Mood, Prose & Probable Murder

Writing a book is hard. Like, it’s a lot easier to eat waffles or shriek continuously into a well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ But neither of those things are very productive, unfortunately. So this month I’m studying the aspects of writing I find hardest: transition, pacing and *tonight’s topic* mood.

In literary terms, mood is defined as ‘the feeling or vibe’ a piece of writing evokes. But most times, my scenes aren’t evoking enough. Thanks to my studying, though, I’ve realized that’s because I don’t use many (or sometimes any?) mood-creating devices. I.e. Imagery, Alliteration, Attitude, Rhythm, Symbolism and Action. I posted what I learned about each here, but feel free to add other thoughts! It’s 4am where I am, and I have as much experience with this topic as a potato.

Anyway, all ready? Let’s get started.

Device #1: Imagery

To a lot of writers this is an obvious device, I know. But it definitely needs to be mentioned. Imagery is language used to create images in the mind of the reader, and (somewhat confusingly) it’s not just for describing what the characters see, but also what they hear, smell, taste and physically feel. It’s also pretty much the #1 way writers create mood. Just take a look at this scene from Libba Bray’s horror-mystery novel ‘The Diviners’. The protagonist (Evie) and her companion (Jericho) are in the middle of investigating the house of a ghostly serial killer/occultist. And every bit of imagery helps create a really unsettling and creepy mood:

‘Evie’s flashlight beam crawled across the walls. They seemed to bow outward just slightly. Like lungs, breathing, she thought, and then chased the thought away. It was hard to see anything in the gloom. Her beam traveled to the broken mirror, blinding her with the reflection. She blinked, and in the afterimage she could swear she’d seen somber, ghostly faces. Gasping, she swung the light around, but there was nothing behind her. The house groaned and creaked.

“I don’t like this,” Jericho said.’

If Jericho had never said ‘I don’t like this’ it wouldn’t have mattered. Because we *know* he doesn’t like it. Every word was expertly chosen to make *us* not like it.

• Evie’s flashlight doesn’t just move across the wall, it crawls across the wall. (Like a spider or some other creepy critter.)
• Evie has trouble seeing though ‘the gloom’. (In other words, something horrifying could pop out of the dark *any* minute.)
• Her beam travels over a ‘broken mirror’. (Because broken mirrors are supposedly bad luck.)
• And then there are ‘the somber ghostly faces’ and the fact that the walls are ‘breathing’ and the house is groaning like something alive. It is a well known fact that houses are not alive, friends. And if you’re inside a living house, that basically means a house ate you. Which is super unsettling on multiple levels.

But what if you want your character’s mood to differ from the mood evoked in the reader? That’s when the next device come in.

Device #2: Alliteration

Alliteration is the repetition of beginning consonant sounds, and using a bit of it can actually help make your prose sound smoother and less ‘choppy.’ In the previous example you can see Bray placed the words ‘beam,’ ‘broken,’ ‘blinding’ and ‘blinked’ as well as ‘she’ ‘swear’, ‘somber’ and ‘swung’ close together for this exact reason. But when you use a lot of alliteration? It can actually be used to create a humorous mood no matter what the characters themselves are feeling.

Cressida Cowell, author of the super-delightful ‘How to Train Your Dragon’ series, is pretty much the reigning queen of this technique. Just look at the paragraph below:

‘Long ago, on the wild and windy isle of Berk, a smallish Viking with a longish name stood up to his ankles in snow.

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, the Hope and Heir to the Tribe of the Hairy Hooligans, had been feeling slightly sick ever since he woke up that morning.

Ten boys, including Hiccup, were hoping to become full members of the Tribe by passing the Dragon Initiation Program. They were standing on a bleak little beach at the bleakest spot on the whole bleak island. A heavy snow was falling.’

We know Hiccup is having a wretched time because of the ‘windy’, ‘bleak’ (and definitely cold) setting. But all those repeating sounds *still* make us giggle. ‘Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, the Hope and Heir to the Tribe of the Hairy Hooligans’ is probably one of the funniest names I’ve ever read. And it really sets the mood for not just this scene, but the entire series.

‘Assonance’ (the repetition of beginning vowel sounds) and ‘consonance’ (the repetition of interior consonant sounds) are alliteration’s less-popular siblings but can basically be used the same way.

Device #3: Attitude

‘Attitude’ is defined as the way you think and feel about a certain place, person or thing. So whether we’re talking about the attitude of a character or the attitude of an all-knowing narrator, it can really help create mood. Just check out this passage from Jonathan Stroud’s book ‘The Creeping Shadow’. The protagonist (Lucy) is describing another character (Holly). Quite obviously, they aren’t best pals:

‘And there she was. Charming Holly, as pretty and perfect as ever. She hadn’t changed much during these last few months; she hadn’t suddenly become saggy or bedraggled or noticeably flawed or anything. In fact, because of the importance of the meeting, she’d dolled herself up even more than usual. She wore the kind of dress you need to be poured into; the sort I would have ripped as soon as I tried wriggling it over my shoulders. It was a dress that would have gotten stuck halfway down my midriff, with my arms trapped and my head covered, and left me bouncing blindly off the walls for hours, half naked, trying to struggle free. That sort of dress. For completists, who want the details, it was blue.’

