My CP is constantly harping and nagging…ahem, I mean gently reminding me about the need to infuse my writing with more emotion. And, she’s right. In my head, the characters are going through such turmoil and angst, but I often forget to pour that emotion onto the page for the reader to see.
Some of this probably stems from the dominance of my left brain. Hello? Programmer/engineer here. I once looked back through an old diary that I kept sporadically in middle and high school. It read like a catalog of events rather than an emotion-filled life. BO-RING.
Fictionalized example: “XY [the boy I had a crush on for five years who never noticed my existence] started dating XX today. I broke my finger at soccer practice, and then we had lasagna for dinner.” Seriously? Aren’t teenaged girls supposed to be the queens of drama?
Good grief. What am I, a robot? When I think back on those moments, many of them were very emotional for me. Why the heck didn’t I put it on paper? I’m sure I could analyze the reasons for you ad nauseam (yes that’s spelled right), but I’ll spare you.
What my diary should have been like: “XY smiled at me yesterday when I loaned him a piece of paper in Chem. He’s so gorgeous. I wish I was brave enough to flirt with him, but he only likes the popular girls. My heart cracked in two when I found out he’s dating XX. I wanted to throw up because she’s such a bitch and he deserves better than her.”
Sigh. All I know is that I’m now combing through Counting on You and Floater, looking for those important scenes where my writing fell flat.
My stomach is clenching at the thought, my head spinning with ideas as I eagerly scroll through the pages…
The Daily Squirrel: wedding ring
Mike pawed through the dresser drawer like a dog digging a fresh hole. The bride’s ring had to be in there somewhere. Sweat dripped down his forehead and stung his eyes. Ben had trusted him for the first time in years, and he’d screwed it up. Again. Socks and underwear flew through the air, littering the floor and the bed as Mike dug deeper. Finally, his hand closed around a small, velvet box stuck against the back of the drawer. He let out the breath he’d been holding and collapsed to the floor, the box tucked tightly against his pounding heart. Even if he had to sleep with it, the ring would not leave his sight again until he put it into the groom’s hand.