How to describe something, that would normally be shown by facial expressions?
When I think of a scene, I often think of little hints or gestures, to express certain things or thought processes. For example a character breaking eye contact, but quickly looking back to not show subordinance.
I'm having a hard time putting these into words. Simply describing the actions, I feel like doesn't get across, what I want it to show and sometimes the interplay of gestures and facial features are (seemingly) too complex to describe fully, without it being too long.
Maybe I don't read enough, but I have not found a solution to convey complex emotions or reactions without a character or the narrator spelling them out.
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Watch much less TV and read far more books. TV/Movie storytelling is different from book storytelling. If you are thinking in terms of facial expressions, your storytelling apparatus is running in video mode, not prose mode.
Both prose and video are limited media. Prose has limited access to visual information; video has limited access to mental states. In both cases you have to tell your story using the things that your chosen media is good at and avoiding those things that it is bad at. Once you get it properly tuned in, you will do this naturally.
The problem for anyone writing prose today is that most of us actually spend more time watching TV and movies than we do reading. TV now provides most of our cultural touchstones. Chances are that conversations around the water cooler will be about the latest TV sensation, not about the book you just read. With few exceptions, we look to TV for shared interests and to books for individual interests. And that keeps us glued to TV even when we are interested in writing books.
Descriptions of facial expressions are rare in books (and only effective when exceptional). Book dialogue is not remotely like real speech. It moves far more of the context and emotion of the interaction into words than would ever be the case in real life. (Movies may do the opposite, putting less into words and more into actions, to give the actor more to do.) To be successful in writing prose dialogue, you have to figure out how to move the emotion into the words.
There are all kinds of ways to do this, many of which come down to shading and tone that really have to be learned by ear. But there is one general principle I think is sound, which is that all dialogue is conflict. Even between lovers, each person wants something from the other, and is negotiating to get that thing. They may not fully understand what they want, and the will usually not articulate it directly, but what they say is designed to subtly (or not so subtly) move the other person in that direction by appealing to sympathy, greed, the protective instinct, etc.
There is a core of wheedling, of desire, of hope, of expectation, of recrimination, of forlornness and despair in every dialogue. You have to ask yourself in every line you write, what does this person want from the other in this moment, why are they afraid to ask for it outright, and what, given who they are and what they fear, are they willing to say to try to get what they want. And, of course, every response they get is driven by all the same things. Conversation is chess, it is fencing, it is, sometimes, all-in wrestling. Find the conflict within and the conflict between and let it flow into words and you will have your dialogue.
That is only going to come naturally from tuning your storytelling apparatus to prose mode by attentive emersion in prose storytelling. Turn off the TV. Pick up a classic novel. (You need to read people who will do this better than you ever will.)
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One mistake early writers make, is writing to directly influence the reader. The minute I say this, the retort is Isn't that the whole point?
Yes, but influencing the reader is not the kind of thing you should do directly; you do that indirectly through your characters. So the point in this instance is, your character's interpretation of the facial expression, and how that makes them feel or think, is all that is important.
Your reader feels through your character. You do not need or want the narrator to describe the physicality of the facial expression to the point that the reader can understand that without any further help; that is boring and their understanding would be clinical, not visceral. There is no punch to understanding after analysis. Aha, wrinkled nose, curled lip, open mouth and gag reflex, lowered head and brow: Therefore Mary is disgusted.
All that description is trying to make the reader see or mimic the expression for themselves. But even scripts do not do that or control actor expressions. They just say things like "Mary shows extreme disgust, almost vomits but doesn't. The actor (and sometimes director), in the context of the story, interprets that instruction for the camera.
Instead in prose, you mix small details that are clues to expression with metaphor and simile and reactions and let the reader imagine the expressions. Our expressions are a reflection of our feelings; when we see them in film they cue those feelings. But vice versa holds: If the reader understands the feelings, they will see the expressions that for them, reflects that feeling. Focus on the reactions you can most easily describe from both the feeling and its expression. In broad terms we understand wince, frown, amusement, fear, etc.
An example, hopefully you have an impression of their expressions:
Ralph sniffs deeply and winces, he tells Mary, "Brace yourself."
He struggles with the tight lid and throws it back on its hinges, sucking a wave of odor from the bin. Rotting flesh. Mary thought she was ready, but the thick odor hits her hard, staggering her. She turns away gagging, straining to not vomit. Ralph flinches but instantly steels his expression, leaning to peer into the bin with narrowed eyes; breathing in tiny measured breaths through his mouth alone.
Mary returns to his side. He glances at her. she is pale. Contrite.
"No shame, buddy," Ralph said. "Don't hurl on the evidence."
She shook her head. "I'm good." She looked into the bin; her stomach lurched again but with willpower, she suppressed, forcing herself to be analytic. She surveyed the woman. No cuts, no bullet holes, no obviously broken bones. Fully clothed, forty, an outfit Mary thought would cost a week's pay, hair to match it. Two rings but unmarried, necklace, earrings. No other objects or weapons. No shoes. What does that mean?
Ralph said, "Tell me what you see."
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