1,000 Daily Challenge: Day Five

{This is the post that was supposed to appear on Friday, but I got too busy.}

Originally, when I began this challenge, I intended to write in all three of my WIP's this week.  However, after just one day of working on Rochesters, I pretty much abandoned my other two darlings and focused all my energies on Sky.  (Yes, I abbreviate compulsively.)  The poor Detectives never even had a chance.  Oh well, their time will come.  I rather consider Detectives to be my "kick back and relax" story.  It's so very nonsensical and doesn't really require much brainpower.  Just silliness.

But yesterday [Friday] I worked on Sky again (surprise!) and found myself struggling this time with bringing out what my characters are trying to say.  The two that are bothering me the most are Margot and Philippe, because neither of them are particularly open about their feelings.  In the 1,186 words I wrote, neither sibling had much dialogue.  This was partly because there was a good deal of narrative, and partly because I honestly couldn't imagine what they were supposed to be saying.  I would rather do anything than marry without affection write words for my characters that are not their own.

Have you encountered this?  Have you faced an emotion-packed scene that requires you to write what people are feeling and thinking (perhaps not in their own words, but in your own as narrator, at least) and you just don't know how to go about it?  I can't possibly be the only one.  What do you do about it?

Philippe propped his chin in the palm of his hand. He said nothing for a moment, and when he finally did speak, it was softly and hesitantly. 

 “I don’t even know why we went. How much better it would have been for him to die here, among his family, and to be buried in his own, rightful grave with a decent funeral.”

“But you went for healing from the saint.” Margot hadn’t spoken throughout the entire meal, but now she gave Philippe a quizzical look. “I’m sure there would have been healing if you had only gotten there in time.”

“So it’s my fault, then, Margot?” Philippe raised his eyes from their blank stare at the bowl of cheese to Margot’s startled face. “If we had only left earlier or traveled faster, he would have lived? If I had taken better care of him, he might have made it to Canterbury, is that what you mean?”

How dare he twist her words in such a way? She hadn’t meant that at all.

~chapter two