Finally, we’ve reached the big ones.
Environments, portraits, and panoramas: the purest forms of descriptions. When the scene changes, when a new character comes on stage, when the tempo drops and you take a moment to just describe.
Bits like this dictate the tone and feel of a work, burning an image into the audience's mind and influencing how they perceive what follows. Light or dark, carefree or sinister, they set a stage for the story and define its players from the start.
Description writing is more an art than a science. Give five writers something to describe, and I guarantee you’ll get five unique portraits. But here are a few tips to consider when writing your own masterpieces.
First—and most important in my opinion—keep it relevant.
Don’t pick your subjects arbitrarily. If you specifically describe something or someone, have a good reason for doing so. The audience doesn't have to know that reason, at least at first, but as the writer, you should.
What counts as “relevant” is loose. Does the description build aesthetic, convey mood, or add comic effect? Does it foreshadow events or present narrative clues? Landscapes described in intense detail can showcase a character’s emotional state, and a discarded apple core can climax a dirty room to wonderful effect. As with choosing your synonyms, being intentional is key.
Second, consider your timing.
By nature, descriptive chunks slow a story down. This isn’t a bad thing, but you have to pick your placement carefully. It doesn't matter how relevant something is. If you pick the wrong time to bring it up, it will devastate your flow. An example:
"Welcome," said the man, standing up from his chair. "My apologies you've been delayed. Now sit, if you'll pardon my abruptness, and tell me what you can."
Jonah sat as quickly as he dared, feeling exceedingly out of place. He sunk six inches into the velvet cushion, painfully aware of the grass stains and mud that smutted his clothes. The cushion was the deepest crimson red, most likely imported, and the chair was just as fine. Flowers etched its surface, so delicate Jonah didn’t dare touch them for fear of knocking them off. The surface of the arms felt like ice under his hands, sanded to slick perfection.
See my point?
Notice how the first part of the description wasn’t an issue. One or two lines worked fine there, showcasing the difference in station between the characters and highlighting Jonah's nervousness. But the longer the description got, the more it dropped the tempo, until, sandwiched between dialogue we want to read, it got downright sluggish.
Maybe the details are important. Maybe the flower pattern on the chair identifies it as a lost heirloom, or the make and build gives hints about where the owner got his wealth. But it doesn't matter. The description’s placement wrecks the timing of the scene, so it doesn't work. The most beautiful—and necessary—descriptions can crumble under issues just like this.
As I’ve said through this whole series, there are few hard rules in writing. A slow moment in a tense scene can increase the tension, driving the audience to the edge of their seats, and putting a description in the middle of a battle can create a nice reprieve. You can stick a description almost anywhere for comic effect and get away with it, or slide one in somewhere odd to highlight a character's personality.
In writing, whatever works, works. Explore and experiment; find what works for you and harness it. The key is understanding what you’re doing and knowing why.
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