Grass-covered hills.
Little to see above ground, but a network of roots that reaches five to six feet deep and intertwines under miles and miles of hills.

I grew up in a family like a short-grass prairie. Very little shows above ground, but the roots run deep and they’re inextricably intertwined. I want to write about people like that, but it poses a serious challenge. I find my readers asking for more emotion, but the very lack of demonstrativeness is a large part of the point.

My writing challenge for this week, specifically for the book I’m rewriting and revising, is to develop an array of very subtle clues to the emotions of my characters. I need to do it without tears, or the kind that stand in the eye. I have no slamming things around, no yelling, no visible cringing. I need gestures that reveal the world, almost imperceptible changes in expression . . . maybe even atmospheric clues that provide foreboding.

Have you developed a basket of such clues for your own writing—or even for your own emotional life?