In the real world, we tend to only notice the input of our senses when something is wrong. Typically our sensory perception is passive. Our eyes, ears, nose, and skin are always feeding our brains some sort of signal, but that input isn\u2019t always at our top level of attention.<\/p>\n
Right now, your eyes are letting you read this text, but until I pointed it out you likely weren\u2019t thinking about it. Little funky shapes on the screen that trigger predetermined meaning within your brain\u2014they\u2019re not new or novel. Habit and training have made interpretation automatic, so you don\u2019t have to pay close attention. Your attention can be better used on\u00a0deciphering meaning<\/i>.<\/p>\n
Again, we don\u2019t tend to notice our senses unless something goes wrong, or something unusual and unexpected is happening\u2014we stopped smelling our own perfume or cologne, but we catch a whiff of smoke and we\u00a0notice<\/i>. We\u2019ve tuned out the jazz we have playing in the background, but when someone drops a coffee mug and it shatters on the floor, we\u00a0notice<\/i>. And when we\u2019re reading or watching television and the power snaps off, we\u00a0notice<\/i>.<\/p>\n
In the real world, sensory input tells us a constant story, but it\u2019s almost always \u201cEverything is fine, it\u2019s business as usual.\u201d It\u2019s only when something changes that we start paying closer attention.<\/p>\n
In fiction, things are a bit different. The reader doesn\u2019t have all of the sensory input by default\u2014there are no real signals transmitting to tell the reader automatically that the protagonist is wearing cologne, or that there is jazz playing, or that the room is a little chilly. The only way they get that information is if the author\u00a0explicitly tells them<\/i>.<\/p>\n
And that limitation can work to the author\u2019s advantage.<\/p>\n
While reading, the reader is in a sort of perpetual fugue state. They\u2019re disassociated with their own reality, to a degree, and are tuned into the reality of your story. And because we humans are so used to sensory input fading into the background, while reading we tend to \u201cfill in the blanks\u201d of all that sensory detail, falling back on default memories of what spaces and places are like, while in them. We don\u2019t notice that there\u2019s no sensory input coming our way, because we\u2019re habitually trained to not notice anyway\u2014no news is good news, when it comes to sensory info.<\/p>\n
Basically, writers don\u2019t have to spend time crafting the\u00a0sensescape<\/i>\u00a0of their worlds\u2014the panoply of sensory information that comprises our local surroundings. It\u2019s the environment we only notice when it changes. And in the absence of any new or novel information, we tend to ignore it by default.<\/p>\n
The\u00a0sensescape<\/i>\u00a0in the real world is omnipresent, but goes unnoticed because it\u2019s business as usual. We\u2019re accustomed to it, so we stop noticing it. In the written world, that sensescape is missing entirely\u2014sort of. Readers are so accustomed to not noticing the sensory input all around them that they never question its absence on the page.<\/p>\n
This is what works to the writer\u2019s advantage most of the time. That absence of a sensory environment reads as \u201cbusiness as usual,\u201d and the reader sort of builds their own, filling in the gaps with that general sense that everything is normal, everything is fine.<\/p>\n
We let the reader construct the sensory environment so we don\u2019t have to. And much of the time, we use the power of clich\u00e9 and stereotype to do the work for us. If I write \u201cKotler opened his eyes and took in the details of the surrounding jungle,\u201d I don\u2019t necessarily have to explain the sounds or smells or the texture of things in order for you to have a pretty decent picture of where Kotler has found himself. Even if you\u2019ve never actually been in a jungle yourself, you\u2019ve likely seen scenes in films or on television, read about them in other books, or maybe you\u2019ve just extrapolated from and synthesized related experiences, such as walking in a forest near your home, and the sounds, smells, and sights you encountered there.<\/p>\n
Without the sensory detail, you\u2019re probably going to navigate this virtual landscape just fine. But\u00a0with<\/i>\u00a0the sensory detail, you may actually reach a level where you\u00a0experience<\/i>\u00a0that landscape.<\/p>\n
Consider the following:<\/p>\n
Kotler opened his eyes and took in the details of the surrounding jungle. The heavy, musty scent of the soil filled his nostrils, so powerful it overwhelmed him, might have choked him if he hadn\u2019t forced himself to breath steadily. He felt the loamy ground beneath him, grateful for its yielding texture, softening his landing after being hurled through the jungle canopy. It was edging toward dark, and details were scant in the fading light, but he could hear the sounds of the jungle\u2014the mosquitoes, as they buzzed him pre-meal, but also in the distance, the growls and yowls and screams of jungle life that felt far more sinister.<\/i><\/p>\n
Sensory detail is really getting noticed now! And because of this, we\u2019re starting to get a sense of the space Kotler occupies. We know this isn\u2019t someone\u2019s backyard, for sure. It\u2019s much more threatening than that.<\/p>\n
The sensory information in this scene is helping us set the tone, which is dark and foreboding. We can\u00a0feel<\/i>\u00a0the danger that Kotler is in.<\/p>\n
But what\u2019s more subtle are the hints of Kotler\u2019s own personality that are revealed.<\/p>\n
Just as in real life, sensory information stays on the down-low until something shifts or changes. How we react to that change can reveal something about our character.<\/p>\n
