The demand for writing from the character’s point of viewpoint is increasing. Sights, sounds, textures and tastes should reflect the perception of the character. But, what about physiological reactions? These descriptions capture the racing heart and euphoria, or the rise of acid to the mouth and sinking dread that match the character’s sensations. It is a potent way of expressing internal feelings.

Imagine you are a young teenage girl, waiting in the math hall, and that handsome senior with an air of indifferent confidence strolls past on the way to calculus. Normally, you watch him unseen, but today he looks you in the eye and says, “How’s it going?” Your heartbeat increases, you breathe faster, you start to feel warm, and your face begins to turn red––otherwise known as blushing––these are the physiological effects of surprise, even a pleasant surprise.

Now, imagine you are a soldier sent to scope out an enemy compound. After stealthily scaling the chain link fence, you slide between the buildings, treading softly, trying to conform to the shadows. You can hear  barely intelligible conversations. Then, there is sudden silence followed by the click of a semi-automatic weapon. Your heart races, your breathing becomes rapid, you start to sweat, your face begins to turn white as your blood withdraws into the interior of your body.

The physiological changes in your body may be similar for excitement and fear, the difference is in the intensity.  The amount of a change in heart rate is often used to measure emotions in experiments. These innate responses occur before people have a conscious realization of their emotional state. Some scientists have even proposed that the racing heartbeat and clammy skin is a cue that lets a person realize he is feeling strong anxiety from a possible threat.

Recognizing how to describe physiological reactions in writing is the first step to putting the reader into the character at the moment that the unexpected happens.  Simply relaying events in the scene puts the reader in the place of the voyeur, watching other’s lives. We often do this, seated safely at home  in front of the big screen TV or in the theater. Knowing what characters sense inside their bodies puts us into their heads. These sensations can be captured in writing more with more ease than filming a scene from the characters viewpoint. The attempt to distort the scene through filters to capture emotions often leaves the audience dizzy and not too sure of exactly what is happening. 

Cathartic writing helps to relieve the pent up emotions of the writer. But I want to capture the physiology of the character’s feelings with words. When I read these pages during the editing phase are the sensations of ardor, zeal, and fury still there? I wonder when I write with tears streaming down my face or trembling in rage, how much of these internal feelings remain to be released when someone else reads it.

Illustration by J.W. Listman