Feeling Words

I want to write well. I've always thought that I had my way with words and that writing was my forte but there always seems to be something missing, especially when it comes to fiction; as if all I could tell was a bland plot with zero emotional impact. It feels empty and it frustrates me to no end, partly because I thought I'd be able to communicate better through writing.

Let me give you a hint to this particular problem I've been facing and simultaneously experimenting on:

Today, for the third time this week, I woke up feeling disoriented.

Sounds boring, doesn't it? What about this one?

Today, for the third time this week, I woke up as if my head was anywhere but attached to my body. I failed to explain the rapid beating of my heart either for the unshakable feeling that I was not supposed to be there, wherever I was, was faster to sink in. I grasped the gentle surface beneath me and chuckled out of disbelief of how ridiculous I had been for someone who was simply lying on my very own bed, covered in my very own blanket.

Can you feel my words? Did my message reach you? Was it clear enough? These are the questions that I often face whenever I try to write. I am currently learning to write fiction properly and I found that many amazing authors are in fact amazing due to their ability to convey a certain feeling through their words in such relatable, though not always accurate, and engaging ways. 

How did they do that? To find the answer, I did a small exploration on feelings and how writers utilize them. I thought it might be useful for basically anyone who is trying to write or simply loves to read.

Let's talk about feelings first. Earlier I mentioned something about feeling disoriented. Being disoriented is not a feeling you can easily describe for it is a complicated vagueness. When a person says that he feels disoriented, according to the dictionary, we may assume that he is so confused he loses all sense of direction. That, however, isn't the only way to describe the feeling. We can also assume that his body doesn't seem to cooperate with him, or that he simply has a hangover—all descriptions that do not simply form a conclusion.

The same goes to other feelings that may seem to have a solid explanation like happiness or sadness. How do you explain happiness? Happiness is the feeling of being so lightweight you forget everything bad that has ever happened in your life. Happiness is when you see small feet taking wobbly steps followed with occasional thuds and giggles. Happiness is not being able to control your creepy love-struck teenager grin because you are bursting with emotions inside. It's when satisfaction, bliss, joy and perhaps pride meet in the middle. Somehow it's rather easy to pinpoint when someone is happy but is that it?

My point is: there is no simple way to explain even such 'basic' feeling like happiness.

Feelings are complex matters. If I had to choose one adjective to describe feelings, I'd choose rich. Each feeling seem to have their own degrees of intensity. On top of that, I think feelings do not simply consist of a single emotion wired on your body. You cannot simply be angry. When a person gets angry, there is always a hint of something else on it. It can be frustration, disappointment, or even sadness. You cannot simply be sad, either. Along with sadness may come regrets, longing, and even a happy tinge. That's why the word 'bittersweet' works.

Thus, it only makes sense that people have so many ways to convey it. When you feel something, you may want to talk about it with whoever the hell sitting next to you, write it down and make it slightly more dramatic (not that being dramatic is wrong because your feelings are valid no matter how people see it), do spontaneous acts like a big fat hug that crushes one's bones, or simply let your biological reaction take over. Perhaps you'd cry or have a cardiac arrest or something.

When I thought about it, the first question that came to mind was whether I could associate feelings with senses. I thought that maybe I'd dig a little about how writers used a certain sense or maybe all five to convey feelings.

We are gifted with at the very least five senses: sight, hearing, taste, smell, touch. Less than five still counts as perfect too. All these senses are the basic tools we use to comprehend life and tell what's going on around us. These five senses can bring you feelings—the tears that roll down when you see the opening scene from Up, the 'I love you's that bring you down to your knees, the surprisingly familiar taste of home in the Chinese takeout you bought, that perfume you specifically hate because your annoying boss at work wears one, the gentle fur of your old golden retriever. 

Senses are the bridges to feelings, and what I understand is that amazing writers cleverly use them as a two-way bridge instead of a one-way lane of brain receptor, in the most discreet way possible. I notice that when these writers describe something, they don't actually give you the whole picture. Instead, they leave traces for your senses to relate and let their readers put their personal meaning along to what these writers intended to say.

Take a look at this excerpt from George R.R. Martin's A Clash of Kings:

Tyrion watched his niece kneel before the High Septon to receive his blessing on her voyage. Sunlight caught in his crystal crown and spilled rainbows across Myrcella's upturned face. The noise from the riverside made it impossible to hear the prayers. He hoped the gods had sharper ears. The High Septon was as fat as a house, and more pompous and long of wind than even Pycelle. "Enough old man, make an end to it," Tyrion thought irritably. "The gods have better things to do than listen to you, and so do I."——Martin, 1999:589.

This is one example which pretty much explains why I enjoy A Song of Ice and Fire saga. This paragraph in specific was written in a way that would bring you, the reader, into the picture instead of being a mere observer, despite being told in third person. Notice how Martin used the sense of sight and hearing as a bridge to connect the readers into the scene of Myrcella's departure from King's Landing and almost effortlessly put them in Tyrion's shoes. By the end of the paragraph, you can feel how much Tyrion hated to be there.

When you use senses and put feelings to your words, the whole story becomes so alive that people attach themselves to it. Feelings bait your imagination and ease your thirst for connection. When you finish the book, a part of you dies with it because all this time you've been living on that story.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is the kind of writing I aspire to do.