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When
I sit down to write, I have pictures in my mind. I can see my
setting, whether it is an exotic foreign temple, a seedy motel, or a
trendy night club. I have some sense of my characters’ physical
appearance. I imagine the action as it occurs, playing out like a
movie in my mind. Most authors, I believe, have similar mental
images.
Part
of our task as writers is to communicate all these pictures to our
readers. Description is essential in building a fictional world for
our readers to inhabit. Description of the setting helps to establish
a mood for the story as well as conveying factual information in
order to set the scene. Description of a character allows readers to
understand who the character is, why he or she reacts in particular
ways or evokes desire, hate or fear from other characters. Effective
description of action is essential in order to move the story forward
along its plot arc.
Some
authors might disagree, but I would argue that it’s nearly
impossible to write a good story without some description. How much,
though, is enough?
A
common weakness in the work of novice writers is over-description. A
story will begin with four paragraphs of text about the weather, the
manor house, or the windswept Scottish moors. A character cannot show
up on a page without having some adjectives or adverbs to drag
around. A love scene explains in excruciating detail what the hero’s
left hand and right hand are doing at each moment.
Why
is this a problem? Because too much description can interfere with
the progress of the story. Consider the following passage, adapted
from a very early story of my own called “The Ambassadors to
G79-3”.
She
emerged first from stasis, a faint humming in her ears, a strange
saltiness in her mouth and a sharp tingling in her secret parts
remarkably like sexual excitement. Her eyes gradually focused on the
luminous neon scope attached to the curved inner surface of her
personal stasis chamber. The temporal-spatial coordinates displayed
there were reassuringly familiar. The ship was right on course and
the stasis mechanisms had functioned perfectly, awakening her a mere
six hours from the destination.
She
stretched her long limbs luxuriously, enjoying the soft, gentle
pressure of the cushioning foam that lined the chamber. Lyrene
fumbled a bit with the mechanical release latch, then swung the port
wide and stepped clumsily into the cylindrical control room that
formed the heart of their ship. Blue, green and gold lights blinked
and flashed as the ship’s advanced biocerebral core rapidly
calculated alternative landing trajectories and touch-down
coordinates. The viewing dome in the middle of the floor glowed
golden from the raging fires of the star G-79. Lyrene deftly flicked
a switch, executing an 180 degree turn, and the dome revealed an
endless field of deep blue spattered with flecks of silver, and a
greenish egg shape hanging near the edge.
This
is the start of the story. As any experienced writer will tell you,
the first few paragraphs of a story or novel are critical. This is
where you must “hook” readers, catch their interest, excite their
curiosity, make them want to read on so that they can find out what
happens next. In this case, though, I am two hundred words into the
tale, and nothing has really happened. If I continue in this vein,
I’m going to lose my readers’ attention.
Clearly,
I need to set the scene. If I don’t manage to communicate the fact
that this is a space ship, then the next paragraphs will not make any
sense. However, I can streamline the entire opening, simply by
cutting some the adjectives and adverbs, restructuring a few
sentences, and omitting details that really are not important.
She
emerged first from stasis, a humming in her ears, a saltiness in her
mouth and a tingling like sexual excitement in her secret parts. The
luminous scope inside her stasis chamber showed temporal-spatial
coordinates that were reassuringly familiar. The ship was right on
course. The stasis mechanisms had functioned perfectly, awakening her
six hours before the scheduled landing.
Lyrene
stretched her limbs, stiff after months of immobility, then crawled
clumsily through the stasis chamber port into the cylindrical control
room. Lights blinked and flashed as the ship’s brain calculated
landing trajectories and touch-down coordinates. She requested an 180
degree turn. Instead of the fires of the star G-79, the viewing dome
now revealed a field of deep blue spattered with flecks of silver,
with a greenish egg shape hanging near the edge.
I
have cut the passage by more than seventy five words. More
importantly, I have focused the reader’s attention on Lyrene and
her actions, instead of on what the ship looks like. One technique
for doing this is to remove references to intermediate acts unless
they are essential for understanding the scene. In the revised
version, I dropped any mention of unfastening the latch or opening
the port. Notice, however, that I did not remove the adverb
“clumsily”. I felt that this was necessary to convey Lyrene’s
physical state after the long space trip.
The
passage above is hardly a model for great literature. However, it
does set the scene better than the previous example, without holding
up the story.
Another
hazard in the realm of descriptions is over-describing your
characters. Of course you want your readers to be able to visualize
your hero and heroine. Leave some space, though, for the reader’s
imagination. Sketch your character, highlight the critical aspects of
their appearance or personality, but then let the reader’s personal
preferences fill in the details.
Here’s
another example, once again adapted from some of my unpublished work.
Why
did she arouse me so strongly? She didn't look the least bit tarty.
Her beige skirt ended a modest distance below her knees. Her white
crepe blouse draped her torso, suggesting rather than revealing the
roundness underneath. The V of the neckline exposed the hollow of her
throat, where I caught the discrete sparkle of some silvery charm.
She had arranged her hair, a warm brown threaded with hints of red,
into a neat chignon at the base of her neck. She was probably wearing
make up, but it was subtle enough that it merely enhanced the overall
impression: a beautiful, business-like young woman with a smile I
might be willing to die for.
How
tall is this woman? What color are her eyes? How old is she? Is she
Caucasian or some other ethnicity? Is she slender or voluptuous? What
size bra cup does she wear? Forgive me for the last question, but I
have read far too many beginner’s stories where the author
apparently viewed this this item of information as essential.
Each
of you, reading this paragraph, will have a somewhat different image
of the woman being described. I have not provided any of the above
details of her appearance, because they are not important to the
story. What is important is the narrator’s impression: that she’s
“neat”, “business-like”, “discrete”, “subtle”,
“modest”. (As it turns out, this character is not at all what she
seems, but rather is a sexually ravenous dominant.)
Lawrence
Schimmel, the celebrated gay author, has compared writing to creating
a radio play. In the days of radio, the entire family would sit
around the “wireless”, listening to comedies or dramas. The
voices would evoke different pictures for each listener. The
playwright’s job was to suggest, to hint, to guide the imagination.
I
don’t have space in this post to consider the question of
over-description in action, which is another area where problems crop up...particularly in sex scenes! However, I would
like to leave you with a few suggestions for improving your
descriptions.
1.
Make each adjective and adverb count. Some writing gurus advise
eliminating all adverbs and most adjectives. I think this is just
plain silly. However, before you write about a “blue chair”,
consider whether the blueness really matters for your story. Be
selective.
2.
Avoid starting a story with pure description. There’s a risk that
you’ll lose your readers’ attention before you get to the action.
3.
Keep the focus on the characters and the events of the plot.
Interleave description with action.
4.
When in doubt, cut. Don’t hold on to descriptive passages just
because they paint a beautiful picture.
In
writing, despite what some people may say, there are no hard and fast
rules. You need to discover what works for you. Personally, I’ve
found that applying the suggestions above help me turn overblown,
wordy descriptions into more effective passages that support rather
than interfere with the action.
