Give me all the details! But . . . not ALL of them.
Context and letting your reader fill in the blanks
Hello to new folks! Well, to everyone, really, but just in case new folks don’t know who I am or why they’re suddenly hearing from me, I went over that a bit here.
Okay, let’s do this:
Have you ever read a description of something and felt like the author reached into your head (figuratively, not literally, omg) and dropped the perfect description in there? Like, their words made it effortless for you to imagine an entire setting, a character’s face and expression, or a magical object?
I bet you have.
And I bet you’ve read some descriptions that make you go back to the beginning of the paragraph and try again, because the first read left you confused and struggling to piece all the details together into one coherent image.
Let’s talk about what makes a description work: why sometimes less is more, and one method you can use to get that sparkling description on the page.
Here’s the thing: it’s possible to write such detailed descriptions that it actually becomes difficult to read, putting too many images and ideas into the reader’s mind. Those descriptions can end up competing for dominance and become overwhelming.
The trick is to give the reader enough details — the right details — and let them fill in the rest on their own.
Look, there are some things we all just know. We don’t need a paragraph of description. For example, what’s easier for you to picture? A very large four-legged creature with mottled gray-brown skin, wide, flapping ears, a long nose with a dexterous tip, and a very small tail compared to the rest of it.
Or an elephant.
You probably did get to elephant during that whole description, but I bet it took a minute — partly because it was long and you had to start building the image from “very large four-legged large creature” which could be a lot of things. You could start narrowing it down when I gave you skin color and texture, then ears. And you probably had it figured out with the trunk.
But if I’d simply said “it was an elephant,” your mind would have provided the image for you without all the extra work.
Writing out a description of something that’s a fairly universal image is not only unnecessary1, but taking up precious page space and causing everyone — the writer and the reader — to work harder than they need to. It also introduces new points of potential failure. If I hadn’t described the flapping ears and trunk specifically — just said it has a big nose — you might have started thinking about a hippopotamus. Oops.
So it’s not about just adding details. It’s about adding the right details to make something stand out . . . assuming it needs to stand out. The more time you spend on something, the more important it’s going to be to the reader. We’re trained to spot patterns and we all know that when the camera zooms in on something, it’s worth paying attention to.
If our elephant isn’t just an extra walking around the background, we might spend a little more time looking at it. Maybe it has a big scar on its flank from a fight. Or it’s wearing a pink tutu. Or the elephant is pink. Any of those things would give the reader something interesting to picture without forcing a bunch of unnecessary work on them — or leaving space for them to picture something you didn’t intend.
Okay, so we know we need to let the reader fill in obvious details on their own, and our job as writers is to give them the right details they’ll need to get them closer to what we want them to see. And the more time we spend on something, the more important it is. But how to introduce all these important details?
Some time ago, I saw a post on one of the socials where someone was asserting that it’s always preferable to add character description in context, rather than in a list. And while I agree . . . I also disagree. (New way of saying “it depends” just dropped!)
This is not the example they used, but a similar setup: a list they didn’t like and a rewritten example they did.
List:
She was tall, with curly brown hair and brown eyes, and a wide smile that lit up the room.
Rewrite:
She had a narrow nose and high cheekbones, and she was wearing a red blazer over a white blouse and black pants, but one of the toes of her stockings had a hole in it. She was wearing shoes though, so that covered up the toe. And her teeth, behind her lips which were pressed closed, were crooked, because she was self conscious about them.
The second one is . . . well . . . it’s longer. And it’s more detailed, that’s for sure. Some of those details might even be the right details, because they show something interesting about the character. But — assuming we’re seeing her from another point of view — some of those are details our POV character couldn’t possibly know yet, like the stockings and crooked teeth. It’s not in context either, because why are we bringing up stuff we can’t see? What’s the context for that?
There’s nothing wrong with the reader eventually learning all these details, but the full stop to look at everything, including inconsequential details, is a lot.
Honestly, I wouldn’t say the second example is better! It’s another list, but with more clutter.
Okay, so we’ve got the right details, interesting details, and we don’t want to do a boring list. (Though you guys know I love lists and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a brief one, including that first example!) But if we’re going to spend more time with this character, we need to figure out how to get all that stuff on the page without fully stopping the story.
Here’s one way to think about it: assign hierarchy to your descriptions.
What do your readers need to know first? If we’re going back to that woman from the previous example, getting the basics in is probably a good idea. Shape, height, hair and skin color, and how she’s dressed. That will give the reader something to start with, and layers can be added on later — as they become relevant in context.
Here’s an example of how we might do that:
She was tall, with curly brown hair that fell to her shoulders, warm brown skin, and a soft smile that lit up the room.
