Isn't it just. Everything thinks writing is about telling a story, so thus, what is so wrong about actually telling that story? My reply to that is always fairly simple.
You know how you feel when you walk down a forest path? The crunch of the leaves underneath your feet. That quiet in the woods, almost expectant, yet little whispers of sound all around you? The smell of the grass, sharp yet fresh, almost like after you mow the yard but richer? The burn in your legs as you trek uphill?
Yeah you know that feeling right? Mainly because I described exactly what is was like and your own mind paints the picture of that forest there. Whether it be the exact picture the author has in their mind, or it is that special place where you felt all those things. It is much more real than just outright stating. I was walking through the forest.
And that is our job as authors. In fact, I have heard from family that the picture I put on pinterest of my character inspirations do not actually match the picture they develop in their minds and it makes me smile. Because each time they say that, I know they are into my story. That they connected and I did my job.
Not only do they have to be able to visualize what we are describing though, they also have to connected. For example, I am in a critique group with friends. One of my main areas of strength is in description. I had when a description reads off like a list. He had dark hair, blue eyes and a lanky body. To me, that isn't anything I can relate too. That is a body.
Instead I push for more. His blue eyes twinkled at me as he brushed his midnight hair out of his eyes and leaned his ever so taut body back against the wall. The stretch of his jeans emphasized.... You get the picture? RIght? Did I do my job? You get an idea of what he looks like and a better idea of his personality. Maybe he is a bit cocky, leaning back and displaying some such things... It is fascinating how easy it is to take something one-dimensional and make it more.
And it is also really, really hard to do all the time. Yes you have to occasionally tell, but without the show, it just wont be as fun!
Nineteen-year-old Elizabeth ‘Beta’ Camden is a survivor.
When the E’mani—those pale alien freaks—destroy Earth with a plague of madness and scoop up the remains, Beta is one of the ‘lucky’ ones. For years, she endures their tortures, experiments and games. Then one day, she manages to escape their ship with her life, and no memory of her time with them.
Stranded on their world, Beta wanders the mountains, looking for a way home. She stumbles onto the Fost—the E’mani’s ancient enemy. Their war with the E’mani is old and rooted in magic that the Fost once had and the E’mani crave. Magic Beta soon discovers she’s developing along with strange tattoos and disturbing glimpses of her past. The Fost take her in and train her in their ways. As she spends more time with them, she falls in love with their culture and with Marin—he of the hot hands and slit eyes.
But the E’mani took her for a reason and they want her back—dead or alive. If Beta doesn’t remember that reason soon, they’re all going to die.
Oy. No more weekday frat parties for me, no matter how noble the cause, especially when I have a test the next day. What was I thinking? And last minute cramming with a headache was not a good idea either. Forget it. My eyes drifted to the clock.
And now I was late. Damn it. With a sigh, I threw down my pencil and scrambled up, my head throbbing. I traded my Eeyore jammies for skinny jeans and a fitted white t-shirt. Shoes, where were my shoes? Gah. I ducked and rooted around in the deep, dark spaces under my bed. Hmm, the green dress I borrowed from Sarah. Mental note: I need to return that. English book, various dust bunnies of uncertain lineage…there.
Sketchers on, I grabbed my backpack, turned up my iPod, and ran out the door. No time to primp.
Good thing the campus I lived on was small. There was a big central courtyard—the quad—filled with towering oak trees and wide-open spaces surrounded by squat school buildings and classrooms. If I hurried, I’d make it…
I raced into the quad out of breath and slowed, turning in a complete circle.
No one around. Unease skittered through me on soft paws. The courtyard was always busy. I pulled my headphones out of my ears. Was there some sort of event I didn’t know about going on?
The unnatural silence pressed in on me for a second as the echoes of my steps faded.
Then screams—men’s and women’s—poured from Main Street. I broke into a run and shot between the buildings toward the sound.
Cars littered the intersection. Some guy rear-ended someone else, causing a chain reaction down the road. A horn blared nearby and a faint breeze blew the smell of gasoline, smoke, and copper my way. Clusters of people stood among the wreckage.
Google Books https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Colleen_S_Myers_Must_Remember?id=hYHCCgAAQBAJ
iBooks link available soon
Short Author Bio:
Colleen plays many roles. Not only is she a veteran, a mother, and a practicing physician, but she is a writer of science fiction and contemporary romances. Colleen’s dreams include surviving her son’s teenage years, exploring every continent on this planet, except Antartica, cause that’s way too cold, and winning the Nobel peace prize. Dream BIG! Currently she is releasing her first novel, MUST REMEMBER with Champagne Books. You can also look for her at Three Rivers Romance Writers.
Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/ColleenSMyers
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Colleen-S.-Myers/e/B016XCBKA2