What Pain Has to Offer in Your Novel

Ouch! This isn’t the reflection of a sadomasochist! Pain occurs (or should occur) a lot in novels, and it gives the author a lot of fresh ways to show something about their characters. I say “should occur” because it’s far less prevalent in hard-driving thrillers (for example) than it should be. If you jump off bridges and throw yourself out of moving cars, my guess is you’re going to get a few ouchy booboos. If the book makes any pretense of realism, it will reflect that. But pain not only feels bad, it limits actions, so only too often we see no corporeal consequences of these deeds of derring-do. Don’t let that book be yours.

A world of pain

The first thing about pain is that it’s accompanied by psychic symptoms that can be even stronger than the physical sensation. Think about dreams, where you never really feel physical discomfort but only the fear and desperation that go with it. They’re nonetheless terrible. In real life, I remember when I was a barefoot six-year-old running through the grass. I stepped down hard on a broken piece of glass. “Wait guys,” I called calmly to the others. I sat down, crossed my legs, and picked up my foot, still calm. Then a saw a LOT of blood on my thigh where my foot lay. I honestly didn’t know what part of me was injured yet, but it looked bad. I was scared half to death. That’s when the pain started, and I let out a primal howl that brought the grown-ups running. The fear of injury was worse than the injury. Imagine a broken limb dangling. The sight of a bone projecting through the skin. Blood running down someone’s face. Shock may protect your character from the hurt for an instant, but there’s a horrible moment of fear that the old organism is in big trouble. And fear brings its own physical symptoms — elevated heart rate, shortness of breath, etc.

Lights out

Sometimes that moment is accompanied by a sense of fainting or actual passing out. What is that like? It depends on whether you’re in the character’s head or outside. An exterior observer may see pallor overtake the victim, their eyes rolling up, their limbs going slack. The fainter himself will be aware of sparkling black spots across their vision, sounds suddenly seeming distant, things spinning. Milk these horrible moments. There’s hardly a reader out there who won’t be able to identify with them, and our species’ innate empathy will make readers feel for your suffering character, even if she’s a villain.

Describing the indescribable

When it comes to the real hurt itself, it’s not an easy thing to describe. There are kinds of pain — burning, throbbing, shooting, numbing, nearly itching — and degrees of it. But showing is really going to be your friend here instead of telling. When a body part hurts, you clutch it, rub it, curl around it. You may moan like the animal you are, even scream. Some people react to pain with anger. They’re going to be really snappish if they hurt. Almost everybody feels as if they can’t take one more thing, which may mean quick to tears. You know your character. How do they personally react? This is a chance to deepen their personality for the reader.

Let ’em hurt!

I, for one, am in favor of letting more people hurt in novels. It’s an intense emotional experience both for that character and for those around them. And the fact is that a lot of people do things in books that should get them hurt in real life. If they come away unscathed or with nothing but a cosmetic bandage, some author is taking an end-run around reality. The problem may be that many injuries preclude further action. A broken leg pretty quickly puts our hero hors de combat, and you may need him in top shape in the next scene. Figure it out. But unless he’s a superhero, don’t neglect to deal him a realistic amount of pain. Hey, it can’t hurt!