My students often wonder how much they should describe their characters. My own advice… not much. The reader will form their own vision of how this person looks, and your character will make their presence felt through thoughts, words, and actions more than appearance or clothing.
As much as I often use film terms to talk to my students about writing, I remind them that they aren’t writing a movie. Descriptions of characters, though sometimes fun to write, are pretty boring to read, and they slow the story down.
In a movie, yes, it’s quite the moment when an Indiana Jones or a Terminator or a Lara Croft are visually revealed. But, the movie keeps moving, and the viewer can take in the details. Yes, sometimes the cinematographer will do a reveal, tilting from foot to head. It usually doesn’t take more than a few seconds. And, a head to foot reveal is much more interesting in film than in fiction. Unlike, film, your sentences can only focus on one thing at a time. So, your story gets bogged down in a descriptive paragraph. In a movie, things can keep happening.
For instance:
The new kid had missed his first morning of classes, but made it on time for the lunch period. He walked into the cafeteria and stood framed in the doorway for a moment. He was about six foot and wearing a pair of scuffed cowboy boots, the tops of which were covered by faded blue jeans. The knees of the jeans looked like he’d kneeled in motor oil at one point and no amount of washing had ever fully vanished the stain. His gray belt held his pants up over his thin waist with a belt buckle in the shape of Texas. His Deep Purple t-shirt was tucked into pants. His arms couldn’t be described as muscular so much as wiry. He had a cleft chin, a hawk’s beak of a nose and steely blue eyes. His face was framed by stringy blonde hair that had pulled loose from his hastily arranged ponytail. I swallowed as he started toward the empty chair at our table.
Ok, I have a few issues with that. First, why is the narrator studying the new kid like that? Nobody does that when they see someone for the first time. They don’t study every little detail. And how long is the kid standing there for someone to take in every detail? More importantly, at least in my opinion, this is a lot for the reader to take in. Kinda boring to read, I’d say. And, this paragraph stops the story cold. Nothing else happens until he finally starts moving toward their table.
So… why not instead release these details by soft degrees? Feed it out slowly. Let the action keep going, and sprinkle in the details.
For instance:
The new kid had missed his first morning of classes, but made it on time for the lunch period. Looming at about six feet tall in the cafeteria doorway, he looked around the room and then spotted an empty chair at our table.
I swallowed as he approached us. Even under the murmur of everyone talking around me, I could hear the heavy thwack of each of his scuffed cowboy boots as he walked.
He looked at me with steely blue eyes when he got to the table. “I’m going to sit here.”
I nodded. “Yeah yeah, go ahead.”
He pulled out the chair. I noticed the dull gray stain of what must have been motor oil on the knees of his faded blue jeans before he scooted his seat in and his legs disappeared.
“Deep Purple?” Jake said.
I shook my head. Jake’s mouth was about useless most of the time.
The new kid looked down at his shirt and then at Jake. “Your reading classes are paying off,” he said. He crossed his wiry arms over his chest.
A few of us laughed.
“What?” Jake asked, ever the dimwit.
The new kid reached across the table and picked my hamburger up off my tray. He studied it a moment, brushing aside a few strands of stringy blonde hair that had pulled loose from his ponytail and dangled in his face. “This any good?”
I told him it was if he liked soy pretending to be beef.
He looked at me for a moment. He set the burger back on my tray. I felt like I was getting interrogated… just something about his cleft chin and hawk’s beak of nose that made him feel like someone who was always seeking hidden answers.
“Really, they’re not bad,” I said.
He slowly nodded, never taking his stare off of me. When he finally stood up, his Texas shaped belt buckle scraped against the table. He retucked his t-shirt into his pants, edging his fingers around his thin waist like a letter opener.
“Guess I’ll try one,” he said, glancing around the room. “I’ll get the lay of the land, too.”
In this second scenario, I’m able to get all of my descriptions in, but I’m not bludgeoning the reader with them. And, I would still argue that this character is more interesting and makes his presence felt more by what he’s doing and saying in this scene.
And, by doing it this way, I get him to the table and talking and doing much faster.
If you find my blog posts instructive, please consider purchasing a copy of my new book of short stories, The Neighborhood Division, as a donated payment for the "class."
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