Writing: Descriptions
Originally written yesterday, and it would have been posted until... I had a minor emergency that took me out of the house. Everything's fine! I promise!
And since I'm finding all this out a day late, yay, Colin! Congratulations!
So the temperature dropped to -40C overnight -- -48C if you factor in the windchill -- which foiled my attempt to go to the gym at buttfuck o'clock because, well, my car died. Did I have prior warning from the weather person? Yes. Was my car plugged in? No, because we couldn't find the freakin' plug, it was buried in the bowels under the hood. Without a car, well, I took a day off -- spent it sleeping off sleep deprivation and working from home -- but I'll have to go in on the weekend to make up the time and catch up on the work before it becomes stupidinsane.
Anyway, the ass-cold weather brings me to this: how do you describe temperature or environmentael conditions in fic?
I mean, honestly, a lot of the time, when you read descriptions, they either jar you out of the reading experience, they're passable but don't feel real, or they're perfect.
Nobody gets it right all of the time. I sure don't. I'm insanely wordy, and my solution of throwing a lot of words at something won't make a description better. I don't know where to stop, or I'm using the wrong words, or I'm writing the description from my POV, rather than the character's POV.
If I were to give any unsolicited advice about writing descriptions, it would be to write those descriptions as they would first be seen and/or observed from the main character.
Why does it matter? Don't we all see things the same way?
Well, in a word, no. In two: not necessarily.
Some people (and characters) are more perceptive than others. Some people (and characters) notice certain things more than they would others. And yet other people (and characters) are trained to pick out what's not there to be seen.
See what I'm getting at?
Oh, crap. I made a pun. Sorry.
I'll give you a few examples. First, let me set the scene. It's 4:30 AM. You know that The Weather Network claims that it's -40C and that the calculated windchill factor dropped that down to -48C and dressed appropriately. You grab your lunch, your purse, your backpack, your briefcase -- whatever -- and pick up your gym bag and your keys. You unlock the front door, open it, and step outside.
Let's say you're a perfectly normal person. You'd have checked the temperature the night before, gone, fuck that, and made plans to skip the gym, sleep in, and wait until the weather's gone warmer before going outside.
The clock's glowed a baleful red in the dark. Arthur swallowed a groan and started to get up. When the air rushed cold under the blankets, he remembered the weather forecast. With a grunt, he rolled over and burrowed deeper, trying to wedge himself under Merlin, who was warm, and decided that no one would say anything if he didn't go out to face the cold. Well. Merlin would, but that was all right. He was used to it.
Let's say you're me. You know that the minute you step outside, it's going to burn your lungs, so you hold your breath before opening the door. You're obsessed with making sure the door is closed and locked behind you before you leave.
It didn't feel that cold, but -40C? That was a dry cold. It didn't sink to the bone, but it was definitely like shoving icicles up the nostrils and swallowing acid. Arthur didn't know why he did it, but it seemed to help brace against the cold, so he held his breath.
He tested the doorknob, making sure he locked it. Merlin was still sleeping, but that didn't mean that Arthur wanted to leave the door wide-open for someone off the street. There was no give; it was locked, but the door wouldn't stay shut. Arthur tried to close it again. And again. It took a good slam -- loud enough to make the entire flat tremble -- before it would stay shut. Arthur cringed, because that would definitely have woken Merlin.
He rattled through his keys and walked over to his car, glancing up and down the road like he always did, wondering who else would be up at this time of the day. The streetlights were dim, the glow fuzzy, and Arthur paused. The air all around him was thick with crystals.
Let's say you're not me, and you're in a hurry to get somewhere.
Arthur shut the door behind him. He was three steps away when he half-turned and saw that the front door had swung open on its own. He hurried back, reached in, and shut the door again, but it defied him. He slammed it once, twice, three times -- the baby started crying, oh fuck, I woke him up, Merlin will be pissed -- before the door stayed shut.
His hair -- still damp from the hasty shower -- was frosting, his nostrils were freezing shut, and his coat was not suitable for the weather. Neither were his loafers, come to think of it, and where were his gloves? He could barely hold onto his keys, never mind his briefcase.
Arthur went over to his car, praying that the engine would turn over. He thumbed the alarm and unlocked the doors, glancing at the road to see how bad it was. There was a weird fog, and that was definitely ice on the road.
"Shite," he swore, and his breath froze in the air.
Let's say you're worse than me -- you're a freak who actually runs outside when the temperature's -40C.
Arthur stepped outside and took a deep, searing breath that made his lungs crackle, his muscles contract, and chased away the last of the sleep lingering around the edges. It took him a few tries to get the door to stay shut, but he managed with the minimum of fuss -- all it took was a bit of muscle -- though a perverse side of him really wanted to slam it as hard as he could, because Merlin had promised to go running with him and chickened out at the last minute.
It wasn't like it was that cold. Sure, the air hung heavy with ice crystals, like the bloody snow was evaporating, or something, and winter fogs were gorgeous because they softened everything, even that annoying streetlight that shone right into their bedroom window and they had to buy blackout curtains for, because Merlin tossed and turned if there was so much as a glimmer of light in the room.
