Putting Emotion on the Page

Today's designated topic is on how to put emotion on the page.  But with Thorn of Dentonhill's release just days away, it's just about impossible to talk about HOW to do that.  So, instead, I'll just put some emotion on the page.  Or screen, as it were.
And that emotion is gratitude, because the book would not exist without the assistance of quite a few people.
First of all, there is my amazing and incredibly patient wife, Deidre Kateri Aragon.  She has been an anchor in my life for the past fifteen years, giving me the ability to pound away at a keyboard day after day and making this book happen.  But more importantly, she got me on task in the first place, moving me from being that guy who just talked about “writing a book at some point” to actually making writing a real focus in my life.  She, as well as my son Nicholas, have been a source of constant support and strength through the process of becoming a novelist.
No less important to thank are my parents, Louis and Nancy Maresca, and my mother-in-law, Kateri Aragon.  My mother, especially, read an early draft and gave it a solid critique and line edit. 
Next, there are all the many people who read versions and drafts of Thorn, and gave useful advice that helped shape it into a stronger, better work.  This includes Kimberly Frost and Julie Kenner, as well as Miriam Robinson Gould, and the Bat City Novelocracy crew: Kevin Jewell, Abby Goldsmith, Ellen Van Hensbergen, Leigh Berggren, Nicole Duson and Amanda Downum.
A huge portion of thanks has to go to Stina Leicht, who has been running the ArmadilloCon Writers Workshop for many years, and after I had attended it several times, brought me on board to run it with her.  Stina has been a friend, a mentor, a sympathetic ear, and a good source for the occasional much-needed whap upside the head, which is exactly what every writer needs.
I can’t emphasize enough how much is owed to my agent, Mike Kabongo.  He’s handled with grace and humor the arduous task of dealing with my constant harassment while shopping my work.  He deserves extra accolades for taking an interest in a manuscript that was not ready or sellable, but filled with potential.  He really shepherded that work, which eventually became this novel.
Further thanks are owed to my editor, Sheila Gilbert, as well as everyone else at DAW and Penguin: Josh Starr, Katie Hoffman, Nita Basu, and probably a dozen other people who helped bring this about whose names I never knew.  I am deeply grateful for all the hard work they’ve done to make this the best book it can possibly be.
Finally, there is my dear friend Daniel J. Fawcett, who has been my sounding board and bent ear on everything creative I’ve done since the seventh grade.  Nothing in this book would be what it is without his influence.  I wouldn’t be who I am today without his friendship.

Be A Vengeful God

Emotion. From seething anger, to quiet rage. From laughter and joy to tears of pain. Triumph and loss. Or maybe empty triumph and heroic loss.

You are the writer, the author, the creator. For your story, you are a god. Be a vengeful god.

They want that one something so badly.... Don't give it to them. See what happens. They need x and y to win...so they have to go out prove themselves worthy of it before they can collect x an y. What did they have to give up to gain it--and how did they feel about doing so? What matters most to them? What if attaining the goal means sacrificing that thing? Can they do it? Can they not? Emotions at odds with the goal grow your characters like nothing else, and believe me, your characters must be fully emotionally invested in the plot you are crafting if you want your readers to get emotionally invested.

For example, we hear about how good balance and justice and calmness is, but the news is predominantly focused on the world's injustices, fearmongering, and celebrity gossip. Why? Because the stories we want to know more simply about aren't pretty and kind and gentle.

So draw lines, ye vengeful god. Let your character believe it when they say: "I won't... I'll never... I can't..." Put that cheese on their emotional traps, then force your minions characters over that line. Give them a reason to feel, see how they hurt, how they seethe, how they change their minds, how resourceful, territorial, and relentless they can get.

Like I did here....

EXCERPT: FATAL CIRCLE
SET UP: On the shores of Lake Erie, the not-so-sweet fairie royalty and their army have come at dawn to kill Menessos and thereby rid themselves of their binding to him once and for all. But that would mean they are free to do awful things to this world. So the witches and waerewolves have gathered to strike at the fey while Persephone works a magic to seal them out of this world forever. But things have gone wrong...her boyfriend and waerewolf Johnny has been injured and is possibly drowning in the Lake. The fey leader Fax Torris is wielding a beam of light hot enough to turn the sands of the shore into glass, and those who would stop the fey are being slain before they can even confront the enemy...

{On his knees within the circle she had drawn in the sand,} Menessos put the willow wand into my hands. “The sacrifices you have made, you made only to see that things are done right,” he said. He aimed the tip of the wand at his chest. “Do this,” he said. “It is the right thing, for the right reason.”
“No.” Horrified, I backpedaled. Limp fingers let the wand fall to the sand.
“There isn’t time to debate, Persephone! I cannot call her to this circle. This is the only option left to us is to sever the bonds so you can seal the gateway.”

“No,” I whispered.
Menessos staggered to his feet.
My legs were jelly. He had placed the wand—a stake!—into my limp hands, and curled my fingers around it. “Let’s give her what she wants. Free her. Let her go home and take her madness with her.”
“Menessos.” I drew a breath. My words came back to haunt me. When have I not accepted the responsibility thrust upon me? When have I drawn the line and said 'No, this is too much?' “No. No. Here, at this, I’m drawing the line,” I said. “This is too much.”
“You are my master, Persephone. I accept what that means. The good and the bad.” He stood straighter. “For you, I will experience death.” He opened his shirt and bared his chest.
I beheld Arthur. My hero and king.
I thought of Seven. She’d chosen love over destiny, and believed herself a failure for her choice. Johnny might be dead already. And Menessos was telling me to kill him, as well. Destiny sucked.
“Take pity, Persephone, do not draw this out.”
I nodded, once.
But I couldn’t do it.
I grabbed him into my arms and I pressed my lips to his. A rush of heat blossomed around me. Was it Menessos’s heat or the charm redirecting something dangerous?
The charm.
Screams erupted to my right. I broke the kiss to see two witches taken by the {super heated}beam, reduced to less than ash in an instant. They had been trying to stop Fax Torris, drawing the beam away. But she was back on target.

