How To Describe Nervousness In Writing Novels & Stories

The corners of my mouth twitched and I nodded, averting my gaze from his. It wasn't until he left that I could breathe properly again and I let out a sigh. What had made me behave like that, I wondered, my pulse still racing as I tried to eat my toast that was now cold, all of a sudden I felt incredibly nervous. The butterflies were back in my stomach, but this time they weren't pleasant ones, they were full of anxiety and nervousness, and they wouldn't leave me alone. It was like I had forgotten how to walk or talk, everything I did seemed so unfamiliar that I had to constantly remind myself just to get my bearings back. The feeling continued to worsen throughout the day, it only worsened a

Maintaining a casual facial expression is hard but I try my best, and with even and measured steps, I walk closer towards the borders. Say you have a message for Sentinel Jones… Say you have a message for Sentinel Jones… Say you have a message for Sentinel Jones… I chant to myself over and over again. My heart beats rapidly and loudly in my chest and my hands hidden in my pockets grow clammy with sweat. Against my will, my breath comes out more hurried than normal. If anyone bothers to look closer, they will definitely be able to notice that something is wrong. I have to tamp down on the urge to nervously dart my eyes around to find the hidden sentries, but some sixth sense tells me that I w

I could listen to my own breathing and heartbeat. It was too quite. Placing a hand over my chest, I listened to my heart beating erratically, before releasing a sigh and rubbing my temples. This won't do. I can't be like this. I know that the situation I am in is creepy and crazy, but this is my only shot. I have to make it work. No time to be nervous. Releasing a long breath, I steadied myself before pulling out the first file on top of the pile of files on my desk. Work had doubled up so much here, and then there I was, nervous like a school girl about to confess to her crush.

His voice was sharp. He laughed weakly, as his words pierced my chest. “I’m sure you'll be able to explain what I have done . " I was so nervous, I could feel my hands were clammy so I folded them against my chest to hide the fact that they trembled. Like an idiot, I stared hard at the man and as he watched me I could feel that tension radiated from his gaze. I swallowed as awareness settle In my soul and twisted my head, looking out the window as a soft breeze blew in.

So I was surprised that he had something up now but I was more worried about what he was going to do to me. I was still trying to calm my body down but it seemed quite impossible. My heart kept pounding in my chest as I stood there. It seemed funny really, because the more I tried to get myself calm, the more my nerves were in disarray. The more I tried to tell myself that I would face whatever it was, the more my nerves kept tingling and more panic even attacked me.

The contact sent a strange shiver up my arm. I hated that my body reacted like that. I pulled my hand back immediately. “Don’t.” He studied my face carefully. “You are nervous.” “I’m not nervous.” “You are.” “I’m not.” He stepped closer. Again. I stepped back again. My back hit the dresser once more. This time there was nowhere else to go. He raised a hand and placed it beside my head against the dresser, trapping me there without actually touching me. “You talk a lot when you are nervous,” he murmured.

What will he even think about a strange guy like me. My heart is beating really fast. I'm sweating and my body is trembling. Although it's pretty much a very quiet sound, I heard the sound of shoes clacking two times. He turned back and faced me, how unexpectedly sharp. I better speak by now or else he will think that I'm a weirdo... "Ah, um.... I'm kind of lost so—" As I stood up and asked, my hand unconsciously reached to the back of my head, awkwardly scratching it. And perhaps it's because of my nervousness, I avoided any sign of eye contact with him at all.

Nervous. Fast heartbeat. Cold. Buckets of sweat on palm and forehead. And a face that lost its color. That’s what I see in my reflection in the rearview mirror of my car. My face signifies the fear that I am feeling right now, the nervousness that was eating me alive. With a trembling hand, I took the last lipstick I was carrying and put it on my pale lips. I put a light color on my lips as it was already running out. And when I was satisfied I put the lipstick back on the dashboard of my car. I was engulfed in a resurgence of nervousness in my heart when I saw the figure of the person I was waiting for.

She stood up and walked down the long corridor. I sank into one of the plush waiting chairs, but I couldn't relax. I was sweating nervously. It wasn't just a slight dampness; it was a cold, gripping panic. You know that type of nervousness you feel when you're going on stage for the first time, staring out at a pitch-black crowd, knowing you might forget every single one of your lines? That is exactly what it felt like. Or maybe even worse. I was sweating profusely under my heavy wool coat, my palms slick, my heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird.

EVE. If nerves could make noise, mine would be screaming. The air on the field was gradually growing heavier by the minute. It carried something ancient that was thick with energy and tension. Everyone was pretending to be calm, but I could feel it — fear moves differently and travels quietly. From one person’s heartbeat to another. I could almost hear my mother’s voice in my head saying, 'Don’t fidget, Eve, it makes you look unsure.' My fingers were already trembling, so I locked them behind my back.