Technique

Tapping into your character’s senses

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This entry is part 7 of 10 in the series Writing the senses

Yesterday (and throughout this series), I mentioned that we have to focus on our characters and what they perceive when we detail the sensory information. We’ve talked about how to get into a character’s head (waaay back when), but sometimes seeing with our character’s eyes (or using their other senses) is a bit more challenging than just understanding what they’re thinking.

One thing that I’ve done to work on this (can you tell this is actually what I’m working on now?) is to go through each scene and write down all five senses for that character in that setting. As I do this, I ask myself questions about the character in the setting:

  • Which of my character’s emotions or experiences would color this setting? Does the sandy desert remind her of her grandmother’s house, or him of Desert Storm? (Or make up new experiences, if you feel like it.) If you need a setting to have an impact, sensory data could trigger strong memories for your character. Or if you just want your character to have a strong emotional experience, sensory data from the setting might be the way to go. Emotional
  • Is this a new setting for the character? If so, keep in mind your character’s personality and purpose there. Someone accustomed to danger might scan for the best escape route first. (And she won’t sit with her back to the door. Don’t even ask.) But if she’s there to meet a friend, looking for that friend will be a close second priority.
  • Conversely, is this setting very familiar to the character? If, for example, it’s their home or workplace, they may not “experience” it anymore. So if you need to be in that character’s POV in that setting, focus only on what stands out. Most of us don’t know what our own house smells like (unless we’re the ones buying the air fresheners!), but we’ll notice the overripe garbage.
  • In a familiar setting, can I have other people interact with the set? The other characters’ interactions with the POV/owner character’s furniture may suddenly draw her attention to the ratty patch on the arm of the couch where her cat sharpens its claws—or maybe the cat does that itself.
  • Do we remain grounded in the setting? Do we go too long without referencing something concrete in the “real world” of the story, devolving into people talking in space? (That’s one of my big things to work on.) Note: we don’t have to redescribe the drywall, but even interacting with a prop keeps us from floating off into space.
  • Do we remain grounded in the character? Kind of the opposite phenomenon—do we spend too much time on the description so that we kind of lose track of what the character is doing/thinking/feeling? (And thanks to Andrew for bringing this to mind in the comments!)

What do you think? How do you get into your characters’ senses?

Tomorrow, we’ll have more about picking which senses to focus on for your character!

Photo by Vestman

Technique

Dealing with sensory overload

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This entry is part 6 of 10 in the series Writing the senses

I thought I was only going to spend five days on writing with the senses, but there’s more to sense-rich writing than just focusing on each sense. In fact, focusing on each sense can actually make it harder for your readers to get that deep, in-character experience.

Why? Because instead of having a scene where something happens, we get distracted repeatedly by these perceptions. The setting keeps interrupting the action. (And you wondered what would happen if these walls could hear!)

In writing the senses, we have to carefully balance the sensory data with the action of the scene—and always focus on only the most important details.

  • First time’s the charm. The first time we see a set or meet a new character is usually our best opportunity to describe.
  • Wait as long as you can. Describing at the first opportunity doesn’t mean stopping the story to give every detail. Start with the most noticeable aspects, and then weave in other pertinent details when they matter. For example: you know that halfway through the scene the precise arrangement of the furniture will be important. Can you wait until then to describe it, so that it will be fresh in the reader’s mind? Will they remember how the settee and the arm chair are positioned after three pages anyway?
  • Focus on the character. I said something along these lines for most of the senses, but remember who the POV character is—what s/he would notice and how s/he would interpret it.
  • Focus on action. Long, static descriptions are boring. Remember the action of the scene and put most of the focus there, with enough setting to enhance that action.
  • Focus on emotion. Senses can be most useful in enhancing the character’s emotional experience (and thus the reader’s). If a sense brings out an important emotional reaction, don’t neglect that stimulus/response.
  • The rule of three. What are the three most important, powerful sensory inputs that the character experiences? Start with those. As above, weave in other sensory data as it makes sense.
  • Variety is the spice . . . . Make sure you don’t use the same senses too much. Smells may create the biggest emotional response, but unless your character is a bloodhound, a smell in every scene might be overdoing it a little.

What do you think? How do you decide which senses to use and when?

Photo by the Lichfield District Council

Works

Yet another blogfest

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Okay, this’ll be the last for a while. Today I’m participating in Secret Story’s Bar Scene Blogfest.

