WRITING FOR THE SENSES
By
Joan Hall Hovey
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Triggering your reader's senses - sight, sound, smell taste and touch - are the surest way to lure him or her into your story. To quote E.L. Doctorow, " Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader - not the fact that it's raining, but the feel of being rained upon.” Readers don't want you to -tell them about your characters and the imaginery world you created. They want to experience that world. They want to see, feel, touch, taste, smell that world."
Think of your own favorite book. One of mine is Jane Eyre. I love Charlotte Bronte's rendering of time and place. This is the first paragraph:
"There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering. Indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further out-door exercise was now out of the question."
Note the detail Bronte uses to draw you into her world: '...cold winter wind, clouds so sombre, rain so penetrating..." Reading that, I'm tempted to go put on a sweater.
No doubt, you would write this paragraph differently, as would I, because we have our own voice and way of expressing ourselves, which is our style. I might write 'keening' of the wind because that also evokes a feeling of cold, and even suggests an air of mystery. You might write that the rain fell like needles, cold and sharp. Whatever works works. But if you'll forgive me, I don't think either of us could improve on Charlotte Bronte's own words. I hope you prove me wrong.
So, the first thing is to see in your own mind what you want to describe. If you don't see that room, beach house or dance hall clearly, you can't expect to describe it clearly. Enter your imaginary world with all your senses. Now take the reader there so she can experience that world right along with your characters.
Let the reader see what you see - zoom in - let her see the sunlight laying a warm, buttery path on the maple kitchen table. Maybe that sunlight is filtered through a lacy, moving curtain. Can you see it? If you describe no more than that, the reader will fill in the rest of that room- the fridge, the cabinets and so on.
In an article by the incomparable Stephen King, published in the The Writer's Handbook titled Imagery and the Third Eye, he writes: "Novels are more than imagery - they are thought, plot, style, tone, characterization, and a score of other things - but it is the imagery that makes the book "stand out" somehow; to come alive; to glow with its own light."
In 1984, I attended a writer's conference in London, England where Stephen King was one of the panelists. It was question and answer period. As a member of the audience, I asked the author to elaborate on the 'third eye' article. For a moment, he was thoughtful. Then, he told us to imagine a chair in a room. We did. He went on to say it was blue. Okay, now we're seeing a blue chair in our imaginations. Then he said, (and I'm paraphrasing) Using that third eye as a camera - zoom in! See the paint blister on on the seat of the chair. I could see it. I could have peeled it off, the image was so vivid. And the peeling imagery evoked another sense - the sense of touch. This is known as concrete detail and you need plenty of it in your novel. But be selective. Weave it in as one would weave in the various colors of thread to create a beautiful wall-hanging.
There are many ways to weave concrete detail into your novel without having it overwhelm the reader, and interfere with the flow of the story. That's one thing we don't want to do - jar the reader away from the dream we have spun from our inner selves much as a spider spins her web.
The following is from The Call of the Wild by Jack London. "After a particularly fierce blow, he crawled to his feet, too dazed to rush. He staggered limply about, the blood flowing from mouth and nose and ears, his beautiful coat sprayed and flecked with bloody slaver."
This is great descriptive writing. Note the strong action verbs - crawled, staggered, sprayed, flecked. You can see Buck, feel his pain and confusion. Jack London's words create a movie in your mind. He has drawn you into his story through the careful use of sensory detail.
Be specific. Don't write 'The alley smelled horrible. Write, 'The alley reeked of urine and rotting meat.' Don't write: she smelled nice. But... She smelled of herbal shampoo. (or something equally pleasant.)
Saying the mountains were wonderful, and the lake very pretty is a generalization. This is abstract writing. Describe their magesty, their distant purple hue. Let the reader see that blue lake.
If you describe a man as sleezy looking, that is really not a description but an evaluation. Every sleezy looking man is sleezy in his own way. Maybe his hair is greased down, he has ring around the collar, casts a sneaky eye about him. One or two details is plenty. The reader will fill complete the man, based on his or her own past experiences, and perception. If you want to describe a seedy motel room, for example, you might mention the hiss and clatter of the air conditioner, or the rusty-brown stains snaking down from the bathtub faucet. The reader will supply the rest of the details of that room, again based on his or her own experiences of cheap hotel rooms, even if she's only seen one in the movies.