As I started toward her, she straightened her blazer—it was red, like her fingernails and lipstick—and smoothed her already smooth black trousers. “Hello,” she said, extending a hand. “It’s good to finally meet you.”
I made a funny joke.
She laughed, then quickly put her hand over her mouth, though not before I caught a flash of charmingly crooked teeth. She adjusted her smile into a closed-mouth one.
Look, is it great? Nah.2 But it does introduce things in context. The reader gets an image of a put-together woman who everyone seems to like, but she’s also a bit tense and uncomfortable in this situation. I don’t know who our POV character is, but they clearly like this woman and think she’s beautiful. The notes that her smile lights up the room and her teeth are charmingly crooked are both positive. A different POV might describe the closed-mouth smile as tense or cold, and the teeth as desperately needing braces.
And later, when these two characters get into a dance-off or go fly fishing, our POV can notice the hole in her stocking when she changes her shoes or whatever.
We can get a lot of information about this character through the lens our POV is offering, and through the details revealed as they become relevant. With real context. Because aside from the initial sketch of her (which is filtered through the POV’s personal lens), the details are given along with actions, or with dialogue. There’s movement in this example. The story is actively progressing while we get a description.
Character descriptions don’t have to be shown fully immediately. We can imagine quickly that she’s conventionally attractive and appears put together — a nice blazer, matching nails and lips, pressed trousers — and also kind of get the idea that all of that is armor. She’s nervous about meeting the POV. (Smoothing her trousers.) She’s a little self-conscious. (Quickly covering her face after laughing.) And when we see the hole in her stocking, it’s pretty clear things aren’t quite what she’s presenting. Does she only have the one pair of stockings because her checked bag went rogue and all she has is what was in her carry-on? Is this not how she dresses normally? Did she get ready in a rush? There are options!
But those little inconsistencies in her manner and appearance are interesting. They provide a little tension.
Some of this is, of course, personal preference. I don’t need to know every detail of a character’s physical appearance. And for me, as a reader, let’s be honest: my mild face blindness and I aren’t going to picture it anyway. My personal preference is to get the rough shape of a character and move along to who they are—what they want, how they interact with the POV character, what drives them, what they’re afraid of, whether they’re a ball of energy or a calming presence.
Of course, plenty of readers do like a more detailed description of a character and will actually do the mental work to picture them. But even so, it’s worth letting the reader fill in some details on their own. They’ll form a much more complete picture of a character (or setting or item or whatever) than the writer can actually describe.
Other things to consider while writing these passages:
How much — or how little — description you write might depend on your character and who they are. Maybe they’re really observant and great at detecting small details. Maybe they’re not. Make sure you’re giving details that your POV would actually notice!3
Also, the language they use to describe someone will tell the reader a lot about them. Is it purely functional? Flowery? Somewhere between? It’s probably a good idea to make sure they’re being consistent in their language; if they have very functional language most of the time, and suddenly they start waxing poetic about the petals of a flower, that’s going to stand out to the reader. Maybe it’s intentional, but be aware!
When describing people, it’s always a good idea to double check that you’re being thoughtful about skin tones, hair texture, cultural clothings, and so on. I’ve found Writing with Color to be a great resource.
If you’re struggling with a description, you can always drop in a [bracket note list of what you want to show] and move on. You don’t have to get it right the first time. I bet when you come back with fresh eyes, you’ll have a much better idea of who your POV is and how they’d deliver the description.
There’s definitely a lot more to say about this topic, but I hope it helps if you’re struggling with what to share, how much to share, and how to organize it. As always, this isn’t the only way to do it, but it’s one way, and if nothing else, it should give you an idea of what you don’t like, hah.
But I hope it helps!
Let me know your best tips in the comments.
Button things!
One last thing: Coming at it from a slightly different angle, Alexa Donne recently posted a video about mechanical prose. It’s less about structuring a description and more about making prose meaningful and engaging. And if we travel back in time a year or so,
has a letter focused on setting up your, uh, setting, to use environmental details to foreshadow story and evoke mood. If you liked this letter, make sure you take a look at both of those!Unless, of course, you’re writing from the POV of someone who’s never actually seen an elephant, or you’re showing the shocked thought process of someone who didn’t expect to see an elephant just now and they’re putting everything together; there are reasons you might want to describe it like that, but we’re talking just in general.
Clearly I didn’t even bother to come up with a joke to add here, heh. I think I wrote this on a plane after three hours of sleep. Why have I been sitting on it so long? I don’t know.
Assuming a close viewpoint, obviously, like first person or a close third. A more distant third might get away with describing things the POV wouldn’t.