Beauty Surrounds Me

My lunch apple today was just gorgeous, glowing and powerful, so much that I had to just stare at it before I could cut into it.  I am surrounded by beauty.

Rome

I have this theory about sensory detail and reading. Since normal intake of our world reaches our brains through our five senses, if a writer can describe things clearly enough that a reader sees, smells, hears, tastes and feels them, then the words on the page have co-opted the brain.  It’s a polite form of mind control, and if you’ve ever been jarred out of a book because some one calls you to dinner, or to feed the baby, then you know what I mean.

I’ve done this to students when we’re studying setting.  I say, imagine you’re walking barefoot down a wide public beach in the day time, with the colorful beach umbrellas, the regular crash of the waves coming in, the smell of coconut sun lotion, and the seagull with the orange beak flying overhead crying out a squawk.  Someone hands you a chocolate ice cream cone that tastes half melted already.

Now imagine the same beach at night, and you’re walking towards a bonfire.  The people are gone except for a few who are laughing, silhouetted by the fire, and there’s just enough moonlight that you can see the edge of foam where the waves come in.  The wet sand is cold under your feet, and as you get closer, you can smell wood smoke.   Someone hands you a marshmallow, perfectly toasted, and you have to lick when it sticks to your fingers.

Now imagine the same beach at night, but now it’s winter and the fire is gone.  So are the people, and your coat isn’t quite warm enough.  You still don’t have shoes, so you hurry over the sand.  The waves are louder now, with a sucking sound, and the foam edge of the water is barely visible.  Then you look up to see it’s starting to snow big, fat flakes that glow blue in the moonlight.

If it works, you’re seeing snow over a beach, by moonlight.  Never mind that it should be impossible to see snow by moonlight if there are enough clouds for it to snow.

How does this work?  I just max out the sensory details in the descriptions.  It’s one of my favorite, favorite parts of writing.

Today, I’m at a point in Book 3 where I don’t know what’s about to happen, but I can see the scene Gaia sees, and hear it and feel it, so if I try hard enough, I can just go there with her and let time go by, and a story will unfold.  It’s a first draft.  It’s supposed to be fun, so here goes.