On utilizing emotion to further your novelization effort.
When you are staring at your novel document, and all seems bland and overworked, and you just don’t know what to write at this very moment, go into the seed of an emotionally charged conflict from your past.Use that emotion as pure writing energy.
Low-Energy Fiction (Bad Writing):
Bruno spun down the ice on his flying bagoora; the ice flies were out in force today, and their tiny wings fluttered against his cheeks like maddening fragments of cloud. Bruno waved his hand in front of his face, and turned his eyes to the lofty citadel before him.
The monks had built their ice castle on the ugliest mountain they could find; black rocks twisted over rotten green slime, and a pair of long, putrid vulner bushes clasped the whole mountain in their hideous orange vines.
The ice castle was in the shape of a square, with a pair of heavy doors made of woven plants, and seeded through with the skins of garkel fish. The whole mountain smelled like a desiccated carcass in the midmorning sun.
High-Energy Fiction (Good Writing):
Bruno propelled his magic sled over the ice, his eyes fixed with mad desire on the heavy square castle of ice that lay over the top of the black mountain. His fingers clenched over the oar, and the wind kicked up by the speed of his journey threw his hair up into the air.
Ice flies pelted into Bruno’s face in a cloud; he beat the oar violently through the air, and a swath of flies pattered hard against the iced lake.
The frozen castle sent out, to Bruno’s mind, invisible tendrils of ugly, reaching putrescence. The skins of dead fish that were woven through the door coverings, and the monk’s magical leavings, a green ooze, coated the black rock of the mountain with a smell that would have been overpowering if it had not been so cold.
Bruno skidded to the edge of the frozen lake, and leapt from his sleek bagoora; the shining, sharpened oar he grasped hard in his hands as he approached the long orange vines of the vulner bushes that the monks used to guard their mountain home. One of the thick, hairy vines raised up in the air at Bruno’s approach; he lifted his oar, and brought it viciously through the vine, slicing it clean in half. Bruno imagined that he was beheading Forni, the great monk, as he did so.
Work through leftover emotions in your writing; let your inner life fuel your energy.