Set up: Special Agent Zach Saint is undercover as a Catholic priest after the parish mob murdered the last priest. This is his first week in the parish, and he’s joined one of the parish mobsters (Cally Lonegan) at the local bar. Zach doesn’t drink. Ever.

The bartender placed fresh glasses in front of Zach and Cally Lonegan. Zach took a tentative sip of his; it was bitter and alcohol-free as his last four drinks. Lonegan had guzzled 90-proof gin as fast as Zach could down his tonic and limes.

Lonegan reached for his tumbler, but looked away at the last second. The momentary distraction was timed perfectly for Lonegan to knock the glass over and spill the juniper-based spirit in Zach’s lap.

Great. Sighing, Zach grabbed a towel from across the bar to mop up the mess. Oblivious, Lonegan was busy flagging down a friend. “Doyle!” Even with the crowd, his shout was twenty decibels too loud. But it wasn’t the shouting that had Zach’s attention—was this Murphy?

Before he looked around, the full case file flashed through Zach’s mind. The crime scene photos of the last underling Murphy had had executed sprang to the forefront. He turned to follow Lonegan’s gaze.

Eyeing Zach, a man who carried his weight like he was used to being obeyed approached the bar. He looked just like his file photo: tall, hefty, and subtly menacing. “What kind of company you keeping now, Cal?”

“Who, this?” He punched Zach in the shoulder harder than necessary. “This is Father Tim. Salt of the Earth, that’s for sure!” Lonegan roared with laughter.

“Doyle Murphy.” The newcomer—the resident mob boss—settled at Zach’s left. Well, that was easier than he expected.

As long as he didn’t end up like the last guy who Murphy didn’t trust. The blood spatter on the sedate floral sofa hung in his mind. The Bureau believed the guy had been an hour late to deliver a shipment.

And then there was Father Patrick.

Zach fought back his racing pulse and shook the mobster’s hand. He’d been this close to vicious killers before. Worked with them, even. But a nagging feeling in his gut said ingratiating himself to this control freak over the next weeks—months, maybe—would be the most dangerous assignment he’d faced yet.

Yes, there’s more to the scene—but that’s where the chapter ends.

As always, read, participate and comment here!

Photo by Silus Grok

Works

Murder Scene Blogfest

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I’m still on a blogfest kick, with one for today and one for tomorrow. Today is the Murder Scene Blogfest, hosted by Anne Riley, and here’s my entry! (Note: it’s been trimmed here.)

In ten hours, they would be married. A mix of anxiety and adrenaline surged through Scott as he turned on to Abby’s street.

Squad cars idled in front of her building. His stomach turned cold. She was all right—she had to be. It could be anyone. It could be the building next door. It could be a traffic stop.

A traffic stop with three sets of flashing lights?

Scott sped up, scanning for a parking space. He’d missed her call last night thanks to his dad and his dreaded pre-wedding lecture. She hadn’t left a message. Was something wrong?

No. They wouldn’t keep three cars with flashing lights on the street overnight, unless—

He pulled alongside one of the squad cars, got his badge from the glove box and sprinted to the nearest uniform.

“What’s going on?”

“You’ll have to move along, sir.”

Scott shook his head. He flashed his badge. “What’s going on?”

“Murder.” The officer looked back toward the entrance to the parking garage beneath Abby’s building.

Fear grabbed his heart. “Who?”

“The guy who called it in couldn’t ID the body.”

“I know some people in the building. I’ll take a look.”

The officer glanced back at the ramp that led to the shadowed basement. “Don’t tell ’em I was the one that let you in.”

Scott nodded and started down the ramp. Each step tightened dread’s grip on his chest. By the time he reached the first level, he was almost sprinting.

He’d come here for an early morning run, but this wasn’t what he’d intended.

The plainclothes detectives clustered near Abby’s parking spot, and a darkening blood pool on the asphalt. A black body bag—full—sat on a gurney, waiting to be loaded into the coroner’s van. Scott stopped short, the fear freezing in his veins.

No. This couldn’t be happening. Not on their wedding day.

“Who let you down here?” one of the detectives demanded.

Scott kept his eyes on the body bag as he approached and pulled out his badge. “FBI.” Normally, he said it with force, but his voice sounded like a hollow echo ringing in his ears.

A grizzled detective threw up his hands in mock-joy. “Tell me the feds want this one. I have three hours till my shift’s supposed to start.”

“Have you IDed the body?”

The graying detective shook his head. “You live here?”

He nodded. Close enough.

