This was one of the first posts on my Blogger blog.  Thought it would be fun to visit again with all the new readers.  And wow, the numbers have been up lately.  Welcome!  And since there are so many, how about a collective get well wish for my cat, Saber?  He’s been lethargic and ill looking for two days and has a huge lump on his side.  He’s seeing a vet in the morning, but I hate to watch him suffer tonight. 


Keep It Simple, Keep It Real

When using description, I had to teach myself not to overdo the details. It was a long, hard lesson, but I learned. A few simple, well descriptive words can make all the difference. Here’s an example from one of my short stories.

Her Ma’man murmured of ghost summers when the heat became a living thing that clogged the throat and sat upon the skin like wet spirits. In the deepest part of the season, restless souls crept from the otherworld, drawn by the waves of misery.

“Ghost summer” sets the mood, gives you an idea about the kind of story you’re reading. “Clogged the throat and sat upon the skin” makes the heat real and anyone who has lived in the south knows that heat isn’t just there, it lives– exists to make your life miserable. Don’t just say it’s hot, make us feel it.

When trying to make a person real, you can use blonde, six-foot three, green eyes. Yeah, okay, but only if you’re giving a police report. Do you want to write the kind of book that sits on a night stand as a ready sleep injection?

So, let’s try again.

Frank stood six foot-three. He had hair the color of the sun and eyes like wet moss.

Maybe a tiny bit better, but so cliched you’re going to gag any editor who reads it. I kind of like wet moss, but what’s missing?

Emotion. If you aren’t feeling something you might as well be reading an insurance contract.

Take it from me, Frank doesn’t want to be the guy who puts you to sleep. Maybe, just maybe, he wants to be the guy who causes you to flip on the night light.

Let’s try it with some emotion and a little setting this time.

They kept the psych drugs in the top of the tall, locked cabinet. Frank didn’t need a key , nor did he have to stretch to pluck them right off the shelf. He’d colored his hair yellow to match the doctor’s, but it hadn’t been necessary. The staff never looked twice, so caught up in their own pointless lives, Bundy himself could have walked past and they wouldn’t notice.

Granted, with the power out, they had their hands full. It had been a genius move, he had to admit. One his father might have pulled.

Frank caught his reflection in the mirror behind the doctor’s desk.

His gut twisted before he remembered they weren’t his father’s dead, green eyes that stared back at him.