In some ways, this may be the most important chapter in this textbook.  If you don't understand how writers use vivid, detailed, concrete images, then you cannot share the richness of the world of the senses with your audience.  Does the cartoon of a hand squeezing out lemon juice make your mouth pucker?  This is an example of the power of images to transmit meaning.

The following two bits of writing differ primarily in the presence of images in one and the absence of images in the other.  An image can be defined as a reproduction in another form of something real, and in the literary sense usually means the reproduction of concrete sensory details, the putting into words of sights, sounds, touches, tastes, smells, singly or in combination.  The writer's goal for such acts of imagination is to provoke mental pictures, or images, in the mind of a reader.
 

1. Argentina.  Buenos Aires, first and last stop, a city of charming but faded elegance.  In the crowded airport, people rushed in all directions, bumping into each other, funneled into small crowded places, then loosed to race to the next checkpoint, seemingly without reason.  What struck me first outside the airport was the air pollution, so many diesel buses belching fumes.  My eyes began to water and I sneezed.

The city has wide avenues, including 9 de Julio, the widest street in the world, interspersed with narrow one way streets.  A great many magnificent old buildings line downtown streets, with newer apartment houses and expensive shops in nearby areas.  Shops fill the first floors of many buildings, with the upper stories divided into apartments.  Balconies are lush with plants.

What was most fun?  Days of the outdoors:  riding horses on the pampas outside Buenos Aires (contrary to legend, most of Argentina is fenced, with little of the open range seen in the western U.S.), the view of brown valley and blue Lake Nahuel-Huapi from Cerro Catedral ski area above Bariloche, walking down the 1,000 steps of the hill at Salta where a man with bees on his hands (St. Bernard? the locals speculate) rescued Spanish immigrants from certain death at the hands of rampaging Indians.  They call him "el Senor del Milagro", the Man of the Miracle.

Perhaps the best part of the trip was negotiating the broken sidewalks of Buenos Aires and stopping at a fashionable coffee house for five-o-clock tea and cookies.  Argentineans spend a great deal of time eating and talking.  "More of that than work," an Argentine woman confided with a crooked smile.

2. Back from Argentina.  The air was bad in Buenos Aires and the airport was crowded.
I went horseback riding, skiing, and hiking, and had tea almost every afternoon.  Met some interesting people.

Many writers possess an innate ability to use powerful images, but others show an early preference for vague abstractions, and these people tend to have trouble communicating their ideas to readers.  When a reader asks, "What did you really mean to say here?" the writer needs to add detailed images which answer that question.

Some years ago, a writer in one of my classes shared a verse describing flowing colors and sensations.  Her abstractions were so removed from reality that class members responded with a series of questions designed to get at the source of the verse.  As the writer talked about the story behind her writing, her words quickly took shape in a poem about washing dishes in the kitchen, her husband reading the paper in the living room, the radio playing oldies but goodies, their song starting, her husband coming to the kitchen, their sweet married dance in memory of youthful passion.  Group members responded positively to the rich details which allowed them to feel her experience.

Each of the five senses works in similar fashion by combining several types of information to form a whole sensory experience or image.  Our eyes are the source of most of our sensory input: as much as 85% of the information we receive about the environment comes to us in visual form.  An additional 10% arrives through our ears, with the remaining 5% accounted for by skin and inner ear, tongue, and nose.   Example 3.2 lists the components of sensory images.

An analysis of how we see reveals some of the criteria used to classify visual images.  When you look at an object, you respond to a number of different types of sensory input which exist as points on continua, including the amount of light, distance from the image, bright or dull colors, size and shape (geometry), objects in background and foreground, and whether the image is familiar or not.

Writers need to understand the similarities and differences between their own visual perceptions and those of their readers.  Example 3.3 breaks down a visual perception.

Although not all visual images are organized in this fashion, this particular sentence traces the evolution of a visual image from not knowing to knowing, from the earliest moment of perception to recognition.  Note that the components of the image are limited to what is seen.  A writer could just as easily reverse all these items to form a completely different image.
 

The sequence of visual processing is identical in both pieces (light or dark, near or far, vibrant or dull color, geometry, background or foreground, familiar or unknown), but the tone differs greatly.  Writers need not use only the extremes of these continua. Sometimes the middle range more accurately describes the writer's perceptions.

Long shadows of autumn afternoon slant across the golf course.  Near the river, a dog runs restlessly ahead of a lone man, both figures tiny against the bulk of Chink's Peak across the valley.

