What Makes a Story Feel Real?
Sample
So, I started thinking about what “real” means to me as a reader, and how that applies to my own method.
I’ve always believed most of what we experience in a day is lost. It’s blurred. Peripheral noise. We don’t notice it. We don’t record it. We don’t think about the grass under our feet in detail unless something about the grass matters.
When I write, if I say “grass,” you’re not picturing purple. You’re picturing what grass looks like to you. And if it is purple, I’ll tell you. Otherwise, you’ve got this. I trust you.
But when a writer starts describing subtle golds and greens haphazardly laminated across the hillside, I start skipping paragraphs. Not because I’m judging them. I’m just wondering if they know their reader. Unless the grass is going to poison someone. Or hide something. Or catch fire. Then I pay attention.
Scenery only matters when it pushes back.
If the mountain is beautiful, say it’s beautiful. If the character is trying to descend it with a twisted ankle while the sun’s going down, now we’re talking. Now, the beauty of the mountain is in contrast to the struggle of the character. It means something.