Arthur shook his head and adjusted his scarf, tugging down his hat. He was going to have frostbite by the time he got back, Merlin was going to bitch at him again before dragging him out to look for another parka, but it was going to be worth it.
He set out for a run.
Or, how about you're Merlin and Arthur from the LM-verse and you're on a mission in Canada?
At least the white camouflage they'd borrowed from some of their Canadian counterparts was warm. The parkas hadn't looked warm when they were issued, too thin and compact, but Arthur supposed that necessity bred innovation, and the Canadians had figured out the best combination of materials to keep from freezing to bloody death a long time ago. Idly, he wondered if Pendragon Consulting's research department could do better.
Probably not.
They could, however, look into the materials and improve other equipment, he decided.
It wasn't easy to move silently through snow so dry that it crackled under their boots, but they managed. It wasn't cheating, not exactly. The team was using every skill in their arsenal to get to the house unseen and unheard, and if it meant having Merlin cast a bit of silence on their boots, then, well, they were just maximizing their opportunities, yeah?
Arthur reached the house first. There was a bit of fumbling with the lockpicks. The mechanism was stiff; it wouldn't turn easily. Finally, the deadbolt slid out and he could turn the doorknob.
He entered first, flipping on the nightvision goggles that he couldn't wear on the hike here, because the ice fog created too much static. He swept the main entrance and advanced into the main room. Merlin was right behind him; Gwaine and Perceval would be coming in through the rear. They would have their target captured in under the time limit and would beat the long-standing record set by the Canadian specialists.
A loud slam behind him nearly made him jump. Arthur whirled around, his gun trained on Merlin for half a second before he lowered the muzzle. He saw Merlin, the doorknob in his hand, his shoulders rounded. He could almost see the wince on Merlin's face under the balaclava.
Growling under his breath when he heard the simultaneous beep of getting picked off by distant enemy snipers and signalling the end of the war game, Arthur broke radio silence and asked, "What. The. Hell? What part of absolute stealth didn't you understand?"
"The door wouldn't stay shut," Merlin explained, and when he let go of the doorknob, the door swung open.
Anyway, I could go on and on. And probably would. There's so many ways to describe a single thing and even more ways that a character (just one) might look at it. The point is, everyone has a different perspective on their environment, a contradictory focus, and, of course, how things are observed are usually dependent on the context of the situation. Each Arthur has a (slightly) different personality and a different focus, and each of them also have a different way of noticing the cold and letting the reader know just how cold it is.
How would you have your Arthur (or Merlin) notice the cold weather?
And since I'm finding all this out a day late, yay, Colin! Congratulations!
So the temperature dropped to -40C overnight -- -48C if you factor in the windchill -- which foiled my attempt to go to the gym at buttfuck o'clock because, well, my car died. Did I have prior warning from the weather person? Yes. Was my car plugged in? No, because we couldn't find the freakin' plug, it was buried in the bowels under the hood. Without a car, well, I took a day off -- spent it sleeping off sleep deprivation and working from home -- but I'll have to go in on the weekend to make up the time and catch up on the work before it becomes stupidinsane.
Anyway, the ass-cold weather brings me to this: how do you describe temperature or environmentael conditions in fic?
I mean, honestly, a lot of the time, when you read descriptions, they either jar you out of the reading experience, they're passable but don't feel real, or they're perfect.
Nobody gets it right all of the time. I sure don't. I'm insanely wordy, and my solution of throwing a lot of words at something won't make a description better. I don't know where to stop, or I'm using the wrong words, or I'm writing the description from my POV, rather than the character's POV.
If I were to give any unsolicited advice about writing descriptions, it would be to write those descriptions as they would first be seen and/or observed from the main character.
Why does it matter? Don't we all see things the same way?
Well, in a word, no. In two: not necessarily.
Some people (and characters) are more perceptive than others. Some people (and characters) notice certain things more than they would others. And yet other people (and characters) are trained to pick out what's not there to be seen.
See what I'm getting at?
Oh, crap. I made a pun. Sorry.
I'll give you a few examples. First, let me set the scene. It's 4:30 AM. You know that The Weather Network claims that it's -40C and that the calculated windchill factor dropped that down to -48C and dressed appropriately. You grab your lunch, your purse, your backpack, your briefcase -- whatever -- and pick up your gym bag and your keys. You unlock the front door, open it, and step outside.
Let's say you're a perfectly normal person. You'd have checked the temperature the night before, gone, fuck that, and made plans to skip the gym, sleep in, and wait until the weather's gone warmer before going outside.
The clock's glowed a baleful red in the dark. Arthur swallowed a groan and started to get up. When the air rushed cold under the blankets, he remembered the weather forecast. With a grunt, he rolled over and burrowed deeper, trying to wedge himself under Merlin, who was warm, and decided that no one would say anything if he didn't go out to face the cold. Well. Merlin would, but that was all right. He was used to it.
