Question of the Month
copyright 2000 by Alicia Rasley
Ask me anything.... about writing, that is. It's all I know.
Two new questions! Emotion through action and object, and first books.
Want some old questions? Click here for an archive.How do I bring out emotion in my very emotional scenes without being too melodramatic?
uestion:
Betty
nswer:
That's a tough one! Actually, I think a "less is more" approach works here. Don't go for emotional words (like "he sat down, grieving for his father, his sadness overcoming him and filling him with despair") or the patented displays of emotions (like "he flung himself on the ground in an agony of grief, howling his anguish while his tears flowed like rain"). An odd aspect of reader identification with the character is that... well, you have to leave room for the reader to feel emotion, and if the character is over-emoting, then there's no reason for the reader to help out.
But this doesn't mean going to some extreme of non-communicative non-feeling. Rather let the character subtly act out the emotion. Let the dialogue be short and evocative rather than truly expressive. Go for subtext-- let the whole scene create a sense of emotion, because if it's the entire scene, the reader has to put the parts together to feel the emotion.
For example, let's say the hero's house burned down, taking with all the mementos he has of his beloved and recently departed dad.
Use the setting-- the rubble, the smoke, the ashes-- describing it through his viewpoint... but a bit dispassionately. Let him be in a bit of shock, emotions under tight control because he's afraid of how he might fall apart if he doesn't hang on. (Remember that he might not fully have processed his father's recent death, and this is what he's really scared of-- facing the enormity of his grief.)
He's trying to be calm. Walking through the rubble. What's his purpose? To find what's left. To, oh, maybe try to remember what there was so he can tell the insurance agent. (A cool rational task can help with holding on to that tenuous control.) But at some point, make him think about Dad. Like a stab of regret-- why didn't I make copies of all Dad's photos? Now they're lost-- but cut it off. It's really important not to let him take the thought/feeling all the way, because, remember, he's trying to hold on.
So he's found what looks like it might be a bit of the old desk, and he has this totally irrational flash of a thought-- the photo box was in the desk! Maybe-- no, it's too crazy-- maybe it survived the fire. It was metal, right? Maybe-- and he kneels down and starts digging through the ashes with his hands, and pulls out-- and drops, it's so hot-- the melted remains of a box, the top off and nothing but ashes inside.
Try and put yourself into the character's body. I'd say underplay the emotional words and go deep into his point of view and use the body. Let him slump to the ground (just slump-- don't fling :) but without any editorial comment-- use the body. He wipes a hand across his face and tastes the ashes. He thinks, I have to get up, and with conscious effort puts his hand down to help himself up, and his hand closes on something in the ashes. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he pulls it out. It's his father's pipe.
Now chop off any dialogue or inner dialogue. Go with perception and action.
Like--
The bowl was clay and unmarred except for the soot, but the mouthpiece was melted. He held it in his hand, letting it burn into his palm, remembering Dad's ritual of cleaning it out, then filling it, carefully tamping the cheap tobacco down before adding more. Sometimes Brad would get to light it, carefully striking the match and holding it to the bowl while Dad inhaled deeply and then said, his voice deep with satisfaction, "Thanks, son. That's good."
Brad brought the pipe to his nose and inhaled. Even within the
overpowering stench of the dying fire, he could sense Dad with him, in the sweet rich smell of ancient tobacco. He closed his eyes and waited for the memory to pass. Then he jammed the pipe into his pocket and went back to searching through the ashes of his life.--------
I think all the emotion is conveyed through action and sense here. I
believe that works better than describing the actual emotion ("He
remembered his father and wept inwardly, as renewed grief swept over
him...")-- especially with male characters. The concreteness of the
object (the pipe) kind of encapsulates the emotion somehow.Anyway, I've been trying that-- finding the emotion in the physical, in the character's body, perception, and actions, and also if possible in some "prop" of a physical object. After all, we endow objects with all sorts of emotional value and power, so the reader will have no trouble imagining Brad's dad in that pipe.
Don't know if that helps, but this is a good example of showing, not telling.
Alicia
I recently finished my first manuscript, and have started a couple others. I like the new stories better than that first one, but it's complete, and I'm thinking of sending it out to publishers. After all, I can't get published if I don't submit, right? What do you think? Should we submit our complete stories, or not?
Toni
Well, I sold the first book I ever wrote, and in retrospect, it was
NOT a great career move. <G> It wasn't really ready for publication, although I didn't know it then. Another polish would have helped, but another couple years of maturing as a writer would have helped more. Not that it was a bad book-- it just had a lot of beginner mistakes and some serious historical inaccuracies. (Well, serious to me. I had my secondary military hero in the WRONG COLOR UNIFORM!) It was fun getting the book published, but hen I got the rights back, I drastically rewrote it.I think if you don't like the book as much as the ones you're working on now, that's a clue to put it aside for a couple months, or get a few critiques on it. Loving a book you just finished is no guarantee that it's great ("all babies are beautiful!" <G>), but not loving it probably is a sign that you don't want it representing you in front of editors just yet. Editors have long memories, drat them, and you might not want your name associated in their minds with less than your best effort. (I was reminded of this when I recently found myself sitting next to the editor of my second book -- fortunately a much better book-- and introduced myself. She didn't remember my name, but when I told her the book title, she recalled it, and I don't want to tell you how long ago that was or speculate on how many other books she's edited in the meantime! Suffice to say, editors have long memories!)
So I'd suggest-- put the old book away for a couple months. Work on the new one. When you feel removed enough from the first book to give it an objective read, pull it out and evaluate it. Does it need more work? Probably. (Sorry-- I think almost all manuscripts, including the one I just sent to my agent, need more work. A book is never done... it's just due.) Is it worth working on? I've abandoned plenty of books that didn't end up being worth the effort to revise, or had such major problems I didn't think I could repair them. And I've also resuscitated books I thought were hopeless when a couple months away gave me the distance I needed to see the problems and solutions.
You might decide to submit it as is, or to rework it and then submit it, or to put it away into a drawer. But wait a few months to make this decision. I'll be blunt-- first novels are seldom ready to meet an editor, at least in their first incarnations. (Most "debut novelists" have three or four manuscripts gathering dust under the bed.) Not getting a particular book published isn't the worst thing that can happen to a writer. Sometimes it's the best thing. :) The first book often is a learning experience, and that is in and of itself valuable.
Alicia
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