Going Deep: Writing Scenes with Emotional Impact
“If you want to write a fantasy story with Norse gods, sentient robots, and telepathic dinosaurs, you can do just that. Want to throw in a vampire and a lesbian unicorn while you're at it? Go ahead. Nothing's off limits. But the endless possibility of the genre is a trap. It's easy to get distracted by the glittering props available to you and forget what you're supposed to be doing: telling a good story. Don't get me wrong, magic is cool. But a nervous mother singing to her child at night while something moves quietly through the dark outside her house? That's a story. Handled properly, it's more dramatic than any apocalypse or goblin army could ever be.”
― Patrick Rothfuss
I posted the above quote in my morning Zoom writing group, and although it’s geared toward fantasy writers, I think it holds for any writer of fiction or memoir, or narrative nonfiction for that matter.
Why? Readers respond to emotion in a story. This goes for reading as well as viewing on a screen. It’s what some filmmakers, enamored of CGI or tons of explosions, forget. It’s what some writers, enamored of description or “telling” the reader what’s happening, forget.
For that’s what this means, in essence: the old chestnut, “show, don’t tell.” In Rothfuss’ example, you could say simply:
“Amalia was nervous. She sang to Bel, rocking him slowly in his cradle. Outside darkness had fallen. She heard branches snap. Something was out there, but she didn’t know what it was, and didn’t dare go to the window to look.”
Okay, we see the scene. We understand what’s happening. But do we feel nervous on Amalia’s behalf? Do we care what’s out there? Do we care what happens to her and her child? Eh, maybe, in a general sense. But we can do better.
How? By taking the time to really inhabit the scene. So often as writers, we’re in a rush to get our word count in for the day, or finish the chapter, or the book, that we fail to slow down and really see the places where a scene could be drawn out for maximum effect.
Of course, not all scenes are pivotal scenes. And “deeper” doesn’t equate to “longer.” I’m sure we’ve all read scenes that went on forever, with no emotional content – and eventually got bored, wondering when something was going to happen. Even if we’re in a character’s thoughts, if there’s no emotional content behind them – i.e., no stakes – it's just random thoughts. If they’re debating between two actions that each have serious consequences, that’s different. Or if they’re gearing themselves up to do something very difficult but necessary.
But let’s go back to our example and see what I mean by “going deeper.”
Amalia sat alone in the cottage except for little Bel in the crude wooden cradle next to her. Shadows crept closer and closer, kept at bay only by the light of the dying fire. The small window showed utter blackness, swallowing even trees that crouched close to the cottage. She rocked Bel’s cradle back and forth slowly, humming under her breath. Bel seemed to be asleep. She wanted him to stay that way. Please, don’t wake up. Don’t make a noise.
Crunch, Crunch. Crunch.
Amalia froze. Something was out there, moving in the dark. Twigs and branches snapped under heavy feet.
Praying for Bel not to hear, she began to sing, in a low, quavering voice. A nonsense song, like the one her mother had sung so long ago, to keep her own sweet tender babies alive.
The Thing snuffled at the door. Claws raked at the latch. The reek of wet fur and rotted meat crept under the door.
Amalia sang louder, forcing the breath from her constricting throat. The Beast would not get Bel, not this time. Not ever.
I could go on, but you get the idea. Amalia knows what’s out there, knows it has come for her baby. We know she’s frightened, that maybe her only defense is her song. The scene is not perfect, but hopefully you felt your own tension grow as you read.
In a longer story, I might have set up that scene with a scene in the village, with people saying the Beast had been spotted in the woods recently. No one could hunt it successfully. It only came out after storms, in the dark, and only fed on tender babies and small children. Or maybe this is the opening scene, and I’m luring the reader along, making them care about Amalia and her baby.
When you really drop into a scene, allowing yourself to be there with the characters, you see the telling details. You bring the reader with you, through as direct an experience as you can put on the page.
You leave off words like felt, smelled, heard, saw – any words that get between the reader and that direct experience. If you’re writing a tense scene, you:
mix in plenty of short paragraphs, and short sentences.
choose your adjectives carefully (crude, reek);
pay attention to your verbs above all, making sure they are vivid and appropriate for the tone you’re trying to set (snuffled, raked).
stay in the character’s thoughts, either through direct thought (Please, don’t wake up) or by seeing things through their point of view and emotions (“The Beast would not get Bel, not this time. Not ever.”).
Again, there must be stakes to this scene. If it doesn’t matter, if the Beast goes off and never appears in the story again, then who cares? The stakes might depend on where the scene falls in the story. If it’s the opener, then it tells us the overall stakes – the Beast is here, to eat the local babies, and maybe Amalia is the only one who remembers the old song to keep it at bay. Maybe she’s the only one who can hunt it successfully.
If it’s later in the narrative, then maybe the Beast has already taken several children. Everyone is terrified, Amalia most of all, alone in her cottage in the woods. She was banished there, has no friends or family (we know this from previous scenes) and now has to figure out how to fight back and save her baby, even though she’s been scared and shy all her life (maybe she’s equally “beastly” in some way, which scares the villagers).
This is the way you build emotional stakes on the page. Slowly, by completely inhabiting scenes that matter, and sticking to a particular point of view. In contemporary fiction, it’s usually that of the main character in the scene.
And of course, this holds no matter what you are writing. The “Beast” can be a drunk ex, or a serial killer, or a literal wolf at the door. By taking your time, and including vivid sensual details, active verbs, and a strong point of view, you can create scenes that keep your readers glued to the page.
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