by Susan Watts

In my last few Writers in the Storm articles, I’ve shared several discoveries that completely changed the way I revise emotional scenes. It didn’t happen all at once. It happened while revising chapter after chapter of my current novel.

First, I realized I was leaning too heavily on visceral reactions. Every important moment seemed to come with a pounding heart, trembling hands, or a tight chest. Those reactions belonged in the story, but they weren’t carrying the emotional weight I wanted.

Then I uncovered another mistake. I had become so focused on deep POV that I was explaining every emotion through long stretches of interiority.

My most recent article discussed my discovery of emotional movement and how readers don’t simply want emotion on the page (click here to go to the article). They want to feel a character change because of what happened.

I thought I had finally solved the problem.

Then I kept revising.

As I worked through scene after scene, I noticed that even after improving the visceral reactions, strengthening the interiority, and making sure each scene contained emotional movement, there were still moments that felt…flat.

The scene should have worked. Yet somehow it still felt as though I was describing the emotion instead of inviting readers to experience it. That’s when I realized the problem wasn’t that my scenes were missing emotion.

They were leaving readers with nothing to discover.

The More I Explained, the Less Readers Could Discover

When I looked closer, I found a pattern.

Whenever I worried readers might miss the emotion, I added another paragraph explaining it.

Sometimes I wasn’t showing the same emotion twice.

I was showing it three times.

First, through a visceral reaction. Then through interiority. Finally, through narrative explanation that interpreted everything the reader had already seen.

Ironically, the harder I worked to make the emotion clear, the less room I left for the reader to experience it themselves. That realization sent me back through dozens of scenes with a completely different question.

Instead of asking,

“How can I better explain this emotion?”

I asked,

“What would this character notice because they feel this way?”

Emotion Changes What We Notice

I started noticing this in everyday life. I'd walk into my office on a morning when everything was going well and see sunlight, books, and coffee. On a difficult day, I'd walk into that same room and somehow the silence was the first thing I noticed.

Nothing physical changed. My emotional state changed what my mind considered important.

Our characters work exactly the same way.

A frightened character doesn’t simply think about being afraid. She notices every shadow that seems darker than it should be.

Someone carrying guilt may struggle to meet another person’s eyes but find themselves staring at the scuff marks on the floor instead.

A father worried about his daughter may walk into a room full of people and immediately notice the one empty chair.

Those observations aren’t random details.

They reveal emotion without the author having to explain it.

My Characters Started Showing Me What Mattered

One unexpected thing happened as I revised my novel. The less I explained, the stronger the scenes became.

I found myself deleting paragraphs I had spent a long time writing, not because I had written them poorly, but because they had become unnecessary. Once I started paying attention to what my characters noticed, those details began carrying the emotional weight on their own.

In one scene, my main character walks through an area devastated by an earthquake.  I originally included too much explanation about how the destruction left her feeling hopeless. During a recent revision, I took out much of the over-explaining and added additional details about what she saw, including a child’s broken toy lying on the ground. This minor detail helped deepen the emotion in the scene, letting the reader imagine how they might feel upon seeing that same thing.    

In another scene, I discovered that a frightened child didn’t need a paragraph explaining he felt unsafe. As the group prepared to enter another dangerous place, he instinctively reached for an older character’s hand. That single action communicated vulnerability more than any explanation I could have written.

Additionally, I had originally written long descriptions of an abandoned town because I wanted readers to feel uneasy. Instead of describing every empty storefront and deserted street, I focused on what caught the character’s attention. Curtains shifting behind dusty windows. Shadows resembling misshapen figures. Unseen eyes seeming to follow him. Using those descriptions, I didn’t have to provide a long explanation about how he felt.

Another character walking through the same town might have noticed entirely different things. That's what makes deep POV so immersive. The setting hasn't changed. The character's emotional experience has, and readers experience the scene through that lens.

Readers Love Connecting the Dots

For years I believed that stronger emotional writing meant getting closer to the character’s thoughts. Sometimes it does. But I’ve realized that readers often connect more deeply when I step back just enough to let them discover the emotion for themselves.

When we explain every emotion, we solve the puzzle before readers ever have the chance.

When a character notices a wedding ring that’s no longer on their spouse’s hand, readers don’t need a paragraph explaining why that matters.

If a child who has lost a parent avoids looking at an empty bedroom, readers already understand what he is feeling.

These moments invite readers to become active participants rather than observers listening to an explanation. When we choose details that naturally grow out of a character’s emotional state, readers begin connecting those dots themselves and become part of the storytelling.

For me, that's become one of the most rewarding parts of writing in deep POV. Instead of explaining every emotion, I can trust readers to discover it through the same details my character notices.

That doesn’t mean we abandon interiority or stop using visceral reactions. Both remain essential parts of writing emotional scenes.

It simply means they don’t have to carry the entire scene by themselves.

One Question Changed My Revision Process

The next time you revise an emotional scene, resist the temptation to add another paragraph explaining what your character feels. Instead, pause for a moment and ask yourself one question.

What would this character notice right now that they never would have noticed before this moment changed them?

You may discover that one slight change creates a deeper emotional experience because readers aren’t simply being told what the character feels.

They’re discovering it for themselves.

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About Susan:

Under the pen name Michelle Allums, Susan Watts has authored a young adult urban fantasy titled, The Jade Amulet and is currently writing the sequel. Her short stories are also included in the anthologies Christmas Roses and Forever and Always.

Susan has dedicated over four decades to training in multiple martial arts styles and holds the impressive title of a five-time US Karate Alliance world black belt fighting grand champion. Through her karate school, she is able to impart martial arts and life skills. Susan also incorporates her martial arts knowledge into her writing.

An avid triathlete, she keeps in shape by running, biking, and swimming. She lives in the country with her husband, where they raise animals and enjoy being outdoors. Susan also has three grown children and numerous grandchildren. In addition, she is a CPA and VP of finance for a company in her hometown. 

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