Imagery of Envy

The darkness enveloped her, creating a cocoon that blended with her dark skin. A slight wind tugged at her heavy, black woolen sweater, inviting her to go along with it, to become part of it. But she couldn’t.

Not tonight.

She crept almost silently along in the shadows, draped in blackness from her high-heeled boots and tight black jeans to her “Find the Ninjas” T-shirt and wool sweater. The faintest click from her heels echoed down the alley. Glaring light from streetlamps on the street behind her melted into the orange glow of an alley cat’s eyes, then faded into nothing at all. Her dark brown eyes widened to take in the complete darkness. A glint of moonlight reflected in them for but a moment as the clouds allowed it a peek, revealing the now vertical pupils that rested within.

This is the beginning of a scene I wrote quite a while ago just to practice my descriptions. I was thinking about it because early this week, my best friend asked me to edit a story for her. As I did, I noticed the wonderful way she used simile in her descriptions. She managed to choose just the right one to say exactly what she meant every single time. They weren’t difficult to understand—they weren’t cloistered towards a select group of people, neither did they need to be picked apart in order to make sense. Other descriptors she used—hair that “curled with arrogance,” for instance—were equally clear and understandable. And reading this, the thought came to me.

Why can’t I write like that?

Don’t get me wrong; I believe strongly in my ability to write. However, I feel that my descriptions, on occasion, become boring. Or at least typical, not reaching out to grab you the way that hers do. Every word in her story brought with it the sense of urgency that the story demanded.

(Yes, I’m jealous. I’ll admit it.)

Description is an interesting thing. It has to be subtle enough that readers absorb it without realizing and interesting enough that they won’t be so bored that they skip it. A typical, mundane sort of description is easily forgotten and could slow the pace of the story. But too many similes or metaphors can do the same. How do you get that balance? How can you tell what’s too much? Or too little, as I think is more common in my own writing.

This is something I think about pretty often. It’s all a matter of practice; I know that. Sometimes, though, I wish that I could just do it perfectly. But I can’t. I just have to work at it like everyone else. I am not perfect, and I have to realize that. It is a part of becoming better. I will write and learn as I do. I am a Writer.