Descriptive Writing

I’m a detail person. I don’t think that comes as a shock to anyone. It’s just a part of who I am; a wallflower, an introvert – I’m the person who sits quietly and notices things that others might have missed. Because it’s the details that mean the difference between seeing something and understanding it. You can watch two horses move freely in the field, and they might both be finely-bred, wonderful horses. But the horse with flat knees and a lower-set neck will make a better hunter, while the horse with rounded knees and long pasterns will have more expressive movement. A man might be generically handsome, but it’s the little shy tuck of his chin when he smiles that makes him beautiful.

I’ve wanted to be an author since I learned it was a profession – it happened sooner than I thought, but it’s always been a goal – and the heady aspect of it is this: as a writer, you have the ability to affect a reader’s emotions and perceptions with your words. Think about that for a minute; it’s a head-rush. As a writer, you have an image in your head, and with black type on paper you can transfer that image to someone else. Through words, readers travel to foreign cities, foreign countries, foreign worlds, and we, as their guides, steer them along, showing them all the wonders we’ve imagined through the eyes of our characters. Am I being melodramatic? Yes. So let’s break down the mechanics of it.

Window to the World

For starters, I think it’s important not to think of description as something that is separate from storytelling. The way an author chooses to describe characters, settings, and events affects the entire perception of the story. On the surface, description may seem like pretty padding, a mere decoration, but when used effectively it’s doing the down and dirty work of storytelling. I have three personal rules for writing a descriptive passage: 1) Make sure it enhances the readers’ understanding of a character; 2) Make sure it’s building toward something; 3) Make sure it’s a feast for the senses.

Character

Whether you’re writing from first or third person (I write from third person limited), the narrating character of any part of a story is the eyes through which we see the action unfolding. The descriptions of people and places are the characters’ perceptions, as opposed to the author’s, and it gives the reader a chance to learn something about the main character. What does the character find beautiful? Repulsive? Frightening? Boring? How do their life experiences color the way they interpret their surroundings and the actions of others?

This is a passage from White Wolf, told from Sasha’s point of view:

“Ivan,” a voice said, and Sasha was startled to see the captain standing beside their seat. He’d removed his hat and coat, but was no less sinister in his black shirt and waxed pants, his worn black boots and gaiters that buckled up to his knees. He tipped his head and Ivan got to his feet. Said, “Pyotr’s trying out the card tricks you showed him on Monsieur Philippe.”

“Oh shit,” Ivan said, and lumbered away down the aisle.

Sasha fought the impulse to grab at his sleeve, ask him to stay. Ivan was huge and hapless and intimidating, yes. But the captain was somehow more so.

It was because he was so put-together, Sasha decided, as the man settled gracefully in the seat across from him. He’d taken the train from Moscow to Tomsk, was now headed back, and looked fresh from morning ablutions: his clothes spotless, his jaw clean-shaven, his dark hair parted and styled neatly. If it weren’t for the sludge of melted snow and mud on his boots, Sasha wouldn’t believe this was someone who’d walked down the pathways of his hometown. This was a city man, elegant and refined.

But he held himself as still as the best of hunters, present in his body in a way that spoke not of drawing rooms…but of combat. And his stare. He was terrifying.

As with any predator, Sasha didn’t want to risk glancing away. Turn your back on a wolf, and it was the last mistake you’d make.

On the surface, we’re getting our first real good look at Nikita, which is important all on its own. We’ve been in his head, and now we get to see how he appears to others. But under that, we’re also getting Sasha’s take on him – that of the perspective of a seasoned hunter who’s familiar with wild animals, specifically the predator/prey dynamic. Though Ivan was larger and more physically imposing, Sasha feels a greater threat from Nikita. Size and ferocity aren’t equal in Sasha’s eyes; though he is a young, and often naïve character, we here learn that he is very perceptive, and we can hopefully respect him for that.

We also learn that Nikita is someone who makes an effort toward his appearance, that he is polished, and, more important to Sasha, he is someone who takes care of his footwear in a landscape in which bare feet could mean death or serious illness. Just as we don’t always understand our own reactions to others at first blush, Sasha too is reserving judgement; but in a realistic, very human way, he’s cataloguing details, building up an impression of someone new.