Consider this scene:<\/p>\n
Liz lounged on the sofa, reading a novel, enjoying her time off. She sipped coffee as she read, savoring the flavor and the aroma. A new blend. Something Kotler had given her, from one of the shops he\u2019d stumbled across in his travels.<\/i><\/p>\n
The dogs started barking.<\/i><\/p>\n
She glanced up and sighed. They always went nuts when the UPS guy dropped off packages, tucking them behind the big column on the front porch. They\u2019d calm down eventually.\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n
She blinked.\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n
The barking wasn\u2019t coming from the front of the house\u2014the dogs were jumping and scratching at the door to the back patio. They were yelping and whining, growling and barking. The sound of their scratching on the door was constant and loud.<\/i><\/p>\n
Liz put the book and coffee cup on the side table and rose slowly. She watched. She listened.<\/i><\/p>\n
The first bit of sensory info we get is Liz tasting and smelling the coffee. That\u2019s a relatively benign sort of reveal\u2014it\u2019s a common enough experience that the reader can easily identify with Liz. It\u2019s so normal, in fact, that it sends a signal to the reader\u2019s brain:\u00a0Everything is fine<\/i>.<\/p>\n
That\u2019s an important setup. Because drama and tension come from upsetting the expectations of the reader. We\u2019re controlling that, in small part, by telling the reader what expectations to have. People smell and taste coffee all the time. It\u2019s normal. It\u2019s safe. And because it\u2019s a safe and normal activity, we feel safe and normal in the scene.<\/p>\n
Then we disrupt that sense of safety and normalcy by turning another safe and normal event on its ear.<\/p>\n
We tell the reader that the dogs barking isn\u2019t really a big deal. They do it all the time, freaking out when the UPS guy swings by. Millions of us own dogs, and we know what this is like. Even if we don\u2019t own dogs, we\u2019ve experienced them enough to know that barking is a common behavior.<\/p>\n
But here\u2019s the twist: Liz expects this sensory input to come from the front door, so when she realizes it\u2019s coming from the back, it triggers an alarm. Something isn\u2019t right.<\/p>\n
The fact that Liz would give\u00a0more<\/i>\u00a0notice to the dogs barking at the back door than to the front door is a detail that we can use to tell the reader something about this character. For one, we know she\u2019s not particularly worried about people approaching the house, except from this one direction. We know she trusts the dogs to look out, but she is aware that they may overreact. She\u2019s used to it.<\/p>\n
We also know, without explicitly stating it, that whatever or whoever is at the back door, it\u2019s unexpected for the dogs to be so excited over it. It\u2019s unusual activity, and we know that\u00a0because<\/i>\u00a0Liz notices it.<\/p>\n
Without actually saying it, we\u2019re able to tell the reader that the character is experiencing some anxiety, which tells the reader that they should be experiencing that, too.<\/p>\n
Looping back to our scene with Kotler in the jungle, we find that the things he pays attention to give us some insight into his character as well. We don\u2019t know how Kotler found himself flung through the jungle canopy to land on the jungle floor, but he doesn\u2019t seem all that surprised by it. He\u2019s more focused on taking in details: The loamy ground, the musty smell, the buzzing of insets and the distant sounds of jungle life.<\/p>\n
Kotler is analytical in orienting himself to this environment. He\u2019s taking inventory of where he is, and because of that we readers share in some of his sense of foreboding. Those distant jungle sounds, in particular, have us worried, because they clearly have Kotler worried. And we know they have him worried, because he assigns some emotional context to them: \u201c\u2026the growls and yowls and screams of jungle life\u00a0that felt far more sinister.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n
That brings us to another aspect of sensory perception that\u2019s important for characterization.<\/p>\n
Touch, taste, sight, hearing, smell\u2014the five senses that make up our everyday experience. And when we talk about a \u201csixth sense,\u201d we\u2019re usually talking about something paranormal in nature\u2014extrasensory perception, or ESP. Psychic impulses. Information that comes into our brains that doesn\u2019t have a natural source we can explain.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m not going to try to convince you that psychic powers are real (I knew you\u2019d ask\u2026). But in terms of characterization, I\u2019m going to lump it in with other forms of information that could be considered sensory, and that can help us to better understand a character.<\/p>\n
Along with ESP, let\u2019s toss in instinct, intuition, gut feelings, and all those other cues what we seem to understand as humans but can\u2019t quite explain.\u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n
Our impression of the world around us, as filtered through these \u201cextra senses,\u201d can be problematic in the real world. You may be someone who falls back on gut instinct and intuition while navigating life but allowing it to make all of your financial and investment decisions may not be the best plan. We temper gut feelings with facts and logic, when we can, to safeguard us against doing something foolish.<\/p>\n
But those instincts and feelings are sometimes all we have when we\u2019re suddenly confronted with a new or strange scenario. And for our characters, we can use those gut feelings to reveal a bit more about who they are.<\/p>\n
