What season of the year does your book start?
Hadn't thought about it? I understand. I used to forget about seasons, too. But then I discovered how much a season adds depth and realism to your story. In my stories, there is always some connection with the outdoors -- a breeze through an open window, a dash across the driveway into his car, a stroll through a meadow, a hideout in the woods. In all of these, the story feels that much more alive when I can include the feel of the season.
For example, see how this scene changes:
Original scene:
A breeze gusted through the open window, toying with the rich, red curtains. Arielle lifted her head and inhaled the scents. But her heart squeezed painfully at the absence of the sea. There was not a single trace of salt on the wind to remind her of home.
Spring:
An early breeze gusted through the open window, toying with the rich, red curtains. Arielle lifted her head and inhaled the scents - fresh-plowed earth, spring blossoms, and melting snow. But her heart squeezed painfully at the absence of the sea. There was not a single trace of salt on the wind to remind her of home.
Summer:
A warm breeze gusted through the open window, playing with the rich, red curtains. Arielle lifted her head and inhaled the scents - roses and peonies, fresh-cut grass now drying in the fields, and warm-baked earth. But her heart squeezed painfully at the absence of the sea. There was not a single trace of salt on the wind to remind her of home.
Fall:
A crisp, cool breeze gusted through the open window, making the rich, red curtains quiver. Arielle lifted her head and inhaled the scents - sweet harvests, musty leaves, and damp earth. But her heart squeezed painfully at the absence of the sea. There was not a single trace of salt on the wind to remind her of home.
Winter:
A cold wind gusted through the open window, sending the rich, red curtains into a frigid dance. Arielle lifted her head and breathed in the smell of icy snow and burning wood. But her heart squeezed painfully at the absence of the sea. There was not a single trace of salt on the wind to remind her of home.
My point here is not to compare the seasons, of course. Instead, I wanted to show you that, whatever season you choose, it will enrich your descriptions and make the scenes even more real to your readers.
Try it. I bet you can do even better than I did. :)
Hadn't thought about it? I understand. I used to forget about seasons, too. But then I discovered how much a season adds depth and realism to your story. In my stories, there is always some connection with the outdoors -- a breeze through an open window, a dash across the driveway into his car, a stroll through a meadow, a hideout in the woods. In all of these, the story feels that much more alive when I can include the feel of the season.
For example, see how this scene changes:
Original scene:
A breeze gusted through the open window, toying with the rich, red curtains. Arielle lifted her head and inhaled the scents. But her heart squeezed painfully at the absence of the sea. There was not a single trace of salt on the wind to remind her of home.
Spring:
An early breeze gusted through the open window, toying with the rich, red curtains. Arielle lifted her head and inhaled the scents - fresh-plowed earth, spring blossoms, and melting snow. But her heart squeezed painfully at the absence of the sea. There was not a single trace of salt on the wind to remind her of home.
Summer:
A warm breeze gusted through the open window, playing with the rich, red curtains. Arielle lifted her head and inhaled the scents - roses and peonies, fresh-cut grass now drying in the fields, and warm-baked earth. But her heart squeezed painfully at the absence of the sea. There was not a single trace of salt on the wind to remind her of home.
Fall:
A crisp, cool breeze gusted through the open window, making the rich, red curtains quiver. Arielle lifted her head and inhaled the scents - sweet harvests, musty leaves, and damp earth. But her heart squeezed painfully at the absence of the sea. There was not a single trace of salt on the wind to remind her of home.
Winter:
A cold wind gusted through the open window, sending the rich, red curtains into a frigid dance. Arielle lifted her head and breathed in the smell of icy snow and burning wood. But her heart squeezed painfully at the absence of the sea. There was not a single trace of salt on the wind to remind her of home.
My point here is not to compare the seasons, of course. Instead, I wanted to show you that, whatever season you choose, it will enrich your descriptions and make the scenes even more real to your readers.
Try it. I bet you can do even better than I did. :)
Wow, that is great, Esther! I have been season conscious in my writing, but I just absolutely love those snippets with the variations you wrote in, depending on the seasons.
ReplyDeleteWonderful!
Yes...I figured I was just now catching onto a secret held by many writers. ;)
ReplyDelete