The Essence of Emotion
Feeling Writing
I am coming to the end of book 8 in a — seriously though, the 8th book — thus far, outstanding saga called Expeditionary Force, by Craig Alanson. This 8th book’s title is Expeditionary Force: Armageddon.
This little bit is not necessarily about the series or the book, the author, or even Military Sci-fi genre-related topics. No, this is about the emotion that can be packed into fiction in its purest form and what it does to us.
I was so struck today by the ending of this book that I felt it worth sharing my emotions.
Obviously, over the course of 8 books you get to know the characters fairly well assuming the author has developed them semi-decently. Some might even argue you begin to see others (or yourself) in them and their actions, even impersonating them at times. I might wager you’ve had characters in novels and stories before where you have even imagined it was you and thought, “That’s exactly what I would do.” For me, this is what I mean by ‘feeling writing.’
I’m sure there are better ways to posit that than what I have said above, but I wanted to take it one layer deeper and see where I ended up.
A very central character died today. I felt the loss in the story viscerally, with all the accompanying features one could look back and recall from a past experience. That gut wrenching, emotional pull on your entire self.
Most vividly, I felt the emotion of the lead character in the story who was still present and unscathed after an intense space battle (I do love sci-fi). What this character felt above all else was guilt. Guilt for being there still, for having the luxury of another breath, for selfishly having that most human of response in being thankful for continued life.
No, this intense reaction from me was not stirred up simply from this moment in time. The story stimulated an influx of memories back to the surface of my brain associated with events and emotions similar to that which the author captured so well in this specific chapter. Along with those memories and this ongoing narrative to keep wafting the flame of emotions, I could feel my veins chill, my scalp tighten, my heart slowly pound heavier and heavier, and my breathing seeming to now need to lift boulders off my chest and back as I was squeezed between two masses with each inhale and exhale. My vision narrowed, mouth became dry, and I had that moment where you feel as though you could collapse in on yourself.
Through the right development of this story, the correct association of occurrences in fiction, I was drawn most unmistakably into a moment in my past where I could tie my emotional state right back to where it had been during truly awful, trying, and defining moments of my life. I could see and feel the moments as real as I’m typing this now.
I’m thankful to have felt that today. If nothing else, to me, that is as close to time travel as we might get. Though some of those memories recalled today were some of the worst I’ve ever experienced, for a short moment I felt as close to lost loved ones as I have in many years.
The essence of emotion being felt through a story — possibly one of the oldest tales there is.
Chris is an Air Force Veteran and dabbling writer of things. He has spent nearly a decade as an Intelligence Professional and has a career focus of enabling and realizing innovation culture within National Security.
