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Did You Know Lacey?
Bob Brown
(667 words)

My story Starting Over was all about Lacey, a nine-year old orphan. On page one, I wrote:

Josh looked down at Lacey in the big leather chair with her legs pulled up tight to her chest. Fur ball size, she appeared to be all lower lip, sulking the way she was.

This description implied Lacey was small. Although the story was 22 pages long, Lacey’s appearance was never mentioned again.

I wondered if the reader noticed the omission, so I emailed the story to six friends. All of them praised the story (friends are like that). After they read the story, I asked, “Did you feel you knew Lacey?” In general the answers were the same: I loved her, she was great, of course I knew her, etc.. No one mentioned her physical appearance, so I asked, “Describe her appearance?” Nearly all of them answered without hesitation: She was blonde, dark haired, red head, blue eyed, brown eyed, tiny, chubby, skinny, pretty, wore a dress instead of pants, etc..

No one cared to know what I thought Lacey looked like. They were perfectly happy to let their preferences decide how she looked. I concluded less is better than more.

Many novels have left me slightly disappointed when my notion of beauty conflict with the author’s notion. A disgusting number of authors think redheads are the ultimate in beauty, but redheads rank way down on my list. Once the author has made his beauty a redhead, no amount of mental tricks will let me replace his view with mine. Other physical attributes are the same. Tall, slender, long legs, eye color, complexion… We all have our own specifications; that’s what makes the world go around, as they say.

In my recent story, Harvey describes Evangeline as a stunning young girl, and there isn’t any other description of her in the story, although the story revolves around her youth and beauty. No one so far has asked me what she looked like. I’ve got my vision, you can have yours. Suppose an Oriental man found my story on a bus station seat. His version of beauty is almost certain to be different from mine.

I’m much more tolerant with scene descriptions. If the author tells me I’m on a grungy street and dirty newspapers are swirling around on a windy day, Okay, it’s a grungy street, I feel grit in my hair. If he describes a colorful sunset; Suits me, I’ll go along with about anything. But characters are more personal, so why force people’s thoughts to be identical to yours. Character descriptions should be reserved for when they advance the story, but even then don’t overdo it. Work your descriptions into the story.

Walter wearily turned a concrete block on its end and sat down heavily. A stubby finger probed a hole in the sole of his shoe, and a groan rumbled from down deep—his chin fell to his chest.

The only description specific to Walter was his stubby finger, yet the reader will have learned a lot about Walter . You decide. Was he young or old? Did he have a beard? Was he wearing a hat? Did his pants have bulging knees? Was he down on his luck? What kind of neighborhood is he in? Was he a stock broker on his way to work? Was he pitiful, pathetic, disgusting? For the story, I’ll bet both your vision and my vision are sufficient for advancing the story, although details may vary.

Consider what makes a good story. First, the story must be worth telling. If you don’t have that, go wash the car or run the vacuum; your time will be better spent. Next, let characters reveal their personality by what they think, say, do, or don’t do. That will be more effective than paragraphs of description. Make sure your story moves with logic and without irrelevant side trips. Finally, rewrite, rewrite, and rewrite, until it sounds like you just sat down and wrote it once.  

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