A flexi-tube extended from the airlock and attached to the exterior of the arrow with a dull clang. A moment later, the light turned green, and he pushed the hatch open.
Filtered air wooshed in, wonderfully odourless. He climbed through the double airlock and into the dock itself, then collapsed on the cold floor of the main cabin, his arms and legs spread wide. Sweet relief.
Filtered air wooshed in, wonderfully odourless. He climbed through the double airlock and into the dock itself, then collapsed on the cold floor of the main cabin, his arms and legs spread wide. Sweet relief.
Not a word is spoken in these initial paragraphs of Discernment, but the author has immersed us via sights, sounds, and sensations into an unknown, yet relatable, world. We tag along as her character explores, sharing the experience of his journey.
Next, we are transported planet-side, to a dusty, grease-filled mechanic’s garage, then squeezed into crowded family rides that roar and rumble past orchards, pastures, and plains. We’re introduced to this world’s foods with charred or tantalizing smells, triggering memories or imaginings of what these might be like. Spices and perfumes, musk and manure, all give a sense of the festival market. We can almost hear the hawkers and animals of this off-planet county fair.
Instead of telling us that “Mama’s stew smelled delicious,” make your reader’s mouth water.
“The metal stool scraped across the stone hearth as Mama rose to greet me. The aroma of seared meat and caramelized vegetables traveled with her, wafting from the kettle. Her embrace sent puffs of flour over me, but I ignored the cloud, surrendering as her arms enveloped me. My stomach grumbled. I hadn’t eaten since before sunrise.”
“Mama’s stew smelled delicious,” states a fact. The paragraph that followed evokes an experience, conveying you into the setting. Jerry Jenkins describes the difference between showing and telling here.
Let’s break this down a little more.
Sight:
This common path for descriptions can be challenging to make immersive without falling into “telling” patterns. There’s a reason we use the term, Point of View (POV) to indicate whose perspective is being described. What is seen, and the reactions that follow, must be consistent with that one character, at least for the scene. The information shared must be limited to what that character can access, as viewed in that perspective.
Sound:
Scrapes and squeaks and the emotions they elicit can convey the feel of your story. Bare feet slapping down stone hallways or magnetic boots connecting to metal walls—these sounds tell us what your world is made of. Your characters’ reaction to them tell us what they are made of.
Touch:
More than hot and cold, rough and soft. Tell us about the grit that embedded itself under the shirt cuffs, leaving the wrists raw at the end of a long journey. Or the itch just out of reach and what must be endured to scratch it. When your MC scuffs their toes—is it in dirt? Moss? Wet sand? Are they frustrated? Embarrassed? Wistful? This is your chance to let your characters be more than talking heads. Don’t limit the playing field.
Smell:
This is one of your most powerful senses. First, it informs the sense of taste and second, it is closely tied to memories. If you can trigger the memory of a smell with your words, you can bring a whole world to life for your reader.
Taste:
It’s a challenge, especially in SciFi and Fantasy, to describe food that is foreign, without using Earth labels and breaking the fictive bubble. On the other hand, it’s a good exercise in “show, don’t tell.” You can’t tell your reader what the soup compares to, but you can touch on its essence—citrusy and sour, or meaty with herbs—and continue on to what feelings are evoked.
In the same way we are encouraged to pay attention to conversations around us to gain insight into dialogue, people-watching, especially around food, is a great way to pick up on sense-related mannerisms and the reactions these sensations evoke.
Engaged the senses. The medley of sights and sounds, smells and substances, whether foreign and familiar, will mesmerize your reader, draw them into your story, and keep them there.
Sophia L Hansen is an author and editor with Havok Publishing and loves to write In Other Worlds. She’s lived on a tiny island in Alaska, the bustling cities of New York and Boston, raised kids in Tennessee, and now resides just outside Birmingham, AL. After 30+ years of marriage, seven children, and numerous pets, Sophia still fits into her high school earrings.
You can follow Sophia’s words and worlds at https://www.sophialhansen.com/, Facebook, and Instagram.
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