I’m going to do some writing prompts for a while on Mondays and see how they go. I’ll be keeping them nice and quick, because we often forget that we don’t need a huge swath of uninterrupted time in order to write. Even fifteen or twenty minutes is enough to get a little done.
Although I’ve always liked the idea of writing prompts, I don’t like it when they don’t feed into my work in progress. I’m going to try to come up with prompts that you can do with your current story in mind, or if you’re not in the middle of a project, you can just do them as creative writing exercises.
This writing prompt is about creating a setting that not only paints a visual picture, but speaks to other senses as well. As I explained in Master Lists for Writers, this can help readers feel like they’re there. I often don’t provide enough description of settings, and if you have the same issue, this will help!
Here are the 3 steps:
1. Think of a setting.
This can be one of the settings in your story, or any setting — a beach, a fast food restaurant, a drawing room in 18th-century France, or whatever you like.
Got it? Okay, next step!
2. Write down 2 visual details, 2 sounds, 2 tactile details, and 2 smells associated with the setting.
For instance, if you were doing a deep forest, it might look like this:
2 visual details — fallen log covered with moss; mist
2 sounds — chirping birds; branches cracking underfoot
2 tactile details — rough bark under the hand; chilly air
2 smells — rotting leaves; wet earth
3. Write a paragraph of description of the scene incorporating some or all the things you just wrote down.
~
That’s it! In not much time at all, you should have a vivid description of a setting that you can import into a scene.
Let me know in the comments how it works out, or if you have any other thoughts about doing scene descriptions. If you want to, you can even share what you did, though you certainly don’t need to. Happy writing!
This is a great exercise. I agree that it’s hard when prompts won’t fit into hour WIP!
Thanks, Tracy! Yeah, when I’m in the middle of working on something (which is more or less always), I kind of want to put all my effort there!
I absolutely love this. As I was reading the beginning, my first thoughts were, of only this could apply to what I’m working on now and then, bam, you say this can apply to a current story that we are working. Thanks so much for this. I’m going to be using this exercise a lot!!!!
Ahh, so glad you like it, Timothy! I always think writing prompts look like fun, but then I never do them cause I think, “Friend, I’ve got a novel to finish.” 😀 I’m going to try to make all of them into potential additions to WIPs!
Bryn,
The timing of your exercise is serendipitous. I have just begun to think about writing a novella which takes place in a magic land like faerie and your prompt inspired me to begin creating the setting. Wonderful exercise at precisely the right time.
Sharon, that’s so great! I’m so happy the timing was just right 🙂
I love it! I’m a very character-focused writer, so dialogue and interaction comes easily to me, but I have to work much harder at settings. So this will be a big help!
Same here, Elena! I’m sure that’s why I thought of this one first 🙂 Thanks for commenting!
Great! The prompts you gave were perfect for the beginning scene of the book I am working on – but I decided to try this with something entirely different. Here is my example: (Just for fun, so sorry, didn’t edit much.)
Setting: Oldies Car Cruise. Details: Sounds: Nostalgic Oldies Music, Rumbling Pipes, Idle Chatter, Baritone Voice of DJ. Visual: Expansive Parking Lot, Rows of Cars Stretching Out, Shorts-Clad Spectators, Candy-Colored Paint Jobs, Striped Hoods, Chromed Grills. Tactile: Heat Rising up from Pavement, Hard Curbs, Cool Shade, Icy Water or Soft Drink, Blistering Sun. Smells: Noxious Odor of Exhaust Fumes, Savory Aroma of Hot Dogs & Hamburgers
Paragraph
Shelter from the blistering sun was practically non-existent as the scorching rays beat down on the heads of the shorts-clad spectators at the annual oldies car cruise. They barely seemed to notice, advancing in formation through the labyrinth of candy-colored vintage autos on display in the expansive parking lot. Each was captivated by the detailed pin stripes, chromed grills and rumbling pipes while engines revved, leaving noxious fumes to fill the air. Men and women stopped for idle chatter, to discuss engine size and point out the widest tires and the unique art in the form of air-brushed skulls and cute road runners. Voices in the crowd melded together in a low cadence beneath the constant drone of nostalgic songs projected over the loud speakers, interrupted periodically by the DJ’s baritone voice with announcements of trophy winners and upcoming events. Occasionally, someone would break away and lower themselves to the hard concrete curb and succumb to the savory aroma of a hot dog or hamburger, followed by an icy bottle of water to abate the heat that rose from the pavement. A few families separated from the larger group to cross the street and enter a small tree-lined park to enjoy some shade and feed their children. The delectable odors of fast food, rumble of thunderous exhausts, and endless queues of patrons were constant throughout the day and remained until the last bit of golden sunlight turned to darkness.
