Getting a reader hooked into a story is a combination of things- an evocative world, interesting characters, and problems that force those characters into physical and mental extremis. One of the challenges of making a narrative have an impact is putting the reader in the protagonist's shoes, showing the emotions and physicality, not simply telling it. In much of my writer mentoring I yammer on about physical/emotional registers and give some random examples.
Now, for a more scientific approach. Voila! Where emotions are felt! I throw this out as a picture not just to enumerate the emotions themselves but to show how even in the body itself there's "nuance" in how it feels. Here's another visual for emotional gradient: This wheel is great as the emotions are "zoned" and within those zones particular types of sensations are expressed. MAD (ANGRY) - Usually associated with HEAT and PRESSURE.
Heat in the face, perspiration. Clenching spasming of muscles (clenching of fists, jaw). Tightness in the throat, stomach. SAD - Usually associated with COLD and WEAKNESS. The face burns (cold burn), the eyes tear up, the throat glops up, the chest doesn't take air well (hitches in the breath), the heart labors... that whole down. Note: grief usually is sadness mixed with anger (denial).
SCARED - In the same timber anger but instead of FIGHT, it's oriented on FLIGHT. Here the muscles tremble, the teeth may chatter, the flesh may prickle, the stomach gets nauseous. Here is basic chart to get your speculations going: So, what would this post be without some examples... I mean talk the write, write the write, amiright? Grahm took out a vial of shining blue liquid and handed it to her. Removing another and uncorking it, he set the sack on the table.
"A toast to the feat not duplicated in two centuries!" She pulled out the stopper and clinked her vial against his. "To the partner who dragged me out of there." He nodded and they both drank the contents of their bottles. The healing potion tasted like cider. She tingled all over and her flesh flickered and glowed as if her bones were giving off a bright light. She watched the skin of a reddened hand flake away to be replaced by the pale but healthy white she'd lived with for twenty-three summers. A gnawing itch replaced the burning pain and she rubbed at her arms and legs.
Grahm let out a sigh of relief, scratching at the wound in his side. "The itching is almost as bad as the pain." "I'll take an itch over a stitch any time." He smiled. "You know this is the first time I've seen you without clothes. You're quite well made even though you're not tall." "We can't all be Myrmigynes." Grahm took her face in his hands. "You could be my little Myrmigyne." She backed up. "Don't be foolish." His eyes flashed.
"We've been partners for a while. Don't you trust me?" She pulled his cloak close to her body. Grahm knew that she'd rebuked others in the guild who were simply after a quick poke. She'd yet to share with a man. She still didn't know what she saved herself for. Grahm was lean and hard.
She liked and trusted his face with its dark eyes and easy smile. "We're working partners, not-- I don't know-- I never thought of you like that." She didn't want to tell him how much the idea scared her. The Brethren Guild had cared for her since childhood. Only quick feet and a quicker dagger had kept the men at bay. She spent her youth learning to pick locks, find traps, to hide, forage, and spy. The prostitutes who were Wren's surrogate parents never taught her about men aside from what to avoid.
She'd dabbled in nothing more serious than kissing and fondling. Grahm looked down at himself. "What's wrong with me?" "Nothing--" "Good." He drew her in for a kiss before she could stop him. She tried to push him away. He stifled Wren's resistance with a warm embrace that made her tingle all over.
Grahm pulled away after a few quick pecks on her face. "You're trembling." Swallowing a lump she said, "I never--" He put a finger to Wren's lips. "Not now, I want you to be ready. Besides, we have to warn the guild and get them ready to fight the Dagger." She shook her head. "We really have to get out of this business." There's a lot of sensory detail in this bit and not much emotion until the end part. Hopefully, you see how those physical sensations add to reader's involvement in the scene.
Now, for some intense emotion: The mage looked Wren up and down as if she'd already forgotten the conversation. "You look quite nice. If anything, it fits you better than it did Desiray. You are a bit larger up top." She walked around her the way a buyer might a prize horse. "Perfect." She ran her fingers through Wren's hair. Wren didn't like being touched by this strange woman unbidden.
She flinched, but did nothing else. Apparently, her objections and warnings meant nothing to Cassandra. "Come." Wren followed, not thinking anything of the touch until she caught sight of herself in one of the many mirrors throughout the hall. She froze and gripped her hair, pulling the strands in front of her face to confirm the reality. This levity went too far. "My hair!
Put my hair back. I don't want it black!" Cassandra never stopped walking. "It is only temporary. Be calm. I will return it to normal." She chuckled. "This will be marvelous." "To Hades with you.
I've taken enough of this!" That stopped Cassandra. She whirled, those black eyes drilling into her. "Have you, little girl?" Her voice dropped to an icy whisper. Golden light flickered around her staff. "Remember who you are talking to and mind your tongue. Or do you intend to try to attack me with my own dagger?" The woman narrowed her eyes.
"Try it." Anger melted the frozen ball in Wren's stomach. She closed with Cassandra until their noses nearly touched. The woman's breath felt hot on her face. Dealing with a mage's condescending attitude she'd do; merely a part of their better-than-thou make-up. But Cassandra or Ishtar herself--she played the fool for nobody. Her anger at Desiray, at Hethanon, at her own impotence spread into every limb, making them burn as if on fire.
Wren gritted the words out slow, one by one. "I don't care who you are." Her voice cracked, but she forced it to a flat growl again. "I am nobody's toy. You can insult me, think me ignorant but never--never think you can treat me like some pet." She felt blood starting beneath her nails. Corona whimpered on her hip. "I'll die before I let myself be demeaned for someone's pleasure.
Understand?" The mage snorted. "Are you done?" Fueled by an iota less anger, the contempt in Cassandra's voice would have stopped Wren. Instead, the woman's biting tone increased the fury. She pulled the strap on the scabbard belt and snatched Corona off her hip. She brandished the bundle in the mage's face. Wren felt tears on her cheeks.
She didn't know why she cried, but it only made the passion hotter, more out of control. "I'll have a please from you, milady. Please dance for me. I came to save lives. My friends are dead and dying because of that arrogant witch you call friend. She wanted to play goddamned games.
A very dear friend was murdered. I've been abused, attacked, and nearly raped. My home, my life are destroyed." Her body shook so hard she thought she might fall apart. Every breath hurt. She tossed the scabbard and dagger at the mage's feet. "You want me to play your games?
Goddamn ask nice. Otherwise, eat Corona for all I care. Try and make me dance, mage. Try!" She shook her fists in Cassandra's face. Daring. The red haze of anger seemed to make her hands glow.
Cassandra stepped back. The radiance around her staff grew bright. The stars in the mage's dark eyes appeared to flash and explode. Wren glared at her through a blur of tears and fury. She could feel Cassandra's magic building to be released; enough to turn her to a cinder. So alone.
She had nothing left but her dignity. She would die with it. Probably better off that way. "Go ahead," Wren challenged. Ishtar, how she hurt inside. She felt like she'd eaten broken glass.
"Kill me because I wouldn't simply roll over for you! Do it!" A gold hand clamped around her throat. "Be silent!" "Make me." The fingers tightened. Wren didn't try to stop her. She'd passed caring. She welcomed release.
So tired. Corona cried like a frightened child. The noose of the mage's hand closed. Wren kept her gaze fixed on Cassandra. As the pressure increased, dots danced in her vision and she felt dizzy. She no longer felt the anger.
She didn't even seem to be in her body anymore. It was as if someone had wrapped her in warm cotton. She could hear her heart far off, the beats growing slower. Her vision blurred...