The coroner’s assistant nodded at the detective’s signal and unzipped the body bag. He pulled back the flap before Scott could even brace himself.

(I think I should clarify here that when I hear the words “murder scene,” I automatically think of a crime scene, not a scene in which we watch someone be murdered. The murder here actually does take place “on screen” in the scene before this, but I have to rewrite that, so I went with this.)

Read, participate and comment here!

Photo by Mac

Technique

A rose by any other name

4 Comments
This entry is part 5 of 10 in the series Writing the senses

So the last of the five basic senses is smell. We all know our sense of smell is intimately bound up with our sense of taste. Some scientists have found interaction between smell and sound (“smounds,” they call them. Really.). And they say that smell is the strongest memory or emotional trigger of all the senses—hence why it’s especially important to include in our writing.

Smelling up the place

  • Track the scent to its source. No, you don’t have to hire a bloodhound, but the specificity of “fresh paint” or “old paper and dust” brings a more vivid scent-image to mind than “new building” or “musty.”
  • Work on your smell palette. Just like with taste, we can try to expand our smellcabulary. (No?) Smell foods before you eat them, and analyze the scent for its constituent parts (especially handy if you made the food—then you know everything that went in). Go give your spice rack a spin and sample the smells. Try a blindfolded test.
  • Kaye Dacus recommends this one:

    Try this exercise. Close your eyes (well, after you finish reading this paragraph!). Imagine you are walking into your favorite restaurant. What does it smell like? Start breaking apart the smell into layers (yes, like an onion, Shrek). What are the component parts of the aroma—garlic, basil, tomato? Corn, cilantro, peppers? Feta cheese, oregano, lamb?

    Note the clustering of threes as well.

  • Kaye also recommends reading perfume descriptions to observe what “notes” and aromas the creators describe, so check out White Diamonds or Polo for Men on Perfume.com
  • Make them active. Even a short smell description carries more power if it’s part of an active construction. Contrast this example from edittorrent:

    The scent of fresh-brewed coffee permeated her nostrils.
    vs.
    The scent of fresh-brewed coffee teased her awake.

    Note that I also agree that smells shouldn’t be so active as to permeate, assault or do just about anything else to a character’s nose/nostrils/smelling apparatus.

Then again, maybe I’m not the person you should ask about this. I have a weak sense of smell in the first place, and this week I have a Sudafed-proof head cold. đŸ˜€

What do you think? How do you highlight smell in your work?

Photo by Deann Barrera

Technique

Adding flavor to your writing

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This entry is part 4 of 10 in the series Writing the senses

Taste is a tough sense to convey in writing. It’s generally going to be confined to two basic usages: a character eating and a character tasting fear/blood/etc. Latter is a sensation that can be very powerful as a visceral response—unless it’s overused. Generally, it’s remembered fairly well.

For the first example, we don’t want to spend too much time describing something we’re all familiar with. The taste of chicken? You’re probably better focusing on the spices or side dishes.

However, when a character is tasting something new and unfamiliar to them and your audience (chilled monkey brains!), describing that taste can help them experience this new food along with your character.

Taste testing your writing
Although taste is tricky to convey in writing, there are a number of ways to convey taste effectively in writing.

  • Expand your flavor vocabulary. Sour, salty, bitter, sweet and spicy are a good start—but they’re awfully generic. That doesn’t mean we should hop straight to just naming garam masala or vegemite as the flavor, either. There’s a whole spectrum of common flavors out there—smoky, lemony, nutty, yeasty, buttery—that can serve as references.
  • Use familiar references. Again, don’t just name an obscure flavor and hope your readers will get it. Some might, but if it’s important enough to name, it’s important enough to help your readers experience, right?
  • Expand your actual palette. Take a cooking or tasting class, or host a tasting party of your own—cheese is usually a good place to start, since you can get several varieties in almost any grocery store. Invite over some friends, taste the cheeses, take notes and compare.
  • Actually eat the food you’re describing. Even if it’s a familiar food, you might pick up on something to bring out your character or scene better with another taste.
  • Remember texture. Like I said yesterday, texture is an important part of an eating experience. (And hey, temperature can be, too. Cold pizza vs. hot, anyone?)
  • Consider the character. If this is a restaurant, what would s/he order? Why? (I like to use real restaurant menus as starting points, but you don’t have to.) Also, think about your character’s culture—was she raised on collard greens and KFC or colcannon and Abrakebabra? What flavors do they like, and is their flavor vocabulary, and how can you make sure that translates well to your audience?
  • Empower emotions. Is there something about these flavors that triggers a memory or other reaction from the character? Does s/he like or dislike this taste?

