Sensory Description

Well, ladies, you've done such a great job of covering this topic all week, I'm not sure what there's left for me to say. So, I thought I'd share a few examples from my work where I've managed to work the senses into a paragraph or two. I don't think I've managed to get all five senses every time, but I think most times I've been able to get three out of the five! For me, taste is the most difficult one to include.



From THIS TIME FOR ALWAYS:
As Sharlie input the requisition list, she was distracted by Logan's presence. His spicy aftershave enveloped her in intoxicating waves. The husky drawl of his voice when he asked a question skittered over her nerves. His masculinity overwhelmed her tiny office.





From WILD WEDDING WEEKEND:
Ignoring the disgruntled expressions of the people around them, Abby rested her head against Noah's shoulder and wrapped her arms around his waist, loving the feel of his arms around her. She inhaled. The sexy scent of his aftershave brought back vivid memories of his skin against hers.




From THIS CAN'T BE LOVE:
Trees lined the banks of the river, providing a lush pathway as Jessica and Zach made their way along in the gently moving current. Birds circled overhead, calling softly to one antoher. A slight breeze ruffled her ponytail and provided a measure of relief from the warmth of the sunshine pouring down.


Until next time,

Happy Reading!

Debra
www.debrastjohnromance.com

The Sixth Sense

I’ll let you into a secret. At school, we had one English lesson each week called ‘Prose Writing’ – and I hated it! I didn’t want to write descriptions of ‘A Summer Meadow’ or ‘A Storm at Sea’ using the five senses (or using picturesque adjectives or similes or metaphors, or whatever the task was that particular week). I wanted to write about PEOPLE – what they said, what they did and, even more importantly, how they felt.

Maybe I should have tried harder in those Prose Writing lessons, because I still struggle with descriptive writing – and with using the five senses. I don’t consciously think about using all the senses when I’m writing. If they’re there, it’s instinctive, rather than planned.

For me, there’s a sixth sense which is far more important. Not a sixth sense in relation to hunches or ESP, however. My ‘sixth’ sense is emotion. The heroine’s emotion when the hero kisses her is far more important to me than what his lips taste like or the smell of his aftershave. Her inner reaction to his anger or his sweet-talk matters more than what his voice actually sounds like or what music is playing in the background.

The reader knows what the senses are. She (I say this because romance readers are usually women!) has probably held a man’s hand, smelt his aftershave, heard his laughter, seen his frown or smile, and tasted his lips. I can leave a lot of that to my readers’ imaginations, I don’t need to spell it out for them with adjectives or similes. What I want is for them to FEEL the character’s response to all these things and that’s where I concentrate my energies.

Writing with Senses in Play

Of all the senses I do enjoy “touch” I think this is so important to the romantic novel. Describing how the touch of someone’s skin feels can be truly romantic. That first tremulous touch too, has lots of potential for the romantic author.

Smell also can be very evocative. In my next novel A Sprig of Broom” it is the smell of her gaolers that make Cecily feel ill. Whereas the scent of her husband, who sometimes smells of horse, she find delightful.
I am fond of sandalwood, so often my hero will use a sandalwood scented shaving cream, if I am getting excited about it then I know it’s right.

Of course love is in the eye of the beholder, so sight is important too. The first look can be enticing but an attraction to the physical can be fraught with danger too. Infatuation can be awakened, hot and potent, but like a candle flame can easily blow out.

Sound – ah yes, I must hear my hero’s voice; it has to deep and warm. I hate to be personal but I think the one thing that stops a certain very handsome footballer, from being a real dreamboat is his “little girl voice” so off putting to me!

The sound of silence can be sensual too, whether real or imagined.

Extract from Eden’s Child published by Whiskey Creek Press

"They reached the creek and the bridge and rested for a moment. The lights of Mandorah in the distance seemed an intrusion. Then there was a sudden stillness as if the earth held its breath. The frogs and crickets were momentarily silenced. Words came to her

In such a night as this, When the sweet wind did gently kiss, And did they make no noise in such a night the trees (William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night)

The words made her mad and reckless, pulsing the blood through her veins like a river in flood. There was a demanding fluttering at her stomach, an ache throbbing at her very core. She reached out and her fingers tumbled down the soft suede of Nevis’ jacket till they found his hand. They looped through his rigid fingers until the full heat of her hand melted his own into movement. They stood, their hands fastened together linked in innocent intimacy.

He began to let his hand make love to hers, rubbing and pushing, probing her wrist, teasing her palm. She was practically breathless from the sensuality of such a touch, had to close her eyes and all the while her mind spilled out hot images of how that hand would feel if it probed and stroked her flesh.

He’ll have to kiss me…he can’t touch me like this and not want to."

Taste too can have a place – the taste of his or her skin but the taste of food
enjoyed can be interesting too. For instance my heroine in The Substitute Bride tastes an orange for the first time and finds it a wonderful experience.

The power of the senses are there for us to use, food for thought eh?

Writing with Senses in Play!

I'm cheating today because I'm down with a barking cough and can't muster the wherewithall to think up a post relating to usage of all the senses in one's writing! So I've snatched a snippet from latest historical WIP. Please bear with me as this is a first draft, but it does incorporate the three senses sight, touch and smell.   Brief: Elizabeth Mountjoy is riding away after calling at Loxton House, her beloved away on business and she a little disheartened by his absence; her mind in reflective mood.         

       But then  . . . then Captain Thomas Thornton had arrived. His duty to escort the Prince to the local garrison for a review of troops. Her affections for the prince had faded fast in mere fleeting moment of eye contact with the young captain of horse. Much to her delight, that same night Captain Thornton had returned with the prince, and their eyes had met for a second time.