Building

The early chapters of any book set the stage upon which the actors will perform. The first time a reader “sees” a house, or a school, or a barn, or any part of the setting, it’s a chance for the author to create a lasting impression. Some authors prefer to keep things streamlined and sparse, and some go for a more detailed approach – I’m, obviously, of the latter variety. Describing the setting, the family dynamics, and the rules by which your characters live are all efforts toward worldbuilding.

But there’s another way in which description can build – in a more figurative sense. In a horror novel, descriptive prose is used to build a sense of foreboding, or of tension. (Two of my favorite pieces of fiction of all time are Washington Irving’s “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” and Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart.” If you haven’t read either, I can’t recommend them enough as examples of description used to great effect to build a sense of danger and foreboding.)

Intimate, personal details can be used to build heat and romantic chemistry/tension between two characters. In this passage from White Wolf, Trina’s detailed description of Nikita lets us know that she’s attracted to him, in so many words:

When she looked down at his face – and God, the aristocratic cut of his features, the way his gray eyes had a blue cast in this light – a jolt of awareness crackled through her. The weight of his hand, of his gaze, of his breath turning to frost in the air between them. She wanted, absurdly, to shove his black fur hat off his head and spear her fingers through the dark waves of his hair, feel the warmth of his scalp in her hand. Wanted to climb inside his coat, up close where his heat bled through his clothes, smell the sweat and dirt on his throat.

And in this passage, Nikita’s train of thought takes us deep into the intimacy, and potentially blurred lines of his relationship with Sasha:

“I know, I know.” Nikita ran a hand down the back of his head, cupped the vulnerable curve of his skull, fingered the silky long lengths of his hair. “But I’m not him. We’re not them. Don’t compare it.”

In both cases, description is used to build relationships in a realistic way. We notice things about the people we care about.

Interpretation

One of my favorite things about description is using multiple viewpoints to describe the same person or event. A protagonist might seem handsome and dashing to one character, but a pretentious suckup to another. Such descriptions are giving you a multi-faceted view of all characters involved. In this case, describing a character multiple times isn’t redundant if we’re getting multiple takes on them. Redundancy would be every character having the same impression – in that case, there’s no need to keep repeating the same thing over and over.

Balance

I’m someone who lives and breathes for descriptive prose. I love words; I love consuming them, and using them in my own work. When it comes to descriptive writing, I tend toward the lush, so I always try to balance it. For every artsy passage, I offset it with something down to earth and realistic. I prefer writing in third person because it enables me to weave a little poetry into the prose of the story, without losing a character’s authentic voice – which comes through in his or her dialogue. For example, none of my bikers – except maybe Mercy – are going to wax poetic in their dialogue, so I play with their perceptions – the details they perceive about someone – and then offset it with a line of dialogue like: “No shit.” After a showy line, I might throw in something blunt, matter-of-fact, and vicious.

Scant details can be a way to show a detachment, or haziness, like here:

It was very quiet now. He thought he might sleep.

But then…

The earth was shaking. Or he was. Or…

Warm hands on his face, his neck. A shadow floated over his face. Someone was speaking…

“Nik! Nikita! Nik!”

Oh, bless him, it was Sasha. He smelled like blood, and wolf musk. His voice was choked, like he was crying.

Likewise, vivid, unemotional details can register as a character taking everything in with a sort of disbelieving clarity, like here:

The starets stood holding someone as tenderly as he would a lover, cradling his skull, face pressed into his throat. A figure utterly still, black coat flapping around him. A black fur-trimmed hat lay behind him in the snow, where it had been knocked off.

Nikita. Cold, heartbeat slow and fading.

Like in a film, we’re getting a sudden glimpse of what’s happening, and before I even tell you, we feel Sasha’s horror to see someone he cares about being held in this way by a villain.

Purposeful

No two readers are ever going to want the same level of detail in their books. For some people, my books are far too long, but some readers really appreciate the level of detail. Sparse or rich, however much detail you choose to put into your description, the most important thing is to make sure that your descriptions are purposeful. That you’re building worlds, and characters; foreshadowing, mood, intimacy. Make the descriptions in your book do the hard work, and you’ll have a story that is real and grounded, no matter the subject matter.