Sound images are also formed by combining diverse bits of information until recognition occurs.  Key factors in accurate description of sounds include loudness, clarity, rhythm, pitch, duration, silence, and once again familiarity.  Close your eyes for a moment and think of the loudest sound you have ever heard, then imagine that sound against the faintest whisper.  Now place various sounds on a continuum between the two:  dog bark, baby's cry, music, doorbell, voice of a friend.  Recognition of the familiar seems especially important in sound images.

1. New York City, early morning.
Far off, at the end of the long block, I hear the traffic increase on Central Park West, the engines louder, more horns blowing.  Then a truck turns onto West 95th Street, a big truck, growling and snorting.  Garbage cans rattle, a dull sound of scraping, then the hollow metallic ring of the empty cans clanging on the sidewalk.  Men shout to each other, the truck snorts and grinds ahead, directly below my window, on down to the end of the block.  For a moment, all seems quiet, until once again the rushing traffic signals the beginning of the day.

2. Pocatello, early morning.
The alarm beeps into my dream, and the sheets rustle as my husband reaches to shut off the noise.  In the kitchen, Madonna barks her usual morning request for outside and breakfast.  Half asleep, I hear water splashing in the sink, then the shower running.  I fall into a soundless dream once again until a familiar voice says, "Your coffee is ready."

Some of our earliest experiences with the world outside our bodies come through touch from caring adults, and touch remains a source of pleasure throughout life.  While traveling in India, I noticed that every morning mothers sat in the sun massaging their babies with coconut oil.

The little fat arms and legs of the baby hang limp, relaxed, the infant totally absorbed in the pleasure created by the movements of mother's hands.  The tropical sun warms the skin, liquefying the coconut oil, which the woman spreads in slow strokes, like a glistening shield over her sleeping baby.

Mother's hands tense as the doctor gets out the syringe and needle.  Little Corey feels her frightened grip, and his spine straightens.  He twists, but mother holds him tighter.  When the sharp needle pricks Corey's arm, his back arches.

Characteristics to consider when building touch images include pleasure or pain, softness or hardness, duration, temperature, amount of skin touched, and texture of item being touched.  Not all of these characteristics need to be mentioned in each touch image, but writers who explore the use of touch images soon learn to include appropriate details.  How do Examples 3.7 and 3.8 differ in these components of touch?

The kinesthetic sense, called by some a sixth sense and by others a manifestation of touch, relies on receptors located in the inner ear; these nerve endings are sensitive to the position of the body in space.  Kinesthetic images are especially important when writers want to convey a sense of motion.

I take my seat next to the window of the train and look out the window at another train on the next track.  Suddenly it seems as though my train is moving and my stomach twists uncomfortably.  But just as quickly, I see the neighboring train pick up speed and leave the station.  With a jerk, my train starts in the opposite direction, and the swaying rhythm of the trip begins.

Sometimes taste and smell seem to overlap, and yet each sense has particular characteristics.  Taste occurs after the introduction of a substance into the mouth, while smell utilizes a much smaller sample of molecules floating in the air.

 Taste requires perceptions of temperature, texture, pleasure or displeasure, an analysis of specific sensations such as sweet, sour, bitter, salt, spicy, mint, and the final judgment of familiarity.  Imagine placing a spoonful of oatmeal in your mouth. What sensations do you experience?  Do you like or dislike the sensation?  Is it hot or cold?  Sweet with sugar or sour with spoiled milk?  Has the oatmeal been cooked in hot water (lumpy) or cold water (smooth)?

Five years old.
Mother cooked lumpy oatmeal and I refused to eat it.  She made me sit the kitchen table for a long time.  Every few minutes, I sighed, looked at the cold oatmeal, and scooped up a tiny bit in the spoon.  I stuck my tongue in the lumpy gray stuff.  It tasted like glue.  "Yuck," I said, dumping it back in the bowl.  Eventually mother got tired of the battle and sent me off to school with an excuse note.  After that she made my oatmeal in cold water, smooth, the way I liked it.

Riding your bike along a country road on a warm May afternoon, you smell something sweet, just the faintest odor on the breeze.  You pedal faster, wanting to know more about this pleasant smell.  Rounding a corner, you see an apple orchard in bloom.  As you speed downhill into the valley, the scent of apple blossoms overwhelms you, and you feel dizzy with happiness.

Riding your bike along a country road on a warm May afternoon, you smell something and take a deep breath through your nose to be sure.  Skunk.  You pedal faster, wanting to get past the roadkill.  Rounding the corner, you see the black and white carcass on the black pavement ahead.  The skunk smell overwhelms you, and you feel a little nauseated.  Beneath the skunk smell, another, darker scent of decay signals that the rotting skunk died several days ago.  You peddle away, holding your breath, but the mingled smells of skunk and death follow you down the road like a shadow.

