tegeus-Cromis
a better poet than swordsman
- Joined
- May 17, 2019
- Messages
- 1,343
Here, if I may, are a couple of paragraphs from my novel (currently in final editing), where I tried to do something like this. I won't give the narrative context, but the emotion should be clear:
She made her way, past the dying grasses and the barren trees, along the plankway almost entirely covered in sand, down to the beach. The scent of the ocean, the grey of the clouds, the rolling of the waves, the crunch of sand under her boots: she told herself, how soothing! She took a few deep breaths, to relax. Instead, with no warning, tears sprang to her eyes. She didn’t know why. No specific thought had accompanied their arrival. It was the harsh beauty of the day, of the ash-green sea; something sharp in the light that pained not her eyes but her insides, her body from the inside out. She could feel it in her chest, in her shoulders; the skin on her back seemed to burn at the touch of her sweater.
A ship hovered on the horizon, fading into the mist, a grey ghost. A sob burst out of her like a sneeze. It didn’t segue into weeping, not quite; it might have, had someone been there on whose shoulder to cry. She bit her lip as hard as she could. She started shaking, but not from the cold. Her throat seized; it hurt as if all her innards below it were ripped out. She heard a whimper; she almost turned around to see where it came from before realizing it was hers.
She made her way, past the dying grasses and the barren trees, along the plankway almost entirely covered in sand, down to the beach. The scent of the ocean, the grey of the clouds, the rolling of the waves, the crunch of sand under her boots: she told herself, how soothing! She took a few deep breaths, to relax. Instead, with no warning, tears sprang to her eyes. She didn’t know why. No specific thought had accompanied their arrival. It was the harsh beauty of the day, of the ash-green sea; something sharp in the light that pained not her eyes but her insides, her body from the inside out. She could feel it in her chest, in her shoulders; the skin on her back seemed to burn at the touch of her sweater.
A ship hovered on the horizon, fading into the mist, a grey ghost. A sob burst out of her like a sneeze. It didn’t segue into weeping, not quite; it might have, had someone been there on whose shoulder to cry. She bit her lip as hard as she could. She started shaking, but not from the cold. Her throat seized; it hurt as if all her innards below it were ripped out. She heard a whimper; she almost turned around to see where it came from before realizing it was hers.