This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,

Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,

Stand like Druids of old, with voices sad and prophetic,

Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.

Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean

Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 'Evangeline'.

Is that passage 'evocative'? Meaning, does it 'evoke' for you? Can you see and feel the 'forest primeval'? I'm suspecting not, although personally, I have stood in exactly that kind of forest, not far from the Longfellow Trail as it's called, and I even have hemlocks in my back yard. They don't usually murmur, though. Or my hearing aids don't pick them up.

Here's my description:

When you come out into a clearing in the forest, the first thing that strikes you is the unusual quality of the light – great shafts of it thrusting down through the giant trees. Sometimes, the light seems to get swallowed up before it reaches the ground, especially when there is mist or fog. Then, the lighting is eerie. At other times, it goes all the way down, and makes pools of light like spotlight circles on the forest floor. You have the urge to grab a mic and start your favourite karaoke number. You wonder who might be listening, and whether they'd applaud. And that's when you notice the second thing: it's so quiet. Unless there's a high wind, or a dawn or twilight bird chorus, the whole place is still. Even your footsteps are dampened by the thick carpet of leaves underfoot. If you just stand there, and look up, you will inevitably experience something like awe. What you do next depends on you: do you burst into outmoded song? Think of 'Druids of eld'? Start cataloguing flora and fauna? Break the mood with a joke?

Why am I bringing this up? To point to a technical difficulty we have. (It's not just Longfellow, honest.) When we write about events, whether real or imaginary, too often we leave our readers in an underfurnished space. We might indicate that someone is at home in the suburbs. Well, what do the suburbs look like? Or the person described is in the supermarket. Don't be so lazy, tell them what this particular supermarket is like. Believe me, they aren't all the same.

But that's hard. Describing surroundings is hard, sure. Knowing what details to put in, what to leave out…how to indicate what's important about the setting without being too obvious…avoiding Longfellowisms like 'Druids of eld' (please…) …. You get where I'm going with this. It's not easy to do. So what do you do when something's not easy?

You practice.

So…

Go outside. Front, back or side of your dwelling. Anywhere the cat can't find you. Now, close your eyes, relax. What do you hear? Make mental notes.

Open your eyes, jot the thoughts down.

Look around. What do you see? Make notes.

Let your sniffer do the talking. Make notes.

If possible, take a short stroll and get some tactile impressions.

Throw in the ambience: light, time of day, impressions of people or animals you can see. General mood. Weather, if relevant. You get the idea.

Now. Pretend this is a setting for a story. Write a paragraph describing where the person in the story is, based on your snapshot impression. If you like, try it again at the park, or in the supermarket, or the railway station, or wherever you like. If you want, add the descriptions to this page and quiz us on them. We'll be glad to play along.

But it's like getting to Carnegie Hall: you've got to practice.

And never leave the reader in a vacuum again.

Writing Right with Dmitri Archive

Dmitri Gheorgheni

05.10.15 Front Page

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