To draw readers fully into a scene, we want to create a sensory feast for their imagination. This means using different senses to keep the description fresh and vivid so each location we describe comes alive. We want to help them forget that they’re reading about fictional events, instead making them feel as if they’re right in the scene sampling the same sights, smells, tastes, textures, and sounds as the POV character or narrator.
Have you ever read a book so well drawn you wished you could visit? One that stuck with you long after the story was over, and your mind kept imagining that place, dreaming up ideas of what might be happening now and what the people there might be doing? I’m sure you have; settings that have real texture tend to send the imagination into a synaptic-firing frenzy. One that stands out to many is Hobbiton from The Lord of the Rings. The fields of lush grass, the dome-shaped homes filled with the promise of cozy comforts and lavish meals, the drifting smoke trails of Gandalf’s pipe—these things place readers in a world they long to visit, where one can almost smell the sharp cheeses waiting on a platter and feel that silky grass beneath one’s bare feet.
Drawing on multiple senses as we describe the setting creates a layered landscape, one that feels incredibly real. The deeper we can connect readers to each setting we draw, the more we create that longing to be part of the world we have built. Each detail should be chosen not only to bring readers into the scene but to send a message, one that evokes an emotional response. That message is entirely up to the author, but at the heart of it should be the intent to make the reader feel something powerful.
Sights That Give Life to Fiction
It’s no surprise that out of all the senses, sight is the one writers rely on the most, since describing what the character sees helps readers visualize it too. But to create truly compelling description using sight, we want to filter everything described through the POV character or narrator’s emotions first.
Perhaps you’ve heard this popular saying: “There are two sides to every story—what you saw and what actually happened.” It contains a truth that can carry forward into fiction, because characters interpret what they see depending on how they are feeling. Consider this small example in which a father returns home after a weekend business trip:
Leroy closed the door to the apartment, squinting in the midday murk. His eyes adjusted and the handle of his suitcase slipped from his grasp. In the kitchen, the shadows pooling across the counter became tangible shapes—an apocalypse of broken eggshells and omelette fixings alongside two frying pans rimmed with dry scrapings. Stacks of plates and cutlery filled the sink, and the refrigerator door stood ajar. His pulse shot up. All this after two frigging days on the road? Old enough to be left on their own, my ass. He’d wring their necks when they got home from school.
But look at how the same scene appears to change when it’s viewed from a different emotional perspective:
Leroy closed the door and fell against it, a pent-up breath sawing out of his lips. His legs trembled, barely holding him. That logging truck . . . if I hadn’t changed lanes when I did . . . Numb, he stared into the dark apartment, gathering his wits, waiting for the heaviness of his near-death experience to lift. His vision adjusted to the gloom, and a kitchen wreck greeted him: cartons of juice on the counter, a pan of scorched eggs on the stove, a mountain of dishes ringing the sink. Good God, even the fridge door hung open a crack. A short laugh burst out of him. Those two, so sure they were ready to be on their own. He grinned, shaking his head. At least they managed to cook something while I was away.
The same scene, yet two totally different descriptions, both filtered through Leroy’s emotions. In the first, anger causes him to notice every minute detail. In the second, relief allows him see the humorous side of the messy kitchen and feel gratitude that he’s even there to see it.
As you can see, filtering a description through the POV character’s emotions will alter how the reader experiences the setting, so take the time to think about what your character or the narrator is feeling in each scene and how certain details might be highlighted to reinforce it. For more help with showing your characters’ emotions, consider checking out The Emotion Thesaurus: A Writer’s Guide to Character Expression.
Smells That Trigger Emotional Memory
Have you ever smelled something that immediately brought back a moment from your past? It’s likely you have, since the part of the brain responsible for smell lies in close proximity to receptors that help store memories. This means that, of all the senses, smell is the one most likely to evoke emotional memories from readers’ pasts, which brings about that all-important sense of “shared experience” that will draw them deeper into the story.
Ironically, smells are often forgotten in fiction, which is why turning a critical eye to your description and adding a few odors is important. The beauty of this sense is that the smells we choose to include can become symbols for something deeper, helping to reinforce mood and elicit emotion. If your character’s car has just broken down in a parking lot and she’s waiting for a tow truck, the smell of yeasty bread and savory spices wafting from the bakery next door might pull her out of a foul mood (and likely cause a spike in hunger). But change that to the queasy scent of sun-baked asphalt and the reek of sour beer from the nearby bottle return depot, and the character’s mood will likely only get worse.
Specific scents tied to locations also add realism. In fact, if smells are left out in these cases, the reader might sense a void in your description. Consider the briny scent of algae down at the harbor or fresh popcorn and salt at a theater. These iconic smells help place the reader in the scene. If your setting contains a smell that is hard to forget in real life, make sure you don’t forget it in your fiction.
Sounds That Infuse the World with Realism
Another sense that adds rich dimension to a setting is sound. None of us lives in a noiseless vacuum, and our characters should not either. Layering the character’s world with sounds also helps readers ease into a setting; like important puzzle pieces, they aid readers in forming a mental picture. Sounds are much more than realistic stage dressing, however. Like the other senses, they can be used in a variety of ways.
Because of our instinctual human need to protect ourselves and the automatic response of fight or flight, we tend to be hyperaware of sound, especially any that shift suddenly or do not seem to belong to the environment. If we mirror this premise in the story world, sounds become an excellent technique to alert the reader that something is afoot, foreshadowing change to come, either good or bad. Not all sounds have to be loud to evoke a response either. A door hinge slowly creaking at the wrong time can have the exact same effect as a rapid barrage of gunshots.
