Consider this passage:
He walked into the diner and, upon instruction from the waitress, sat in the booth of his choosing.
A single sentence that conveys exactly what the character did. But, it’s pretty lifeless; very forgettable. Maybe that’s all it needs to be, nothing more than a forgettable passage to move the character from A to B. Why is it forgettable? Because there are no details to give the passage life in the reader’s mind.
He walked into the diner and, upon instruction from the waitress, sat in the booth of his choosing.
A single sentence that conveys exactly what the character did. But, it’s pretty lifeless; very forgettable. Maybe that’s all it needs to be, nothing more than a forgettable passage to move the character from A to B. Why is it forgettable? Because there are no details to give the passage life in the reader’s mind.
Now, consider that same action expanded with details:
The diner off of 51 was a first-name business where guys named Ray, Billy, and Smokey Joe were served by gals named Jessie, Trina, and Sis. Every small, mid-American town bisected by a US highway had one. Each diner had a neon sign stating the obvious, such as Eat or Food, hanging in the window just above an American flag clipped from the newspaper last Fourth of July.
When you opened the door, the first sound you heard was the constant clinking of dishes, either being placed in front of a customer or tossed in a bus tub. Shortly after that, about the time the smell hit your nose, you heard the persistent bubbling of oil gently browning up French fries and chicken.
Before the door closed behind you, Sis greeted you with her always pleasant “Hi ya’ Hon, sit yourself anywheres” as she fluttered by with a pot of coffee in one hand and an order pad in the other. Cat-eye glasses dangled from a gold-plated chain around her neck and a ballpoint pen was neatly tucked behind her ear. The sweetly nauseous, blended smell of Aqua-Net and stale Marlboros briefly passed your nose as she was at once there to greet you and at the other end of the counter flirting with one of the boys from the plant.
The joint was long and narrow. Black and white checkered tile stretched the thirty feet of floor...from the counter on the right to the booths six feet to the left. The booths were standard diner issue...Formica, off-white with aqua flakes, covering the table and seat bases. The seat backs were bulbously cushioned and extended to just over mid-back, while the seat itself was overstuffed so you sank slightly as you slid into the booth. Before your butt hit the seat, Sis was there asking, “Coffee for ya’s? ”
Notice the action itself has not changed. The character still has done nothing more than enter the diner and sit down. But now the action has come alive. Why? The details. The reader is able to visualize and even hear and smell the diner. As you craft your stories, remember, the devil is in the details.
The diner off of 51 was a first-name business where guys named Ray, Billy, and Smokey Joe were served by gals named Jessie, Trina, and Sis. Every small, mid-American town bisected by a US highway had one. Each diner had a neon sign stating the obvious, such as Eat or Food, hanging in the window just above an American flag clipped from the newspaper last Fourth of July.
When you opened the door, the first sound you heard was the constant clinking of dishes, either being placed in front of a customer or tossed in a bus tub. Shortly after that, about the time the smell hit your nose, you heard the persistent bubbling of oil gently browning up French fries and chicken.
Before the door closed behind you, Sis greeted you with her always pleasant “Hi ya’ Hon, sit yourself anywheres” as she fluttered by with a pot of coffee in one hand and an order pad in the other. Cat-eye glasses dangled from a gold-plated chain around her neck and a ballpoint pen was neatly tucked behind her ear. The sweetly nauseous, blended smell of Aqua-Net and stale Marlboros briefly passed your nose as she was at once there to greet you and at the other end of the counter flirting with one of the boys from the plant.
The joint was long and narrow. Black and white checkered tile stretched the thirty feet of floor...from the counter on the right to the booths six feet to the left. The booths were standard diner issue...Formica, off-white with aqua flakes, covering the table and seat bases. The seat backs were bulbously cushioned and extended to just over mid-back, while the seat itself was overstuffed so you sank slightly as you slid into the booth. Before your butt hit the seat, Sis was there asking, “Coffee for ya’s? ”
Notice the action itself has not changed. The character still has done nothing more than enter the diner and sit down. But now the action has come alive. Why? The details. The reader is able to visualize and even hear and smell the diner. As you craft your stories, remember, the devil is in the details.
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