Category Archives: Composing

Advice on writing essay/story/article/speech.

Descriptive Writing Tip 1

Verb choice matters.

Take this sentence: “He walked past the window

Now imagine I substitute a different verb – I take out “walked” which doesn’t tell me a lot about HOW he walked, it just offers me a bland fact – he was walking. I can’t picture HOW he walked – but if I change the verb, look at how the picture in your head changes:

He crawled past the window

He staggered past the window

He danced past the window

He skipped past the window

He bounced past the window

He strutted past the window

He shuffled past the window

He stumbled past the window

He tip-toed past the window

He strolled  past the window

He ambled  past the window

He crept past the window

He scampered past the window

He  glided past the window

He charged past the window

He lurched past the window

He trotted past the window

 

Descriptive Essays

Vivid image

Up to recently, students felt relatively confident that they were choosing from amongst four genres in the composing section of the Leaving Cert English Paper 1 – you wrote a

  1. short story
  2. personal essay
  3. newspaper/magazine article or
  4. speech/debate

Occasionally you’d have the option to write a series of diary entries, but this has more or less disappeared from composing and is more likely to appear as a QB.

Descriptive words

Anyway, descriptive essays have started to make an appearance on the paper, a fact which I am bloody delighted about! To my mind, they are a half-way house between the short story and the personal essay. If you’re good at descriptive writing, this is a great option to choose instead of the short story because you don’t have to worry about creating a plausible ‘plot’. As long as you can describe vividly, you can potentially get full marks here. With personal essays, you will often (nay should!) write in a descriptive way but you’ll also feel the need to reveal your personality; the essence of who you are as a person. So the descriptive essay is once again a less prescriptive option, because you’ve don’t have to worry about laying bare your soul.

For a full and detailed discussion of what exactly descriptive writing is and how to do it yourself, click on this post “Language of Narration & Description“. Meanwhile, here are the two descriptive essay titles that have come up so far – they’re very open and very doable imho.

2013 Write a descriptive essay based on a variety of glimpsed moments.

2011 Write a descriptive essay about twenty-four hours in the life of a town or city.

Here’s a link to a descriptive essay I wrote a while back, called ‘fragments from a lost weekend‘. I deliberately used lower case letters in the title to try and reflect my sense that this was a series of throwaway fragments; and also perhaps the idea that my experience was minor and insignificant by comparison to what my friend suffered in losing her dad.

Some would argue it’s a short story; others that it’s a personal essay. I think it’s both and neither. I think ultimately I was trying to write a descriptive essay which would capture the void which gapes open in a person’s life when they lose a parent.

 

Personal Response – A Brief History

Brand-emotions

Personal response encapsulates the absolutely sensible and sound notion that you should not just analyse intellectually but also respond emotionally to texts. Sadly, however, this then morphed into the somewhat happy-clappy notion that you should be ready, willing and able to explicitly relive these emotions when writing about them months (or sometimes years!) later. This is a bit silly really, imho, because when the initial emotional response to any event, good or bad, is over, what we’re left with is the opportunity to analyse it logically and try to figure out what it all meant.

Who was it that said “the unexamined life is not worth living” ? I think it was Plato. Well, to my mind, the unexamined text – be it a poem, a play, a novel or a film – remains a wonderful, oftentimes deeply emotional experience, but without the intellectual rigour of analysis, it remains an opportunity lost for deeper understanding of who we are and how we live our lives as human beings.

By the by, I think ‘personal response’ was an attempt to convince teachers and students alike that how you feel as well as what you think when you encounter a story matters (and it does!). I think it was an attempt to encourage independent thought, originality and debate in classrooms instead of the ‘sage on the stage, top-down, sit in your seats & bow before my superior wisdom’ approach which (we are told) dominated (still dominates?) so many classrooms. I’m not convinced demanding personal response necessarily achieves this but it’s a worthy aim nonetheless. Finally, I think ‘personal response’ was a way of giving two fingers to the grinds schools and the revision books industry who were pumping out generic passive voice academic content for students to learn off so they could ‘fake’ understanding of their texts.

But whatever the intention, the plan soon backfired and the problem soon emerged, particularly in the studied poetry section, that students were basically learning off ONE pre-written personal response essay on each poet. These were essays which they may or may not have written themselves – oh the joys of having an older brother or cousin or sister who could pass their essays down through the generations, like family heirlooms to be treasured and polished and re-used ad-infinitum!  If they didn’t have the good fortune to get said essays from family members they could get them at revision courses or in books or, best of all, they could learn off their TEACHER’s personal response and pass that off as their own (sure weren’t you only doing justice to the ecstasies of enraptured joy and pain and suffering your poor old teacher went through every time he read “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”?  Sure you could never respond with such passion and despair and, God help him, that level of personal response deserves an audience and sure he can’t sit the exam again, he’s surely pushing fifty at this stage and a fifty year old man sitting the Leaving Cert English exam – for the fifth time – just for the craic – is just downright sad).

