Sensory Details

(image courtesy of Jill Wellington via pixabay.com

One of the best parts of being human is reveling in sensory details.

At any moment, we are taking in sensory information from multiple sources, through more than one sense, and processing it. We react AND we interact.

Communicating that in our creations is a challenge. A lovely one, but there’s delicacy involved. Each detail has to serve the overall story and the characters. They are additional revelations that help layer in texture and make the entire piece feel rich and deep. If there’s not enough sensory detail, the piece feels sterile. If there’s too much, it’s overwhelming and confusing. A long list of adverbs telling about a sense is far less compelling than actively wrapping the reader/audience in the experience of the story.

I teach a class on layering in sensory description (because, of course I do), and there’s a section based on those exercises in the Creative Stimulus Topic Workbook.

In that class, we work on multiple stories throughout the life of the class.

Story A is a story that will grow and change throughout the class, while each of the other stories focuses on a specific sensory element to drive the story above all the others.  For example, the finished draft of Story A, that takes the entire life of the class, has scent, taste, sound, touch, sight, and yes, we go there, intuition. Story B focuses on scent, Story C on taste, and so forth and so on. Each exercise has specific prompts. By the end of the class, there are drafts of seven pieces.

Sensory details can also use negative space, such as the lack of a sense, due to a disability or other issue, or an overwhelm of a sense to the exclusion of others.

Sensory detail is closely associated with memory. Way back in the mid 1980’s, when I was stage managing at a small theatre in San Francisco, there was a play that held the line, “I remember things by what songs were playing” which is a line that has always stayed with me, although I no longer remember the name of the play, just that it took place in a bar.

Scent and taste are closely tied. Often, when you smell something, the taste shows up in your mouth, be it in anticipation or revulsion.

One of the things I love about writing radio plays is the use of sound to drive plot and reveal character.

Another thing I love about sensory detail is that is allows the writer to play with language in order to find the word with the right nuance of meaning.

Poets are brilliant at this; so much of poetry is the perfect word that evokes emotion and image in the reader/listener, and so much of poetry is distilling the noise down into something clear and specific.

You read Christina Rosetti’s “Who Has Seen the Wind?” which is about how the wind itself is invisible, but the effect of the wind is tangible, with lines such as:

“But when the trees bow their heads,

The wind is passing by.”

That image of bowed heads, with a prayerful reverence, and those bowed heads being trees, and how that is the effect of the wind, is a simple, clear image. It’s stronger than “dangly branches mean it’s windy.”

But how do you layer in sensory detail?

When I travel, I keep a travel diary. One of the things I write in the travel diary is an overabundance of sensory detail from as many senses as I can. I try to open my awareness, ratchet up the mindfulness in the moment, “running hot” as authors such as Jayne Ann Krentz would describe it in her work. It’s taking mindfulness and turning it up as high as possible (while still being aware of potential dangers in the surroundings and staying safe).

By writing pages of sensory detail based in travel experiences, when I write something set in place I traveled, I immerse myself in the place again, and then pick and choose the details which best serve the individual story.

That doesn’t happen often in the first draft. The first draft is me spitting out the story to figure out what it is I’m writing about. Even when I outline/plan/percolate, there are always surprises, because my subconscious knows and understands far more than I do, and I have to trust it.

It’s usually a second draft where I start layering in sensory detail. I often put too much of it in this draft, trying to capture experiences and emotions. Then, as I continue my rounds of revision, I strip back and/or layer differently. The deeper I go into revisions, the more it’s about leaning on the craft to support the art of a piece. It’s about making choice that support the narrative drive, the structure, the character arcs, the best language choices for the piece, and the genre expectations.

Meditative Exercise for Sensory Detail

An interesting exercise in sensory detail uses techniques from meditation to explore the senses.

Sit comfortably where you won’t be disturbed for about 15-20 minutes. Put your phone somewhere it won’t distract you. If you need to set a timer, use an old school timer.

Close your eyes and follow your breath for a few beats, in and out. In and out. Be aware of the way the room smells, how it feels to sit where you sit, any sounds that intrude, the taste in your mouth, the images that appear in your mind’s eye. Open your eyes and take in the visuals in the space.

Breathe.

Close your eyes again, and visualize a specific object. If you have a cat in your home, chances are the cat will have climbed in your lap by now, and you can use the actual cat. Otherwise, use your imagination.

What does the object look like? Regard it like an artist, as though you were going to paint a still life. (You don’t need drawing or painting skills for the exercise). Observe the object from every possible angle.

What does the object feel like? If you ran your hands over it, what is its texture? Rough? Smooth? Sticky? Wet? What words would you use to describe it? Even if the object is only in your mind’s eye, imagine what it feels like to touch it.

What does the object sound like? Does it give off a tone (such as the tick-tick-tick of the timer) or, if you tap it with your fingers, it is hollow, muffled, dull, or a clear chime? If it’s your cat, what does the purr sound like?

What does the object smell like? Does it smell like the last person who touched it, or does it give off a unique scent of its own? How would you describe it? Does the scent lead to a different taste in your mouth?

Is it possible to explore what it tastes like? (Don’t make yourself sick physically tasting something toxic. And don’t bite the cat. I shouldn’t have to say that, but. . .). If it’s an object in your mind’s eye, what do you imagine it tastes like?

What do you intuit about the object? Psychometry is “reading” the energy of an object’s history through touch. What can you intuit about the object’s past through touching it, not to learn the physical details of it, but its history? As a creative, where does your imagination take you in creating a story around the object’s past?

How often, in this exercise, did you find yourself layering on more than one sense, even when you were focused on one in particular?

Release the object, both physically and mentally. Close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. Roll out your shoulders, shake out your hands, flex your feet, and come back into the present.

What did you learn from this?

Back to the post

How do you incorporate sensory detail into your creative work? How do you make the choices for each piece? What techniques to you find best to explore sensory detail? I’d love to hear all about it in the comments.