Imagery first occurs in the writer's eye. So if you’re having problems trying to describe a scene in your story, then you’re probably not seeing it clearly enough. Focus, go deep, then transfer that image to the page. Not easy, but exhilarating. To further quote Stephen King, (yes, I'm a big admirer) “...the writer's greatest pleasure is in seeing, and seeing well.
What that third eye - that inner eye - can see is infinite. It's a little bit like having a whole amusement park in your head, where all the rides are free." I love that.
My grandmother was an artist. She lived in the attic of an old house near McCready's pickle factory in the north end of our city. The summer air always held the faint smell of hot brine. As a child, I visited her often. Even though those visits took place more than forty years ago, I need only to open a bottle of pickles or chow-chow, and even though it's not the exact smell, it's enough to put transport me back to that street. A street that no longer exists in reality, only in memory.
Is there a particular smell that evokes a time and place in your own imagination? I'm sure there is- -probably more than one. A smell can trigger the most poignant memory. Use that power in your writing.
So let your reader smell the coffee, taste the sweet, cold apple juice. Let her hear the silvery tinkling of windchimes above the door, the click of cat claws on the hardwood floor. If the little dog licks your character's face, remember that its pink tongue is rough. Look around you; note the textures of things. Touch the smooth, cool vase, the silk curtain that slides through your fingers.
Writers paint pictures using words. So it's important to note the way shadows fall on the lawn, how the piano keys feel beneath your fingertips, how on a sunny day, the dust motes swirl golden in the air. Use all five senses in your writing. But again, use them selectively. Don't let them take center stage. Unless that's your purpose. For example, if you are writing about a man who can transform himself into a panther, the click of cat claws (in the darkness) would take on a whole new meaning. And create the desired tension you’re after.
The following passage is from my novel Nowhere To Hide.
It was a warm, breezy June day and she and Gail were walking home from school, Gail's small, moist hand locked in hers. They were crossing over Smith's Bridge, gazing up at the seagulls soaring above them, at times peering over the railing at those perched on the white-washed rocks below, filling the briny air with their squawking cries.
They walked past Melick's Barber Shop with the candy-striped pole out front, and Gail called, "Hey, kitty, kitty," to the Siamese cat curled up asleep in the dingy plate-glass window. Then on they went past Hasson's corner grocery, with its Coco-Cola sign creaking in the window behind them. (Note the use of sound woven into movement. The girls have just walked beneath the sign, and hear the creaking behind them.)
As they turned onto Burr Street, their street, the houses quickly grew more dilapidated. They passed sad, dark houses with some of the windows broken, replaced by rattling cardboard, doorsteps sunken into the broken pavement.
A gust of warm, smelly wind chased dirt and gum wrappers up the street toward them. An empty wine bottle rolled and clunked against the telephone pole.
As they neared their own house, a brown, three-story wooden frame, their footsteps slowed. Loud, ugly voices reached them from behind the window of the bottom flat - voices that shouted and cursed and threatened. You never knew what awaited you on the other side of the door. This was a place where you never took your friends, a place where shame and fear and craziness lived.
I wasn't actually conscious off each sensory detail I used, they came quite naturally out of the picture I held in my imagination. (See how many sensory details you can find.) The scene is actually from my own childhood, which remains vivid in my memory. So it wasn't all that hard to write. I recall the way my little sister's small, moist hand hand felt in mine. I remember the sight and sound of the seagulls, the Siamese cat sleeping in the window of the barber shop. If I did my job as a writer, my reader walked beside Ellen, the main character in Nowhere To Hide. Some heart-warming reviews told me that I succeeded.
Had I merely said the houses were rundown, you really wouldn't have gotten to see them the way I wanted you to. Rundown is an opinion. Someone with a beautiful house, who wanted to renovate, might say her house was rundown though it might seem quite grand to you or me.
If you go back for a minute to that first paragraph in Bronte's Jane Eyre you will notice she used adjectives to create the mood and feel she wanted. I'd be the first to warn against overuse of adjectives. But she doesn't overuse them. They are just enough, and exactly the right words for her story. They work. And that's what matters.
There are no rules set in stone for the writer. But there are methods and techniques that will work for you if you use them with care and confidence.
I wish you well in your writing, and look forward to entering the imaginary world of your own novel.
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