I find myself in that strange no man’s land that all writers encounter: the land of in between.
It is here that I am both waiting for one story to spread its wings and sail into the wide world… and forging a path into the briars of a new story. And, to my chagrin, making only slow, halting progress on both fronts.
It is here that all manner of enemies from the other side of the war may happen across my path.
Writers, what’s your greatest weakness? While I believe it’s more important to focus on honing one’s strengths than getting too hung up on your problems, it’s still beneficial to recognize the areas you struggle. Then you can find ways to shore them up or at least minimize them.
My good friend Cassia Schaar asked how I deal with my writing weaknesses and it got me thinking! (I did a post on this topic waaaay back in 2015, but my writing has evolved since then.) So. I know my strengths include characterization, prose, and sometimes themes and worldbuilding as well.
But weaknesses?
Oh, that’s right, I’m perfect. *flips hair*
KIDDING. I am confronted by my writing weaknesses almost every time I sit down at the keyboard. And I think even our writing strengths can give us problems sometimes, no matter how naturally those elements may come to us.
“I’m returning to my work-in-progress!” she announced to the world. “It’s been three months! I can’t wait to write again!” And everyone cheered.
But, dear reader, she did not in fact return to the novel she was supposed to edit until sixteen days later. She had good reasons for delaying—actual Reasons, not Excuses—but by the time she hauled out the laptop, notebook, sticky notes, pens, and spreadsheet… an insidious little something had time to kick in.
Self-Doubt.
Yes, between her zealous announcement and the actual action, her old friend returned to give her a poke in the ribs. Now, this “old friend” had reared its ugly head before, and she knew a few tricks for fending it off. But even so, Self-Doubt had a nasty habit of showing up from time to time and giving her a heckling when she least expected it.
Writers, have you ever received a critique saying that your story wasn’t immersive enough? Have you ever heard, “Show, don’t tell?” Have you ever struggled to convey your story’s setting in a way that doesn’t devolve into paragraph upon paragraph of dry exposition?
And readers, have you ever read a scene that felt like talking heads in a white room, with nothing to paint a picture of the surroundings? Have you ever felt detached from the main character, like you’ve become an outside observer instead of being welcomed into the character’s deepest thoughts and feelings?
The writers among us, that is. The only help the readers will receive is an understanding of one reason why they may not click with a story. Sorry, guys.
Before you roll your eyes and tell me, “Yes, yes, we learned this in kindergarten,” hear me out. Your story is lush and alive and teeming with creativity . . . in your mind. The challenge of writing is to transfer that vision to the page. It’s harder than it looks. You have a living movie reeling through your thoughts, but the page? The page is blank until you start putting that movie into words.
So how do we transform lifeless prose and blank white rooms into that Technicolor movie in our heads?
Sight. Sound. Smell. Taste. Touch.
When you draw on all of them, your setting–and more importantly, your character’s experiences within the setting–will come alive.
You may find yourself leaning on one or two of the five senses and neglecting the others. I depend most heavily on sight, as do most writers, I suspect. My default is to describe what the setting looks like. Perhaps that is the most important sense most of the time. After all, if the reader cannot picture what a place looks like, it’s very difficult to choreograph action or ground a scene.
When dispensers of writing advice admonish you to show, not tell, what they often mean is that instead of cruising over the landscape with a cursory “he did this and she felt that,” you should dive deep into the sensory experience.
Here are a few examples, some from my own writing, others from published books I’ve read.
Norwood stood at his dented and stained herb table, the backdrop of his curio cabinet displaying rows of green-hued bottles and jars, most of which held some sort of powder, paste, or plant. [Fawkes, Nadine Brandes)
These little details–the dented table, green bottles, powders and pastes–are potent enough to create an entire aesthetic for the room.
Low, rumbly voices filtered through the undergrowth, too muffled to make out the words. [The Brightest Thread]
In one sentence we know there are multiple speakers, they are some distance away, and they are either male or monstrous. (Correct answer: they’re ogres.)
The yellow flags above me snap sharp and loud in the breeze as if to emphasize my owner’s words that yes, she’s quite aware such a high count is utterly ridiculous. [Storm Siren, Mary Weber]
“Snap” is a punchy verb bolstered by the two adjectives “sharp” and “loud,” which together call to mind exactly the sound you’re supposed to hear.
The warm scents of buttered loaves and seasoned roasts were all that was left of the feast. [The Brightest Thread]
Is your mouth watering yet?
Moist air wafted past my nose, carrying the odor of a brewery–malt and hops. [Reapers, Bryan Davis]
In this scene, we’re getting a sense of where the protagonist lives, and the smell of a brewery adds a unique detail.
The odor of fish mixed with the scent of roses, berries, fresh bread. Blood from the slaughter stall constricted my throat. [Fawkes, Nadine Brandes]
Ah, nothing like the blend of aromas from a seventeenth century London marketplace, am I right?
He tosses a berry in a high arc toward me. I catch it in my mouth and break the delicate skin with my teeth. The sweet tartness explodes across my tongue. [The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins]
Mmm, now I’m hungry for berries . . .
(Oddly enough, I had a terribly hard time finding more good examples for this sense. It seems that the mere mention of food is often enough to conjure an idea of its taste. Other tastes often found in the books I read are blood, alcohol, salt, medicine, etc.*)
*Sounds like I read fantasy. *wink*
Aleida jumped off the log and stumbled on unsteady feet. Her skin buzzed with the aftermath of magic. [The Brightest Thread]
We all know how it feels to stumble or feel unsteady. We also get a sense of electricity with the word buzzed.
Thorns scratched her ankles and tree limbs whipped past her face. [The Brightest Thread]
Rather than just knowing the character is running through a forest, we feel the scratches of thorns and branches reaching out to block her way.
Prickly vibrations raced along my cloak from the baggy sleeves to the top of the hood, tickling the two-day stubble across my cheeks and chin. [Reapers, Bryan Davis]
Here a sensation is woven into the book’s first clues about who the protagonist is (a male wearing a cloak).
Now that we’ve seen the five senses in action, let’s see what it looks like when multiple senses are used together.
The only explicitly referenced senses are hearing (birdsong) and touch (poking her slippers, stretching her legs). But notice how other senses are implied? You might have pictured the forest, since branches, rocks, and pine needles are mentioned (sight). You may have even assumed the temperature (touch again) or imagined the scent of forest air (smell).
In well-written description it’s not the quantity of senses used, but the quality that depicts the mood.
The important thing isn’t to reel out a grocery list of sensory inputs every time your character walks onto a new scene. It’s to use whichever senses are most important at the moment and let the reader’s imagination fill in the gaps.
Assignment #1: If you’re looking to practice this method, try reading a chapter of your current work-in-progress and highlighting every sensory description. See which senses you use most often. Consider which senses are underused. Look for places you haven’t described any senses at all. Then dive in and make some changes!
Assignment #2: Crack open a favorite book and page to your favorite chapter. On a separate piece of paper, make two columns. In the first, list all the senses that the author explicitly describes. In the second, list all the extra, unwritten senses you imagine as you read. Have fun!