Personal response became shorthand for knowing exactly what would come up on the exam and therefore not having to do any critical thinking on the day, but rather a rote learn and regurgitate exercise that everyone was pretty happy with thank you very much. Until some genius in the State Exams Commission realised that the whole thing had somehow turned into a dumbed down touchy feely personal response nightmare that was encouraging students to fake personal engagement but which was – in most cases – letting them off the hook of having to actually think for themselves in the exam.

So then it all changed again, around 2010, and the airy-fairy personal response questions started to disappear off the exam papers and more demanding, much more focused and academically rigorous questions reappeared.

And that’s where we’re at now.

If the question demands a personal response, get in there, get stuck in, show that you have opinions and you’re not afraid to express them and they belong to you – I I I all the way captain! But remember that close analysis of the text, using a sophisticated vocabulary, is always required for Honours Leaving Cert English. And above all else, at all times, ensure that everything you say is responding directly to the question you were asked.

Vivid feckin’ imagery!

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I’m beginning to hate the term ‘vivid imagery‘. It’s rapidly entering my list of most hated word-vomit-words that people puke up when put on the spot; words which pop into the mouth and onto the lips, bypassing entirely the brain; words which are repeated so often they lose all meaning.

In my younger years teaching, when I was more critical and less kind, if a student in my classroom described something as ‘interesting‘ or ‘nice‘ they got ‘the look’. The look said ‘seriously?’, with the undeniable tone of WTF? The look included raised eyebrows and a quizzical squint. The look was wordless but it lasted a while and was inevitably followed by some comment along the lines of ‘yeah, but what what are you actually trying to say? because that word means nothing to me‘.

For the record, I’m much kinder these days.

So why my jihad against the term ‘vivid imagery‘? Well, lately it seems that whenever I ask students to discuss the writer’s skill, whether it’s a poet or a novelist or a journalist, inevitably someone will shout up the phrase ‘vivid imagery‘ and all heads will nod in agreement (except for the odd head that’s face down on the desk drooling) and somehow then it’s ‘case closed’. If I prod for greater depth I’ll get the so-obvious-you-need-a-fish-in-the-face-to-wake-you-up observation “it creates a really clear picture in my mind“.

Sigh. Just sigh…

My problem is this. We all know that an image is a picture. And we all know that something which is vivid is clear. So when you tell me that vivid imagery creates a clear picture in your mind you are basically giving me nothing more than a chronically superficial definition of the term.

You are NOT, however, examining a SPECIFIC example.

You are NOT telling me anything I don’t already know.

You are NOT displaying any understanding of how a writer might go about creating this ‘clear picture’, nor are you analysing, discussing and evaluating the ingredients which have been included by THIS writer in THIS piece of vividly imagined writing in order to plant said clear image in your lovely brain.

Anyway, sorry for the condescending sarcasm. It’s not like me and I certainly wouldn’t use said tone in class, but occasionally I run all out of understanding and patience and need to vent.

So now that we’ve identified the problem, what is the solution? Well, first, I should probably design and print off a poster which forbids use of the term ‘vivid imagery’ entirely in my classroom.

no-sign2-300x300Secondly, I need to spend time forcing my students to conduct an in-depth analysis of several pieces of ‘vivid imagery’ so that they KNOW how to successfully discuss the writer’s skill and techniques in creating a highly descriptive prose passage.

So what are the ingredients which a writer uses to give you an experience which is as close as possible to climbing into the cinema of your mind? (but with added features like smells!)

Well, I’ve written a long and detailed analysis of the features of descriptive writing here, so I don’t want to repeat myself. For the shorthand version, what pops immediately into my mind is (1) zooming in on the details; (2) evoking all five senses – sounds, smells, tastes and touch as well as sights which means including colours, textures, lighting, weather, sound effects; (3) choosing your verbs carefully (to paraphrase Orwell “all verbs are equal but some verbs are more equal than others“) and choosing your adjectives even more carefully; (4) comparing something to something else (aka similes & metaphors) so the image becomes more vivid. These are just general observations, but they are not sufficient so now let’s analyse a specific example.

I can’t publish someone else’s writing on my blog for copyright reasons, so instead I’ll include this extract from something I wrote a while back and then analyse what the descriptive techniques I used in it…

Extract: (you can read the full piece here)

“The road is long and windy and wet. The Wicklow hills call from the far coast, and in between the car is stuffy and hot to keep the windshield fog off, and I shuffle to get comfortable and try not (for my dear driver’s sake) to nod off.  But I have never been good with staying awake, and besides, although I talk for Ireland, a passenger seat is the one place I get lost in my thoughts, climb into myself and am silent, then asleep…

I jolt awake with a smack to the head, and the sound of a smile in my ears. We cannot have my head collapsing on him as he drives our cheap convertible with no airbags. We cannot have it. So I fight the battle with my eyelids who go on strike so often I think of hiring a crane to prop them up. The light is green tea and amber now, the trees form a canopy. A light mist has replaced the rain and sleep rises from me as contentment settles down”.