Invite Readers to Participate

Old means that you have to start walking in a slow shuffle, misunderstand everything that is said to you, and take everything that is said or done around you as a personal insult, he thinks.  Soon I won't be able to eat without spilling something on my shirt, and my family will have to spoon feed me. I probably won't be able to eat real food, just soft, mushy stuff like applesauce and Jell-O, so what's the point anyway?

Feeling even older than his ancient thirty-eight, Albert pulls into the driveway, knocks over the brown Rubbermaid trash cans left out by his short, blond, green-eyed wife whose waist hasn't been 18" since the 8th grade, and stops short of his average IQ kid's bicycle, which was probably left there with the sole intent to trip him.  As he begins the long walk down the cracked cement walkway to the front door, his steps slow to a shuffle and his stomach rumbles.

1.  Why should a writer use vivid, detailed, concrete images?

2.  List the five components of a sensory image.  What percentage of sensory input comes from each component?

3.  Think of something you enjoy looking at, then write down this visual image using the components found in Example 3.2.

4.  Concentrate on a sound you find especially irritating, then write a paragraph which recreates the sound for a reader.

5.  Put several objects (a penny, a piece of aluminum foil, some soft cloth) into a paper bag so you can't see them.  Now reach into the bag, choose one object, feel it carefully.  Write a paragraph which describes the object using only the sense of touch.

6.  What food do you really hate?  Write a description of that taste.

7.  A woman always turns around when she smells Paco Rabanne, a men's cologne.  Why?  "Years ago I had a boyfriend who wore that cologne.  I always look for him when I smell it."  What odor sparks a memory for you?  Write a description of the scent, then add a paragraph or two about the memory.

8.  Why do writing teachers repeat show don't tell ad nauseam?

Get comfortable, relax, take a deep breath, let it all out slowly, then inhale slowly.  Feel the oxygen moving from your lungs into your blood, then throughout your body, and into all your cells.  As you let this breath out, feel all the tensions of daily life leave you.  Continue breathing, deeply and slowly.

When you are ready, begin to focus on one specific sensory image, a clearcut memory of one sense from one moment in time. Let me give you a few examples:  the smell of carnations at your first funeral, the taste of lemonade on a hot day, the touch of mud between your toes, the sound of your favorite song, the sight of the handwriting of someone you know well.  These are only examples.  Work with a sensory image of your own which evokes a vivid memory for you.

Focus your mind on this primary image, paying particular attention to the components of the smell or taste or sound.  Enjoy the image in all its richness.

Then, one by one, add the other four senses, building a complete perception of the world around your primary image.  Don't worry if you can't remember exact details; just imagine what might be happening.  Concentrate on how the sensory details fit together into a whole moment.

When you are ready, take a deep breath, let it all out, then come back to the present.  Open your eyes, pick up your journal and begin to write down what you remember of your imaginary moment.  Your writing may take any shape you like.  The important thing is to capture the details.
 

My journal entry focuses on the smell of a pumpkin being carved into a fearsome jack-o-lantern on a late-autumn afternoon in 1953.
Starting image of smell:  sweetish, orangey, wet, squashy, familiar, yet a little bit strange or dangerous
Sight:  The huge round pumpkin, the sharp paring knife, the top coming off
Sound:  Mother's voice
Touch:  Slimy lumps of pumpkin guts, slippery smooth seeds
Taste:  raw squash
 

      The Smell of Pumpkin
Late afternoon my mother knifes
the hat off  pumpkin, scoops out
lumpy flesh and smooth oval seeds
orange smell of squash, golden.
Outside leaves hang crisp, Halloween.
beams through the kitchen window.
"We'll give it some teeth," Mother says
slicing orange flesh into a sharp smile.
A candle waits on the table, greasy
in my hands, until Mother lights it
dribbles wax into hollow squash, stands
candle erect inside, replaces the top.
We cross the kitchen and look back
wicked jack-o-lantern face flickers
burning pumpkin smells like brimstone.

Sometimes the statement less is more can help a writer to focus on one small part of a complex whole.  In the novel Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, the protagonist, a college composition teacher, encounters a student who cannot think of anything to write about.  He tells her to go outside the building and look up at the brick wall, then to look at a particular brick and describe only that one brick, to write as much as she possibly can about that brick.  The student follows his advice, and as she focuses her attention on one small and particular piece of the universe, she finds herself able to write page after page of detailed description.

Focus on one particular thing in a background of many:  one daisy in a bouquet, one person in a crowded restaurant, one line in a song, one food from a four course dinner, one stroke of a massage.   Sometimes this exercise works better if you use just your sense of sight, but you might try to find an object you can explore with all five senses:  one small Tootsie Roll from a bag, one pebble from the bed of a stream.  Write as much as you can about the particular object you choose.