• First off, ‘Charming Holly’ sounds super sarcastic. And what is sarcasm? A way to convey contempt. So right away, a contemptuous mood is created.
• The odd specific-ness of next statement, ‘she hadn’t suddenly become saggy or bedraggled or noticeably flawed,’ tells us Lucy was definitely hoping Holly *had* become saggy or bedraggled or noticeably flawed. So an irritated (or maybe bitter?) mood is created.
• When Lucy goes on to admit she couldn’t fit into the dress herself? We get an envious mood.
• But then she describes herself ‘bouncing blindly off the walls for hours, half naked, trying to struggle free’ and suddenly, the mood becomes funny. Maybe not for Lucy, but definitely for us.

That’s 4 whole moods in one paragraph, guys.

Device #4: Rhythm

In writing, rhythm is defined by punctuation and the length of each sentence. And (kind of surprisingly?) it can have a big effect on mood. Long comma-less sentences often evoke breathless anxiety, while long sentences with well-spaced commas can evoke calm and awe. Short sentences, on the other hand, are often used to evoke anger, fusteration or fear. Here’s an example from Derek Landy’s book ‘Skulduggery Pleasant’. For context, the protagonist (Stephanie) is lost in a museum infested with skinless vampires:

‘She looked up at the blank wall, her eyes wide. This couldn’t be right. This wall should not have been here.

She’d taken a wrong turn. She’d taken a wrong turn in this stupid gallery and now she didn’t know where she was. She was lost.

She turned away from the dead end, wanting to scream at herself in frustration. She hurried back the way she had come, glancing through every arch and doorway she passed, looking for something she recognized. Everything looked the same in the gloom. Why weren’t there any signs? Where were the signs?’

SO many short sentances there. Let’s list them all out:

• ‘This couldn’t be right.’
• ‘This wall should not have been here.’
• ‘She’d taken a wrong turn.’
• ‘She was lost.’
• ‘Why weren’t there any signs?’
• ‘Where were the signs?’

Can’t you just feel her getting more and more frustrated? More and more scared? I also really love the use of question marks on the last two. Because when a situation makes us anxious or afraid, we tend to ask ourselves a lot of questions in an attempt to get *out* of that situation.

You’ll also notice that Landy started multiple sentences with the word ‘she.’ This is actually a sub-technique of rhythm known as ‘anaphora’. In other words, the repetition of a certain word or phrase at the beginning of successive lines of writing. Sometimes anaphora is used to emphasize a point, but other times (like here!) it’s used when the character is fighting, fleeing or just in a state of panicky distress.

Why’s that? Because the repetition of the same word makes us think of the hard thud-thud-thud of a heart.

Device #5: Symbolism

Hey remember imagery? Symbolism gives imagery meaning beyond the literal. Just think about crows—they’re often symbolic of death, so including one in a scene can create an ominous ‘there’s-probably-going-to-be-a-murder’ mood. In the same way, the color blue is symbolic of calm, so if you describe ‘a sparkling blue lake’ there’s like, a 90% chance it’s not filled with angry krakens.

I found some nice symbolism in this paragraph from Brandon Sanderson’s novel ‘The Rithmatist’. See if you can spot it:

‘Lilly’s lamp blew out as she bolted down the hallway. She threw the lamp aside, splashing oil across the painted wall and fine rug. The liquid glistened in the moonlight.

The house was empty. Silent, save for her panicked breathing. She’d given up on screaming. Nobody seemed to hear.

It was as if the entire city had gone dead.

She burst into the living room, then stopped, uncertain what to do. A grandfather clock ticked in the corner, illuminated by moonlight through the broad picture windows.’

Although it wasn’t mentioned here, Lily’s being chased by horrifying chalk-monsters that could literally *nibble her to death*. And they’re gaining on her, which means she’s running out of time. The grandfather clock ticking away the seconds is symbolic of that, adding to the already-panicky mood.

Device #6: Action

Okay. To be completely honest I’m not *entirely* sure if action is an official literary device, but I think it should be so I’m including it. (That’s not very professional, I know. But neither is comparing people to potatoes and I did that too.)

So the question is: how does action create mood? By emphasizing emotion through movement, that’s how. Here’s an example from Emily Lloyd-Jones’ book ‘The Bone Houses’. The protagonist (a spunky gravedigger named Ryn) is fighting her way through an army of undead soldiers. They stole her pal Ellis and she’s determined to get him back:

‘She counted time not by moments but by how many blows were exchanged. She felt recklessly invincible. She caught a sword pommel on her shoulder, and a throbbing pain began in her back. She ignored it, parrying blow after blow, striking back, fighting with such ferocity that it did not matter that she was outnumbered and outclassed. These knights and soldiers had been trained to survive, to take weapons on shields and armor, to duck out of the way of attacks. Ryn had no such qualms; she threw herself into the battle, snarling and spitting like a wild animal.’

This paragraph makes me want to buy a sword and *possibly* conquer a wee country. But if Lloyd-Jones hadn’t bothered to describe all those actions, I wouldn’t have felt the angry, determined mood nearly as much. Let’s break things down below:

• Ryn counts time not by moments, but by blows.
• She gets hit in the shoulder but ignores it, because she’s REALLY determined to reach her friend
• She’s striking, parrying and fighting with ferocity.
• Not to mention she throws herself into battle, ‘snarling and spitting like a wild animal.’

(There’s also a bit of imagery and oodles of anaphora there, which makes my nerd heart happy.)

Anyway, that’s it for now! Do you have another example to share? Or maybe another device? Let me know in the comments—I really love hearing from you.