Analysis:

The writer creates a vivid picture of her journey in this passage, selecting her adjectives so that we too can see the “long and windy and wet” road ahead. We see the world through her eyes, which almost creates for us the illusion that we are the ones sitting in the car.  She cleverly uses personification  (“the Wicklow hills call from the far coast“) both to emphasise the length of the journey (“far coast”) and to create a sense that it is inevitable; that somehow the majestic Wicklow landscape would feel betrayed if she did not visit it (it is calling to her!).  Each verb she selects (“shuffle” “jolt”)  is precise, allowing us to picture her exact movements and she uses repetition (“We cannot have it!”) to emphasise her determination to stay awake. However, her difficulty in achieving even this simple task is brilliantly captured in the amusing image of fighting a battle with her eyelids, who she personifies as workers on strike, refusing to do their job. This image of the writer as an employer, with her eyelids personified as lazy employees then becomes comical as she threatens to “hire a crane to prop them up“, which is a memorable way of evoking the heaviness she feels as she struggles to keep her eyes open.

I haven’t discussed everything – I haven’t even gone near my favourite part of this section which is the metaphor where I compare the light to green tea and amber but I don’t need to because I’ve discussed enough. So if the question was “Discuss four features of descriptive writing evident in this text” I’ve just identified and commented in detail on the writer’s use of

– adjectives and verbs (word choice)

– personification (two examples)

– repetition and

– imagery

But you’ll notice I offered a detailed analysis of HOW THESE TECHNIQUES WORK IN THIS SPECIFIC EXAMPLE not a vague half-hearted discussion of how these techniques work in general.

By the way, I know this is not easy. In fact it’s really really hard. I used these techniques in my writing without even thinking about it but I had to really really THINK about why I wrote what I wrote the way that I wrote it in order to verbalise what I had done and what effect I wanted to achieve. In fact, I’d say I’ve never really thought about the effect of this passage on the reader before, I only knew that it felt right; that it sounded right; that it created a clear picture for me. So I take it back. I understand exactly why students say “look vivid imagery” like a bad parody of “Where’s Wally?”. It’s because it’s true and it’s because it’s easy. Delving deeper is the hard bit but it’s also what you must do if you want to prove that you understand the art and craft of good (me) or great (Shakespeare) descriptive writing.

Hope that helps!

Evelyn

 

 

 

 

 

fragments from a lost weekend

Even as I leave, I know there is the funeral. Even as I climb into our cheap convertible, and the rain comes down and the roof goes up, I know. You have been a good friend, even though our lives are so busy now we are sometimes like strangers. You have been a good friend, and now your dad is dead.

The road is long and windy and wet. The Wicklow hills call from the far coast, and in between the car is stuffy and hot to keep the windshield fog off, and I shuffle to get comfortable and try not (for my dear driver’s sake) to nod off.  But I have never been good with staying awake, and besides, although I talk for Ireland, a passenger seat is the one place I get lost in my thoughts, climb into my self and am silent, then asleep…

I jolt awake with a smack to the head, and the sound of a smile in my ears. We cannot have my head collapsing on him as he drives our cheap convertible with no airbags. We cannot have it. So I fight the battle with my eyelids who go on strike so often I think of hiring a crane to prop them up. The light is green tea and amber now, the trees form a canopy. A light mist has replaced the rain and sleep rises from me as contentment settles down.

We pass a house with horse-head pillar stones, and a lady with squeaky wipers, and a three-legged dog ambling along, and he drives me deeper into the heart of nothing. We have other friends who need us this weekend, it’s all arranged. Unlike the funeral and I’ve been told that up the North they do things strange, it can take longer for the carcass to be primed and changed into ‘the corpse’. So we leave you to your death and carry on with life somehow, though really it’s not that difficult, which seems logical and wrong.

Hours later my legs are danced to jelly, my throat is raw. The rain ricochets off the roof of our stuffy tent, insistent staccato beat, but I still fall asleep. Sleep and dream of water. Sleep and dream of swimming in a lake of milk, then fire, as a heat between my legs wiggles forth. Whilst I was sleeping my organs conversed, my ears heard the rain and my bladder’s fit to burst, but I will not get up. I will not get up. I will not get up. I lever open one eyelid, and my claustrophobic-self bursts roaring from her cave. Canvas too close to face, no air, no air, trapped, suffocating, I rip open the tent flap, devour space and air hungrily. Resolve: tomorrow we will be there for you.

Morning dawns bright and beautiful. We have a long drive ahead. We put down the roof, become part of the landscape, which begins with billowing smoke. A woman with a cross arm planted on her hip. A dead badger. The Bent Elbow Hotel. Then a lake. Two men in a mint green rowboat. Those weird white wind-spinners on the hill. A man on a scooter with a red helmet. A buttercup yellow sun smothered in Vaseline, smeared across the sky. Life’s minutiae thrill and happiness comes in starburst moments.

Even as we arrive we know there is the funeral. Even as we climb out of our cheap convertible, and the sun beams down and the roof goes back up, we know. Remind ourselves: Your Dad is Dead. We wait for the service to end. We wait for the queue to dwindle. We wait to take you in our clumsy arms. Your eyes are so lost. Your pain is so real. Your sorrow wraps its hands around my throat. All I can see is a black cat stalking through an empty house but no clever image can transform this dead man into a dancing corpse. It’s over. A deep sadness settles on your soul, never to be removed.