Let's say you're me. You know that the minute you step outside, it's going to burn your lungs, so you hold your breath before opening the door. You're obsessed with making sure the door is closed and locked behind you before you leave.
It didn't feel that cold, but -40C? That was a dry cold. It didn't sink to the bone, but it was definitely like shoving icicles up the nostrils and swallowing acid. Arthur didn't know why he did it, but it seemed to help brace against the cold, so he held his breath.
He tested the doorknob, making sure he locked it. Merlin was still sleeping, but that didn't mean that Arthur wanted to leave the door wide-open for someone off the street. There was no give; it was locked, but the door wouldn't stay shut. Arthur tried to close it again. And again. It took a good slam -- loud enough to make the entire flat tremble -- before it would stay shut. Arthur cringed, because that would definitely have woken Merlin.
He rattled through his keys and walked over to his car, glancing up and down the road like he always did, wondering who else would be up at this time of the day. The streetlights were dim, the glow fuzzy, and Arthur paused. The air all around him was thick with crystals.
Let's say you're not me, and you're in a hurry to get somewhere.
Arthur shut the door behind him. He was three steps away when he half-turned and saw that the front door had swung open on its own. He hurried back, reached in, and shut the door again, but it defied him. He slammed it once, twice, three times -- the baby started crying, oh fuck, I woke him up, Merlin will be pissed -- before the door stayed shut.
His hair -- still damp from the hasty shower -- was frosting, his nostrils were freezing shut, and his coat was not suitable for the weather. Neither were his loafers, come to think of it, and where were his gloves? He could barely hold onto his keys, never mind his briefcase.
Arthur went over to his car, praying that the engine would turn over. He thumbed the alarm and unlocked the doors, glancing at the road to see how bad it was. There was a weird fog, and that was definitely ice on the road.
"Shite," he swore, and his breath froze in the air.
Let's say you're worse than me -- you're a freak who actually runs outside when the temperature's -40C.
Arthur stepped outside and took a deep, searing breath that made his lungs crackle, his muscles contract, and chased away the last of the sleep lingering around the edges. It took him a few tries to get the door to stay shut, but he managed with the minimum of fuss -- all it took was a bit of muscle -- though a perverse side of him really wanted to slam it as hard as he could, because Merlin had promised to go running with him and chickened out at the last minute.
It wasn't like it was that cold. Sure, the air hung heavy with ice crystals, like the bloody snow was evaporating, or something, and winter fogs were gorgeous because they softened everything, even that annoying streetlight that shone right into their bedroom window and they had to buy blackout curtains for, because Merlin tossed and turned if there was so much as a glimmer of light in the room.
Arthur shook his head and adjusted his scarf, tugging down his hat. He was going to have frostbite by the time he got back, Merlin was going to bitch at him again before dragging him out to look for another parka, but it was going to be worth it.
He set out for a run.
Or, how about you're Merlin and Arthur from the LM-verse and you're on a mission in Canada?
At least the white camouflage they'd borrowed from some of their Canadian counterparts was warm. The parkas hadn't looked warm when they were issued, too thin and compact, but Arthur supposed that necessity bred innovation, and the Canadians had figured out the best combination of materials to keep from freezing to bloody death a long time ago. Idly, he wondered if Pendragon Consulting's research department could do better.
Probably not.
They could, however, look into the materials and improve other equipment, he decided.
It wasn't easy to move silently through snow so dry that it crackled under their boots, but they managed. It wasn't cheating, not exactly. The team was using every skill in their arsenal to get to the house unseen and unheard, and if it meant having Merlin cast a bit of silence on their boots, then, well, they were just maximizing their opportunities, yeah?
Arthur reached the house first. There was a bit of fumbling with the lockpicks. The mechanism was stiff; it wouldn't turn easily. Finally, the deadbolt slid out and he could turn the doorknob.
He entered first, flipping on the nightvision goggles that he couldn't wear on the hike here, because the ice fog created too much static. He swept the main entrance and advanced into the main room. Merlin was right behind him; Gwaine and Perceval would be coming in through the rear. They would have their target captured in under the time limit and would beat the long-standing record set by the Canadian specialists.
A loud slam behind him nearly made him jump. Arthur whirled around, his gun trained on Merlin for half a second before he lowered the muzzle. He saw Merlin, the doorknob in his hand, his shoulders rounded. He could almost see the wince on Merlin's face under the balaclava.
Growling under his breath when he heard the simultaneous beep of getting picked off by distant enemy snipers and signalling the end of the war game, Arthur broke radio silence and asked, "What. The. Hell? What part of absolute stealth didn't you understand?"
"The door wouldn't stay shut," Merlin explained, and when he let go of the doorknob, the door swung open.
Anyway, I could go on and on. And probably would. There's so many ways to describe a single thing and even more ways that a character (just one) might look at it. The point is, everyone has a different perspective on their environment, a contradictory focus, and, of course, how things are observed are usually dependent on the context of the situation. Each Arthur has a (slightly) different personality and a different focus, and each of them also have a different way of noticing the cold and letting the reader know just how cold it is.
How would you have your Arthur (or Merlin) notice the cold weather?