If you are purposefully reinforcing a specific mood in your setting, think about the circumstances of the scene and what emotions are at play. Then use sounds to either heighten these emotions, adding tension, or diminish them. For example, if your character is walking home after a late night babysitting and has felt watched each step of the way, heading into her driveway and hearing the pinging of her brother’s truck engine as it cools will likely put her at ease. That sound represents safety, the knowledge that someone is close by if she needs help. Likewise, the crunch of footsteps on the gravel behind her or a lightbulb smashing on the porch ahead will only heighten her fear.
To do more with less when it comes to sensory description, try to include sounds that have a greater purpose than just adding realism. The more you get into the habit of making deliberate choices with your setting descriptions, the tighter your writing will become, ensuring that your storytelling skills will provide the audience with an unforgettable reading experience.
Tastes That Bring Readers into the Story World
Of all the senses, taste is the least used, mostly because food and drink rarely have direct bearing on a scene. After all, watching a character eat isn’t exactly the most riveting action unless his taste experience ties in with the plot line (usually through high stakes), such as trying to detect poison in his drink, judging entries at a high-profile culinary event, or knowing that if he doesn’t nail the meal, his own head may end up on the plate.
Eating is often a necessary physical function or a social activity, so to use this sense properly in our description, we should make sure it adds meaning beyond the actual taste experience. This sense can be a challenge, but it’s also an inventive way to help readers experience a scene. The three elements to help steer writers when using this sense are context, comparison, and contrast.
Context is all about helping to tie together the who, where, when, and why. Is the character eating in someone’s home, in a restaurant, around the campfire, or standing at a food vendor’s cart? Why is the meal happening in this space? What does the quality of the food and location say about the people in this scene? Context that involves taste is a unique way to provide answers to unasked yet pertinent questions. Then to add to the mental picture, comparison and contrast between the character and what she’s sampling can hint at personality, show relationships, and even help to infuse emotion and mood. For example, does your volatile, outspoken character prefer spicy, sweat-inducing foods (comparison)? Or is your character at a charity gala sipping some of the most exquisite champagne she’s ever tasted at the very moment she discovers her husband is having an affair (contrast)? Both these techniques use taste to show character details in a way that is both unexpected and memorable.
Taste also allows writers a way of bringing the everyday into the fictional world. In real life, people need sustenance, so why should it be different in a story? In fact, characters who never seem to eat or drink will likely be noticed, and the reader’s trust in the author’s storytelling skills may waiver. Even if taste isn’t helping to characterize and has no direct bearing on the plot, it should still be included once in a while to add realism and build reader trust.
Textures That Encourage Setting Interaction
Of all the senses, textures allow the most interaction with the setting, not only supplying movement and helping the pacing flow smoothly but also creating an inner path to the character’s mind-set. Texture is all about exploration, both for the character and, through him, the reader. Because textures are universal, they can help the setting seem more real, and describing how something feels will remind the reader of his own past experiences with that same texture.
Imagine a character who is at the vet clinic to have her beloved pet put down. With each stroke of the soft fur, the character struggles to let go. As they live this moment, readers will likely be taken to a point in their pasts where they too experienced a strong connection with an animal; either they will remember the horrible turmoil they felt at a similar incident, or it will open a door to imagining what it is like to be in the character’s shoes. Either way, done well, the silky texture of the dog’s fur will cause empathy to bloom, tightening the reader’s connection to the character.
An important thing to remember when it comes to textures is to make each one count. After all, a character must act to come in contact with something, and all actions should further the story. Having a character touch or pick up something without reason is a waste of words. But if the texture is included to reinforce a mood, reveal an emotion, or show readers something deeper about the character, then it is pulling its storytelling weight.
Another way the sense of touch elevates description is when it is used to foreshadow or symbolize. For example, a stinging cut incurred while running past a rusted dumpster may foreshadow danger to come. Or if the character is already in danger, perhaps fleeing from a pursuer, the pain becomes a symbol of the cost of being caught and a reminder that some risks are worth taking.
Finding Balance When Using the Senses
While a large portion of sensory description tends to focus on what is seen, nonvisual sensory details add the layering that can take descriptive writing from good to great. Don’t feel pressured to use all the senses all the time; by mixing just a few, the image created is so much more interesting than if a single sense is used. Sometimes, experimenting is a good way to create a multisensory effect. For example, while metaphors and similes often tend to be visual, using other senses instead can lead to fresh writing. Consider these descriptions from the classics:
The bells ceased as they had begun: together. They were succeeded by a clanking noise, deep down below; as if some person were dragging a heavy chain over the casks in the wine-merchant’s cellar. (Sound, from A Christmas Carol)
Never in his life had he seen a river before—this sleek, sinuous, full-bodied animal, chasing and chuckling, gripping things with a gurgle and leaving them with a laugh, to fling itself on fresh playmates that shook themselves free, and were caught and held again. (Sound and texture, from The Wind in the Willows)
There was a smell of saddle soap, mixed with the unmistakeable, personal smell of armor—as individual a smell as that which you get in the professional’s shop on a golf course . . . (Smell, from The Once and Future King)
Each snippet above supplies readers with a concrete visual, but it does so through a sense other than sight, resulting in an evocative image. A well-placed smell, taste, sound, or texture can deepen the impact of any setting and help readers feel more involved in what’s happening. This also reinforces deep POV, since description filtered through the point-of-view character’s senses is more tangible and puts readers in tune with the character’s emotions.