Writing Emotion

 One of the best pieces of writing advice I’ve ever heard is this: if you want to have a character react with an emotion, take a moment and act out that emotion.  For example, for anger, you might think really, really hard about something that makes you angry, so that your whole body reacts—and then you observe.  How has your face moved?  What are your hands doing?  What are your legs doing?  Your feet? 

 Now look at an object in your room.  That is truly, absolutely disgusting.  Revolting.  It makes you want to puke looking at it.  What do you do?  Do you stay faced fully toward it, or do you turn away?  Do you want to keep looking at it?  How does the inside of your throat feel?

 That is one level of emotion: the immediate physical reaction.  But there is another: compensation.

 Often, with strong emotion, our reaction is an attempt to somehow get rid of the side effects of that emotion by dealing with other things in our lives that cause a similar or overlapping feeling.  As for me, when I’m stressed, I find any clutter far less bearable, because clutter also makes me feel stressed. When I’m under stress (or an emotion that causes stress, such as frustration, grief, or even excessive excitement), I tend to go on a cleaning spree.  I may not be able to do anything to lessen my grief, but by gum, this kitchen is not going to be adding to my stress.  It’s a form of exerting change on what I can control to compensate for not being able to fix what I can’t.

 Of course, everyone is different, and so everyone exerts this control on something different: for some people, a messy house is not going to be a cause of stress.  The question is then: what is?  And that comes down to your character’s unique personality.  Perhaps they find impending deadlines stressful, in which case they might do something to forget, or they might work overtime.  Perhaps they find decision-making stressful, in which case they might exhibit avoidance behavior or dump the problem on someone else.  In either case, these can be secondary reactions to the emotion that’s causing the bulk of the stress.

 At the moment, this is all theoretically, so let’s take a story case study.  We’ll use a classic form:

 Once upon a time, there was a humble village out in the middle of nowhere.  This village had been at peace for many generations, untouched by the great evils taking place far away. 

 Then one day, minions of the great evil attack the village, slaughtering the inhabitants.  Our protagonist manages to hide in a cellar, so they don’t find him.  When he finally emerges, once the attackers are long gone, he finds everything he’s ever known and loved destroyed.

 He could have different initial reactions: freezing, running around trying to find people, fleeing, hiding back in the cellar.  This is a good time to show character and initial shock.  But . . . what about after that?  Does he bury all the bodies and tidy the place up before either leaving or making himself a new home there?  Does he keep running all the way to the next village?  Once there, does he try to get people to help, or does he pretend not to know about the event, so he can’t be connected to it?  Does he work obsessively to get strong enough to defeat the evildoers?

 I used this beginning as an example for three reasons.  First, it’s reminiscent of the Call to Adventure in the Hero’s Journey.  Second, I actually recently read a rather different take on it in the beginning of Bog Standard Isekai.  Third, I spend the entirety of Sunday and Monday cleaning my house. 

 Goodbye, dear Flora.  You were the most wonderful dog.

12/8/2010-1/4/2025