If a Broadway actress who has rarely ever left New York finds herself having to navigate the darkness in a lost Mayan Temple, late at night with no one around, we can assume she\u2019ll be terrified by the experience. But what if she\u2019s fine with it?<\/p>\n
What if, for reasons that aren\u2019t obvious, she\u2019s calmly moving around in the darkness, feeling her way along, the rough texture of the stones as her only clue as to where she is?<\/p>\n
That setup disrupts our expectations for such an event. It intrigues us, for sure. But it also tells us something about the character: She\u2019s not afraid, even though we feel she\u00a0should be<\/i>.<\/p>\n
Without any specifics or details about our character, we know that she\u2019s apparently brave, and we know that she can probably take care of herself. Or, depending on how we describe the scene, we may simply know that she\u2019s confident, that she was expecting this scenario and knows just what to do.<\/p>\n
If she were whimpering as she moved, if we described \u201can icy feeling of dread\u201d as she navigated the darkness, if she heard her footsteps echoing too loudly, and worried about what terror they might summon, then we\u2019d experience that fear right along with her. But having that expectation upset by her being calm and moving with confidence reveals a lot about who she is, or at least what her state of mind may be.<\/p>\n
A character\u2019s gut instincts can also tell us something about them.<\/p>\n
There was nothing about the man that seemed overtly suspicious. He didn\u2019t show signs of nervousness or anxiety. He didn\u2019t fidget, didn\u2019t tear at his napkin or even so much as tap his toe. He simply sat, quiet, avoiding eye contact. Kotler had no reason to think he was up to something, but he couldn\u2019t help watching the man, tracking him. Something wasn\u2019t right.<\/i><\/p>\n
In this example, not only do we get some insight into Kotler from his observation of the man, but we also get insight into the man himself. There\u2019s nothing specific about him\u2014no description of his build, his clothing, his hair color, nothing. He doesn\u2019t even\u00a0do<\/i>\u00a0anything. But through Kotler\u2019s sensory and extra-sensory observation of him, we already know we can\u2019t trust the man. We know something is wrong because of Kotler\u2019s gut feeling.<\/p>\n\u201cHe smelled the smoke, and he smiled.\u201d<\/h2>\n
When you are building your scenes, leveraging sensory input will allow you to add dimensions of realism to the setting, and will help you to set tone. You can use sight, sound, smell, taste, touch, and even instinct to tell the reader how they should feel in this new environment in which they find themselves. But much more subtle and powerful is the ability to reveal your characters using the senses.<\/p>\n
Stories are about change, and primarily about change in characters. In the real world, our senses are triggers for change and action. If we smell smoke, we go check the stove. If we feel a stinging sensation on our sandaled feet, we leap to get away from the ant pile we\u2019ve stepped in. If we see a deer run into the lane ahead of us, we slam on the breaks and feel our hearts pound after the near miss.<\/p>\n
Just as these sensory inputs can alter our choices and our lives in the real world, they can do the same for your characters, while also revealing who your characters are.<\/p>\n
If your character smells smoke and smiles\u2026<\/p>\n
If your character feels the sting of the ants and breaks down weeping\u2026<\/p>\n
If your character sees the deer and punches the accelerator instead of the brake\u2026<\/p>\n
We learn something with each reaction to that sensory input\u2014both about the environment and about the characters themselves.<\/p>\n
We also learn something about our characters through\u00a0what<\/i>\u00a0sensory input they notice.<\/p>\n
If they\u2019re in a nursery and they smell antiseptic\u2026<\/p>\n
If they\u2019re asleep at 2 AM and hear a child\u2019s laughter from the closet\u2026<\/p>\n
If they are on a date and see spinach in their date\u2019s teeth\u2026<\/p>\n
What they notice, in context, can tell us a lot about the character and the environment.<\/p>\n
While writing, or during the edit and rewrite process, spend some time wondering what senses would be engaged for your characters, within your scenes. What hints can you lay, using sight, sound, smell, taste? What emotions can you evoke using the instincts of your characters? How can you reveal qualities of your characters using nothing more than what they notice in the environment around them?<\/p>\n
Using sensory information instead of overt exposition is a powerful way to engage your readers in the story, to reveal character, setting, and tone without excess verbiage.<\/p>\n
Remember, in the world of your story you are the creator. The reader only experiences what you give them to experience. By being strategic with your use of the senses, you can craft a rich and textured world that keeps the reader glued to the page, not letting them go until the story is done.<\/p>\n
In the real world, we tend to only notice the input of our senses when something is wrong. Typically our sensory perception is passive. Our eyes, ears, nose, and skin are always feeding our brains some sort of signal, but that input isn\u2019t always at our top level of attention. Right now, your eyes are […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":410,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[469],"tags":[164,163,197,198],"table_tags":[],"class_list":["post-409","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-author-how","tag-character","tag-characterization","tag-senses","tag-sensory"],"yoast_head":"\n