How To Show Thoughts In Writing Novels & Stories

"What do we say we know about each other? That a stranger wouldn't know." She looked at her list. She'd written six items and had stopped herself before the list got longer than was comfortable. "You hold a pen differently when you're thinking versus when you're writing something you've already decided," she said. "You make your own tea rather than asking anyone. You stood at the window in your grandfather's house and that's where you do your best thinking." He looked at her. "I told you that?" "The week after we moved in. You said your grandfather used to stand at the same window." She kept her eyes on the notebook. "It's the kind of detail that reads as real because it is real."

I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be seen. I didn’t ask to be wanted. I didn’t ask— I didn’t— He dropped the pen. Sat back. Covered his face with both hands. Everything inside him was electric. Burning. Wrong. He felt like his thoughts were no longer thoughts — just noise with grammar. He picked up the pen again. Wrote, slowly, shaking: I think I want to be seen. I think that’s the problem. Then below that: I think I want to be touched.

It was completely messed up, a true-looking disaster of scribbles which he never understood what for. “I am writing. In my mind,” Xiao defended herself, “these are my writings. These are what currently residing in my mind,” she seriously said, without any hidden smile, which made the other leave a blank expression on the face, “I’m trying to write a diary. And it’s in my mind. These are currently my own thoughts,” she said once more before she looked at the notepad that’s floating on the air. It was indeed just scribbles if you take a look at them, but the truth behind, they weren’t because she was plotting something and she didn’t want anyone to know and so she hid them in her own thoughts.

I just wanted to start, to let the words come, however clumsy they were. Every now and then, my mind wandered back to the kitchen The memory still stung, but I forced myself to keep my pen moving. One sentence, then another. Slowly, the tightness in my chest eased, and I realized writing was actually helping. It didn’t erase the scene from my head, but it dulled it enough for me to breathe. Not long after, my door creaked open. Maybe I heard a knock first, maybe I didn’t, I couldn’t tell. I looked up to see Noah leaning in.

I felt his words to me that other evening were just words, without action. I sighed for the umpteenth time as I stared at my laptop screen. It was really difficult to come up with something to write about. My whole mind seemed messed up, literally making my imagination wander like a lost item in the sea. Writing had been difficult. My thoughts were interrupted at the sound of the doorbell, as I reluctantly stood up. It was 11am in the morning, who could that be?' I thought. Just like a flash, a weird thought eroded my mind.

My fingers tightly squeezed the pen I had grabbed. I tapped the table with the thin writing tool. I had no clue what I would write. "Name, how about a name." I nodded to myself. I had slowly written the letters to Vera's name. I had used four lines for the job. "Shit," I muttered to myself. I forget to add 'Dear' before Vera's name. I decided against throwing the paper away and starting with a new one. Vera would definitely be upset if she saw me wasting paper. I stylized some butterflies and flowers around her name. About ten minutes had passed and I couldn't sit here in my unproductive manner. I plugged my earphones into my phone and selected a song that would hopefully inspire words to ma

After having my shower, I lie down on the bed to sleep. I closed my eyes to sleep when his face suddenly popped up in my head. I opened my eyes and exhaled out. I turned to the other side of the bed but kept seeing his image—Arg! Why do I see his face? I want to stop thinking about him. I just want to sleep. I groaned out to myself. I closed my eyes again, but his image couldn't leave my head—Ahhh!!! Writer's P O V

A thought suddenly popped up in my mind and I didn't hesitate to let her know what my thoughts were. "I need your help on something." I paused for a moment. When I noticed that she wanted to talk, I quickly inhaled and continued what I was saying. "I know you are probably wondering what help I could possibly ask from you," I said and she nodded her head continuously. I looked away from her for a moment, trying not to make eye contact with her but I could not. I wanted to read her thoughts from her facial expression, so I had to tilt my head to look at her.

I feel like she genuinely cares about me. I tried to eat breakfast without thinking about anything, but my thoughts kept coming back again and again. Mindfulness wasn’t working this time. I took a cold shower, hoping it would cool down my head and silence the mental noise. It was useless. As the cold water ran down my body, burning thoughts kept pouring into my mind.

And this time, the foundation will be the truth. I paused, my eyes flicking over the words I had written, letting them simmer in my mind. My thoughts felt heavier than usual, and I knew I needed to give them space to breathe. I’d write more in the morning—when my mind was sharper, clear of the fatigue that clung to me like a damp blanket after a long, grueling day of holding the whole damn line. But for now, this was the skeleton—the very heart of what I wanted to say.