In my soon-to-be published novel Code Gray, there is a line that reoccurs numerous times throughout the story.
The posture of resignation and defeat.
I use it to describe characters who have been beaten down by life, or are in a position where they can no longer put up a fight, or have given in to the hopelessness of their situation.
I consider body language more important than spoken language. More often than not, the words a person says might not match with their body’s posture, especially if it’s a stressful situation where boldness and confidence are required. Someone might talk as if they’re extremely sure of themselves, but their crossed arms or hands shoved into their pockets signal vulnerability.
I’ve always been a people-watcher. I like to imagine what a particular person’s life has been like, based solely on the way they carry themselves. Is the woman walking with her head high a successful businesswoman? A defiant divorcee telling the world she’s not worried about the future?
What about the old man walking through the park with slumped shoulders while looking at the ground? Has he survived his wife and is now lonely? Is he battling a disease that has sapped all his energy? Has life pounded on him for so long that he can no longer stand up straight?
Or perhaps the young couple in a restaurant. If they’re mirroring each other’s movements, or they’re touching, are they married or dating? If they’re not looking at each other or looking at their phone, are they arguing?
These are the kinds of things I think of when I look at people. They’re the things I try to include when I’m describing the characters in my stories. Sometimes it’s better to let the reader make up their own mind about a character’s mental state, based on that character’s body language, than to tell the reader the reason for the character’s body language.
If I’m lucky enough for you to read my novel when it gets published, you’ll notice that line several times, and I hope you don’t get irritated with it.
Because now you know why I wrote it.