#WritingWonders 3.21 — How descriptive is your writing? Share a snippet of a description.
There's a dichotomy between descriptive writing and a tract of description. That in mind, I'd say, "Fairly descriptive?" Enough to leave the reader with enough that they can visualize what's happening.
I rarely write long Dickensian tracts of description, preferring a more interactive style, but it happens. I learned from Poul Anderson that it was important to include at least one sense in every descriptive paragraph, and I try.
The following is adapted from another work to my new SF milieu, but again my people don't use the term "magic," but explaining what's really happening is beyond the scope of the rewrite.
Director Rainy Days wanted to find the high level magic user who had copied her magic and surprised her—or worse, a certain high-value runaway girl she'd been informed about. She hadn't sent her minions to look for the dozen winged tourists at the counter or the late lunch-going pair of burly men near me. Or the pair of old biddies I'd noticed sharing photos of their grandkids in the opposite corner. Or the ditsy waitress. The cook with the goofy torque blanche? Him, heating food with modulated demon fire? Considering the burnt cornbread I'd smelled, maybe?
I heard steps toward the back of the restaurant as I chewed my previous piece of lentil-bean cheeseburger and sliced another. The sound of shoes stopped half way to the kitchen. A cook, of course, wouldn't demonstrate high level magic.
Which left me.
Squelching the thought of mistakes in my performance that would leave my textbook, bread, burger, and silverware clattering to the table or floor, I magically separated the bun from the burger pulling out a string of melted cheese, unscrewed the top of the mustard jar I now floated, dipped my knife into brown paste while still holding the dancing fork aloft, then split my magic yet again and picked up the oat shake and aimed the straw into my mouth to wash down the burger I'd swallowed.
Ooo. The Flipping Burger used real strawberries!
I turned the page slowly, so as not to rip it, as steps came up behind me. Looking from the dexter to sinister sides of the parchment, back and forth, I suspended everything else with static targeting because I felt moisture bead at my hairline.
Discounting that, pretty impressive.I had used nothing I had just learned watching Director Rainy Days perform a miracle outside the window of the restaurant.
The directorate constable strolled by and turned to face me. "Hello," she said, cordially and with a friendly smile.
The blue-eyed blonde levitated beside her a custodian helmet with its shiny copper badge. Number 552. I understood why she used her magic and not her arm to carry it—the same reason I did: to have something defensive spun up.
I glanced at her. I put down the shake, slathered the spicy smelling horseradish mustard on the slice of burger and set it and the utensils down—including the knife that might have proved useful, before I realized it. I lowered the book.
Her eyes studied me. She was quite young, a few years older than me, but her gaze was penetrating and disconcerting. Bet they trained coppers to do that.
Her type could see flaws in people. Like a teen pretending to be a gender that wasn't her birth gender. Who wore culottes not britches.
"Did you just perform a miracle about a minute ago?" she asked.
Yes, but quibbles.
I shifted my book up and down, then lifted my fork, knife, shake, plate, the fries, and the quarter of burger together on individually targeted vectors, then plunked it down loud enough to make a point of control without making it seem like I'd dropped them. I am the highest level devil-girl here, I thought, laughing at myself as I knew well how far I had to go to catch up to the Director of Home. "You could say that."
I hoped the copper didn't see me sweat.
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