Also, take into account your setting and genre. Culinary cozies, for example, will probably feature far more taste than fast-paced thrillers—unless those thrillers take place at Le Cordon Bleu.

What do you think? How do you convey taste in your writing?

Photo by Mike Burns

Technique

A touching story

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This entry is part 3 of 10 in the series Writing the senses

So sight and even sound are the easy senses. We remember to include those all by ourselves usually. But then there’s this big gap where we almost completely neglect the other three senses. Most of us realize we don’t use taste and smell very often—but we rarely think about how often we use texture, touch and tactile senses.

And no, the character just touching stuff doesn’t count.

So much of our perception of the physical world comes from our physical interaction with it. Touch encompasses texture, pressure, temperature, weight, consistency and more. To really flesh out the physical world of the story, don’t forget touch!

Including touch

  • Close your eyes and put yourself in your character’s shoes in this scene. Not just emotionally—physically. (Ooh, suede.) What does s/he touch, pick up or handle in this space? How does it feel—rough/smooth, heavy/light, wet/dry, squishy/solid, hot/cold? Make a list of all these sensations, especially for anything of particular importance.
  • Reverse engineer: think about textures that will evoke moods or character attributes. Close your eyes and imagine feeling happy/sad/ennui/etc.—just the feeling. What kind of materials and sensations do you want to surround yourself with? Keep a list, and look for ways to work those in.
  • Link up with emotions: remember to tap into the POV character’s mental state. Does it color how he or she perceives or interprets things? Does her new sweater feel a little too warm when he’s around? Does sweat creep down his collar as he waits in the sun?
  • Link up with taste: texture is a huge part of an eating experience. If you’ve remembered taste, or have your characters eating, enrich that taste experience with texture from the creamy smoothness of vanilla frozen custard to the satisfying crunch of a crispy cookie.
  • Select: sift through all the tactile information in the scene and pick the most important ones. Our brains do this automatically—quick, what do the insides of your shoes (or the floor under your feet) feel like? If you concentrate on that sensation, you can identify it, but most of the tactile (and other sensory) information we deal with every day we filter out. If we didn’t, we’d be overwhelmed before we got out of bed.

As with all senses, we have to be careful not to go overboard, and to change up which senses we’re using—too much of any one sense isn’t realistic, either. However, as with sight, a lot of tactile senses aren’t quite as “offensive” as other senses, because they do ground us so well in the story.

What do you think? Do you remember to include textures? How else do you include textures in your writing?

Photo by Agustín Ruin

Technique

Sound is golden

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This entry is part 2 of 10 in the series Writing the senses

Sound is generally the second easiest for us to remember to include. Little sound cues from knocking at the door, to a ringing phone to church bells to footsteps provide transitions and introduce characters. Technically, dialogue is a sound, but I think readers seldom process it that way (and that’s probably good), unless we specifically call attention to the way a line of dialogue is delivered.

Of course, we don’t want to use too much sound—especially not if we bring sound to the forefront as with the above (and even more so if we do this more than once in a scene). While sight will be used in pretty much every scene (even if we don’t need description), sound probably won’t play quite as prominent a role.

Hearing the scene
Sound generally doesn’t ground us as strongly as sight does, but it can still enhance a sense of setting and scene. Here are some tricks I use to focus on the sound in a scene:

  • Close your eyes. What are the background noises in this setting (traffic, natural, people, etc.)? Does the character notice them—or would s/he notice if they disappeared?
  • Look for missed opportunities to set the stage with sound. What sounds are (fairly) unique to this setting, that could help to ground your characters and readers and convey a sense of place?
  • Don’t neglect the dialogue. Are there any lines of dialogue that need a little help conveying their full meaning or emotional impact? (Yes, make sure the dialogue is as strong as possible on its own first, but if it’s still not enough—or if the words contradict the speaker’s meaning—add to the tone.)
  • Closely related: Read the scene aloud for cadence. Does the rhythm of the words sound natural, and does it fit the scene?

Silence is golden
Don’t neglect silence as a part of sound. Whether it’s an awkward pause in a conversation or the still that falls over forest birds when a predator is near, silence can convey as much meaning as sound, if used properly.

What do you think? How do you use sound in your scenes?

Photo by David Boocock