Menessos whispered, “In signum amoris.” {Means: A sign of love.}
Staring into his eyes, I drew on our bond, just enough. I held him in my mind because I could not hold him in my arms.
“By your hand, let it be done.”
My heart thudded once and my world slowed as battle-heightened senses went dull. I heard only my own tardy heartbeat in my ears, the shift of fabric as I drew back my arm.
Johnny. And now Menessos.
Seven was right: there's no romance in war.
I accept the good and the bad.
I staked Menessos.

I didn’t look away from his eyes, even to see his crimson life leaking away. The drops splattered warm across my hand, and spilled down his chest in a gush that should not have been possible. I felt the life leaving him, fleeing him almost as if his heart had seized up, forcing all his blood out at once to make a quick end. He made no sound. He drew no breath, let none escape. But his set jaw slackened.

I knew a choking thick darkness was swallowing him.
His knees gave. But his gray eyes never left mine.
All the threads that held us were taut; stretching, threatening to snap. I felt the cords grow thin, frayed with his dying. The friction of my will against this inevitable death grew white hot. All at once it snapped.
My hands shot out, fisting in his shirt, clutching his body. I went down on my knees, too . . . and still he was slowly slumping away from me. I pulled him back into my arms. I will not let go.

His head fell forward to rest on my shoulder. Clinging to him, I wept.

I will not let go.
Wiping my hand across my face, my tears mixed with the blood on my fingertips. I drew the five-pointed star on his forehead. A witch’s symbol. “You are mine.”
Even with my lids shut tight, I could not dam the flow of more tears.
“Element of Earth! I call you to my circle.” My voice cracked and I choked. “Element of Air! I call you to my circle. Element of Fire! I call you to my circle. Element of Water! I call you to my circle.” My words were bitter, mumbled sobs, as I gave in to the grief and cradled Menessos to me.
Such a long, long life, and so devastating that it should end this way, over fairies he had only sought in desperation to find the end of his curse. A curse that made him all he now was. I was bringing to fruition the ending Ezreniel intended from the start.
Eyes still shut—I could not look at him—I raised my head high and cried out, “Goddess! Hear me!” My voice was clear and defiant.
   This guarantee, sealed by me,
     by your blood and by my tears.
   This guarantee, sealed by me,
    the promise of many more years!
I yanked the wand from his chest. On my end of our severed bond, frayed edges became taloned claws. Mine.

The claws surged into the receding dark, grasping for the threads. Mine. I willed more strength down the line, to coil about the cords and refasten them, stronger than before. Mine!

Three Ways to Put More Emotion on the Page

I snapped this pic yesterday for a Happy Caturday flash giveaway of a friend's book. It's the good life around here. :-)

So this week's topic is Putting Emotion on the Page - A How To. Pretty baldy stated, huh? No meandering about with theory or anecdotes. Nope - the calendar demands a How To and thus we must step up and deliver. I'm really looking forward to the posts from the other Word Whores.

Because I feel like I'm not very good at this.

A lot of it comes from my INTJ nature. (If you're not familiar with that Meyers-Briggs personality designation, INTJ is here.) The TL:DR upshot is that I'm a rational thinker and judger, rather a feeler and perceiver. If you did read that page, you will have seen how many times they mention that INTJ's are not naturally good at expressing themselves or explaining their non-linear thought processes.

(Hoo boy! I'd forgotten the bit about non-linear thought processes. This explains SO much about my writing process and why I can't pre-plot to save my life.)

In line with this, it was difficult for me, when I first began writing fiction, to get emotion on the page. I'm firstly more a fan of rationality over emotion, and secondly not that great at communicating the emotion I do believe in.

That said, I think I've gotten better at this. Reviews on my recent books say things like "this book is as touching as it is torrid" and "swooningly romantic."

So here are three things I've learned to put more emotion on the page

1) All emotion is emotion

I learned this from Sarah MacLean's workshop at RWA National. She said that if you can get your readers to feel one emotion, that opens the door to them feeling all the emotions. This was totally a Eureka! moment for me and I've found it's really true. More, it's so much easier to start the story with emotions like humor or anger and let those pave the way to the deeper, squishier and trickier emotions like love and desire.

2) Steal from the poets

The language of emotion is not the language of rationality. There's no room for complete sentences and rigid prose when conveying emotion. Instead, access poetic devices like cadence and assonance to create a mood that echoes the characters' emotional states. Pay particular attention to word choice in very emotional scenes. In writing novels, we frequently can't dwell on every word and phrase like the poets can, with their shorter works, but we can in certain scenes. Word choice - the sound, resonance, and assonance - plays into creating that feel.

3) Reach for the metaphor

A lot of emotional language has become cliché - partly because emotions ARE so difficult to put into words. We run to the typical metaphor - I love you with all my heart, weeping as if her heart would break, so angry she sees red - because those are shortcuts to describe huge emotions that defy easy description. When I'm tempted to use a cliché, I take that as a sign that something enormous lurks beneath that I'm trying to gloss. On those occasions, whether in drafting or going back over to revise, I try to dig deep for my own description. What does it feel like to ME in those moments? Whatever comes to me, that's what I go for, no matter how unusual or bizarre. It's about the poetry, not the rationality.

Anyone else have good tips to share?