       A smile crept to her face. A sensual tremble rippled down her spine, for the vision of dark smouldering brown eyes and oh so charming smile leapt instant to mind. She had not doubted the young captain had charmed every lady ever encountered, and had not cared one dab of ladies rouge if he had. Lucky for her the Prince left Bristol the next day, Captain Thornton did not, and not a tear did she shed during the prince’ departure.

       Her horse stumbled drawing her from reverie; but momentary her heart nonetheless jolted in sympathy for her mount. Within two strides her mount regained its former pace. She assumed a stone had caused the animal severe discomfort, for she knew it had a loose shoe and she in part to blame for its pained state. Had she taken more care on her journey to Loxton House and not galloped the poor animal over rough ground it would still be sound of foot.

       For the horse’ sake she must look more to the path ahead, for had she done so she might have spied a bedraggled looking wretch of a man walking beside a rangy chestnut. How had she not seen the pair?

       Horse and man were now little distant, and wary of a hooded stranger she clawed the Lady Anna’s cloak more tightly about herself. A waft of lavender reminded her of the very close alliance between the Lady Anna and Thomas, and although in her heart she knew Anna to be deeply in love with his lordship, she could not help but wonder if Thomas harboured feelings for Anna that went far beyond friendship.     

       Walking?  The poor man ahead seemed sudden bent double, faltering in step, his horse patient and tolerant in restraint as though aware of its master’s plight.

       She urged her mount forward at the trot, for the man had not so much as raised his eyes to look ahead.

       Sure in mind the man no threat, she hailed him.

       On seeing his face her heart lurched, and bile rose in throat.

       She reined in, leapt from her mount and ran to his aid.

       ‘Oh dear God, what has happened to you?’

       He gripped her shoulder, his reply barely audible. ‘Beaten, and damn well robbed.’

       ‘Oh Thomas, your face, your poor face.’ She wanted to hug him, soothe his pain, for he looked dreadful. ‘Your bruises are all black and blue, and encrusted blood on the cut above your eye implies this happened days ago.’

       He drew breath, pain evident. ‘My face will heal. I fear the damage is here,’ he said, hand to lower chest. ‘A bone or two broken, methinks.’

       ‘Who did this to you?’

      ‘Damn vagabonds had lain a trap with a bit of a girl left lying on the highway. I stopped to assist her, and they came at me before I could draw sword or pistol. They tried to make off with Saxon here, as well as the gold coin I carried. He’s a cantankerous beast at best, and unaccustomed to harsh hands he resisted and caught one of the vagabonds a good clout about the head. That’s when they made off leaving me for dead or dying, neither of which bothered them.’

      ‘And you could not regain saddle?’

      ‘I tried when senses regained enough, the pain too severe.’ A noticeable wince streaked his features in first real attempt to straighten up a little. ‘Ten miles I’ve walked, and not another soul have I seen.’      

      ‘Might you mount with help?’              

      ‘I think not, and it will take more than another mile of walking to kill this man.’

      She could not help but feel heartened by the smile that swept to his face, and the way he said, ‘A kiss will do me well and perchance aid in quickened step.’

      Pure pleasure enveloped in obliging his wish, his arm about her shoulder as it should be, as it had been in better circumstance of snatched moments of bliss. She so wanted to hug him, but his tenderised state forbade it. Just to feel him leaning against her, to hear his voice, and to look into eyes caused inner excitement no other man had achieved nor would: ever.

Love smells like ....

Caraway rye bread just out of the oven.
Sage and apple turkey stuffing topped with gravy.
Fireworks.
New car.
Just-mowed alfalfa hay.
Crystal clear raspberry honey.
Sweet pea blossoms.
Genuine applause for your child.
A newborn's smile (not promped by gas).
New evening shoes that don't pinch your little toes.
Scented candles.
English Leather aftershave.
Him.

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Under the Influence

I have to say off the top of my head I can't think of a particular writer who influenced me to become a romance author. Sure, I've always dreamed of having shelves full of my titles like Sandra Brown, Jayne Ann Krentz, and Nora Roberts have of theirs, but initially it wasn't one writer who influenced me.

Rather, it was a line of books. While my friends in high school were busy keeping up with Sweet Valley High, I was devouring four new Harlequin American novels each month. A little thrill of excitement always danced through me when the box would arrive on my doorstep each month. Those silver-toned books were so beautiful to me. They didn't, of course, last the entire month. I usually raced through them within a week of their arrival, eager to read about seemingly ill-suited heroes and heroines who would overcome impossible odds to be together.

Truth be told, for a high schooler, they were quite racy. In fact, it's probably a good thing my mom didn't discover romance reading until I was an adult. She would have more than likely freaked out to know exactly what her teenaged daughter was reading.

But early on they started a spark inside of me and the urge to someday write 'one of those' books. I even attempted some writing in high school. Sad, sad attempts, but a learning process to be sure.

That spark and that urge are still there. I still want to tell stories about sexy heroes and spunky heroines who overcome emotional obstacles to be together and find a true love that lasts a lifetime. I've been fortunate over the past few years to have some of those stories published. Hopefully, there will be more in the future. Who knows, maybe a shelf full of them. And maybe someday I can influence others to become writers. Wouldn't that be fun?

Until next time,

Happy Reading!

Debra
www.debrastjohnromance.com

THIS CAN'T BE LOVE: Love Romance Cafe's Best of 2010 Contemporary Winner