Cheryl! Aw man, this is really good. I have been to events to this before, but not since I was a kid… and this just pulled me right back there! Great details.
Thank you, Bryn. This was fun, but took me more than 20 minutes. I’m too much of a perfectionist, I guess, and this still needs work. But tell me what you think (if you have time).
Setting: Prickly Pear, Arizona, population 3500 (during summer)
Character: Doolie, the town’s reject (to many people)
Event: Quail-watching
Doolie carefully laid his dust gray jacket on the ground about four feet from the yellow-budding creosote bush. His jacket blended in with the ground. Maybe the desert quail, brown, gray, and black with a red plume on top of their heads, wouldn’t pay any attention to him. He had carefully picked up the pieces of cloudy white quartz with the pink tinges in them. He put them in a pile off to his right. He moved the other rocks, too. He especially liked the red rocks with yellow streaks in them.
He looked up and saw a dust storm forming. It seemed to fill the air, the wind stinging his bare arms, blotting out the sun, swallowing up its rays in a pale yellow-gray cloud that obscured the purple mountains.
The quail began screeching and running for cover under the sage-green mesquite trees with their long skinny branches that stuck upward in all directions, and down to the ground in such density they formed a cave. Doolie quickly stood and donned his jacket, hurrying away from the direction of the storm. He could already feel the grit in his eyes and hear coyotes howling in the distance. If only he could run, but a childhood accident left him with only the ability to shuffle.
Hey Aleta! Well, I didn’t account for any editing 🙂 I really enjoyed this… I lived in Tucson for a few years, so it kind of took me back!
She was changed from being a loving spouse to a creature of pure evil one late July evening, when it was still clear and bright at 9.30 pm. The slight chill in the air may have been a portent of things to come.
She was walking the family collie, Rafferty, around a local park and, being the most obedient of canines, the dog was only on a loosely held light leash, as always. The animal broke away and ran to a copse of trees. Naturally, she assumed it was emergency toilet time. When Rafferty had been in the copse two or three minutes, she called his name before blowing the small, tin whistle she and her husband used to underline the canine must return to his master. Nothing. She walked 40 feet, entered the trees and called again. Nothing.
She ventured deeper into a copse she didn’t remember ever being in that location because the woman walked the area five times a week. She stopped. It was as if someone had turned the volume of life to zero. No birdsong, no rustling of leaves and the normal sounds of the park were absent. An eerie feeling enveloped her. Her voice sounded too loud when she shouted for the dog once more. Nothing. She blew the whistle and in that quiet, enclosed area, it sounded shrill. If Rafferty had been within 300 feet, he would have heard it. Nothing. She ventured deeper.
“Your pet is sleeping temporarily in another place.” She was startled and could see no-one. She began reversing towards where she had entered the trees. “It is too late to go back to where you entered. That route is now closed.”
Bravado seemed to be her only weapon. “Show yourself, you cowardly kidnapper.” Out of nowhere, a dark shape, about her size, materialized before her eyes. It had no particular form but the outer edge scintillated with a silvery light. The woman was frightened and speechless.
The voice now spoke in her mind. “For my work in this locale, I need you, Female.” And before she could find voice again, to raise an objection concerning Rafferty’s and her welfare, the lady was enveloped in the cloud. She remembered experiencing nothing except a cloying blackness and frigid cold.
When she became aware again, the woman was sitting, shivering, on a park bench and the dog was at her feet, staring up with concern in his trusting eyes. She felt … changed. A name was livid in her mind – Consumer of Hope.
Ahh this was a lot more than a setting description! So creepy. But it’s a great example of how the setting can establish the mood of the scene. “It was as if someone had turned the volume of life to zero” — so good. Thank you for sharing!
I would read this book!!! I’m intrigued already.
I love this forum and admire the lady who takes the time to run it.
You are too kind! Thank you, Lawrence.
Oh, I love this! I try to do something quite similar with my own writing (as I have zero grasp of the GMC and scene/sequel stuff)… I determine the setting, and then list the 5 senses and name something for each. I’ve written quite more than a paragraph, but here is what I will share:
They stopped at the doors to the terrace, open to the cool spring night. Here, at the edge of the ballroom, a slow breeze whispered the silk of her white skirt against her legs, and Fig was awarded the slightest relief from the heat of an over-crowded affair. Certain to be touted as a smash the following morning, it was nigh intolerable in the present. The crickets warred with the violins, each serenading different audiences, and she wished to run, barefoot and free, into the night, where the smells of the garden would wash away the stench of over-perfumed bodies.
This post has bailed me out! Coming from a background in screenwriting, exposition is a definite weakness for me. Taking these simple ideas and writing a paragraph or two makes a huge difference in the exposition. It also makes it easier for the narration, dialog, and action sequences to pour out on the pages. Once again, thank you, Bryn!