mentioned earlier that most writers include sequels instinctively. We are readers first and as a reader you have probably long loved the emotion of sequels without using that label. It is natural to include them in our own work. However, adding a sequel check to your editing process can ensure that no opportunity to deliver emotional impact in your story has been missed. Checking that your sequels include emotion, thought, and decision, leading to action, will give you an opportunity to fine tune and strengthen your storytelling.

I’ll close with another secret (or more likely an obvious fact). This is the first post I’ve done on sequel—my first attempt at sharing my thoughts on this powerful part of novel structure. I hope it was helpful, but if I’ve left you dazed and confused, please blame it on me and don’t give up on sequel.

Three Powerful Tools to Build Momentum in Your Story

Pacing is probably one of the most misunderstood elements of fiction. We often assume that if we need to fix it, we should probably be trying to speed it up. That isn’t always true. That way of thinking is often followed by a list of superficial fixes: use less narrative and more dialog, use shorter sentences, shorter chapters, put more white space on the page. These aren’t necessarily bad things to do, but they might not be the right thing for your story.

Another approach to pacing is to focus on building momentum. Momentum is a measure of force, a force than can drive your story forward toward a powerful emotional climax. How do you generate momentum? First you need to understand that it is generated by two factors: velocity (the rate of speed in a given direction) and mass (the weight of your story). Let’s take a look at each element and the relationship between them. That will lead us to some practical, but substantive, fixes.

The Movers (Velocity)

The key to putting velocity to work is in the definition: speed in a given direction. Not just any speed will do. That’s where those quick fixes we talked about before can go wrong. All the snappy dialog in the world won’t help your story if it doesn’t drive your story to its conclusion. Short, choppy sentences will only work if they are used at the right moment.

The Shakers (Mass)

I must confess, I’ve recently become infatuated with mass. Not because I’m a science geek, but because I discovered mass is the hidden thread running through the books that make my keeper shelf. Some are movers (they have velocity) but others are not so zippy. What makes those less zippy books work? Mass. I call them shakers because they will shake you up, rock your world, touch your heart. They have weight. If your story has mass, or weight, you can get by with a little less velocity. If your story has less mass, it had better not only move, but fly. Finding the sweet spot between velocity and mass is your ticket to your reader’s must-buy list.

The How-To

So, how do we use velocity and mass to create momentum in fiction? This is where we get to the substantive fixes part. Substantive, because the very first thing you need is a compelling and emotional premise. Not talking about the plot here (a tough New York cop thwarts the terrorists holding hostages in a high rise building in LA) but the driving emotion (an estranged couple rediscovers the strength of their love when the building they are in is taken over by terrorists). Those both describe the movie Die Hard, but which is more emotionally compelling? Once you figure out the emotional premise of your story, you can use that to add mass to every scene in your story.

Now let’s take a look at a few more tools you can use to add momentum.

Dialog

It is true that dialog reads faster than narrative, but to build momentum it must also drive the story toward the ultimate climax. Give each dialog exchange this quick three step test. 1) Is it necessary? 2) Does it show your characters in conflict? 3) Is it loaded with emotion? Here is brief conversation from Ladybugs and Fireflies by Cheryl Alldredge that has all three.

Taylor lifted a hand to Callie’s face and traced her lips with the edge of his thumb. “I liked waking up to your smile…I’d like you to move back in.”

Her eyes widened and her smile turned sad, but she said nothing. The music stopped and she pulled away, moving beyond the edge of the dance floor. Taylor followed, stopping her before she disappeared into the crowd. All right, damn it! If she needed it to be a question, he’d ask. He turned her to face him. “Callie, will you move in with me?”

“I…” Her lip began to quiver.

“Baby, tell me what’s wrong.”

She laughed, but the sound was brittle. “Ask me again tomorrow.”

The emotion in this scene is amplified by a secret. The characters clearly want to be together, but something is standing in their way. Why would Callie tell Taylor to ask again tomorrow? She has a secret that she has been holding back. One that will be revealed the next day. The reader knows that and this conversation serves to build the reader’s anticipation of what will happen when the secret is exposed. The secret is tied directly to the emotional premise of the book, driving the story toward the emotional climax of the story.

Voice

No groaning allowed! Yes, we all know voice is important, but let us think about why. Have you ever stood in a crowd and heard an Irishman speaking three conversations over? If you had, you might have forgotten to listen to the people next to you because you were tuned into that very different voice. Naturally, the Irishman’s voice wouldn’t have the same effect if you were Irish and standing in a crowd of Irishmen!

So, a strong voice is one that stands out and helps you identify a story or character as a particular one—not just another voice in the crowd. If the voice belongs to a first person narrator this effect is even stronger. Now the reader has someone interesting telling them a story. It becomes more personal and the story begins to have weight. It becomes a particular story told by a particular person, directly to the reader, and as the reader becomes focused on the character they want to know more about them. The author can actually slow down and tell the reader things that would otherwise be deemed to slow the story down.

Consider this excerpt from the opening to Lee Roland’s Viper Moon:

Mama wanted me to be a veterinarian. She’d probably have settled for a nurse, teacher, or grocery store clerk. She never came right out and said, “Cassandra, you disappointed me,” or, “Cassandra, you have so much potential,” but I knew I’d let her down.

The idea of me running down a slimy storm sewer in the desolate, abandoned ruins of the Barrows section of Duivel, Missouri, probably never crossed her mind. The drugged, unconscious five-year-old boy strapped to my back and the angry monster with fangs and claws snapping at my heels were just part of my job. Maybe Mama was right—I’d made the wrong career choice.

Now, this book is actually told with a lot of velocity. This excerpt leads into an action scene, but the author can take time here to introduce the character’s voice because that voice is unique and compelling. She also does something else very important: she establishes stakes, both external and internal.

Stakes

Establishing stakes instantly adds weight to your story. It gives your story purpose and direction and it should relate to the emotional premise. In the excerpt above, the survival of a child is at stake. That is an immediate and powerful external stake and, to build momentum, those external stakes will have to build throughout the story (and in Viper Moon they certainly do). We also see the internal stakes for the character. Has she made the wrong career choice? We find Cassandra at a point in her life when she is questioning lots of things about her choices and we want to know how she will come to terms with her life. We are pulled along for the journey.

Summing Up

As genre writers we want to write page turners, books that keep readers up all night. More than that, we want to tell a story that will stick in the mind of readers long after they slide it onto the keeper shelf. In short, we want to write a book that is both a mover and a shaker. Building momentum is an essential part of crafting that unforgettable story.