I know you think you understand what I said but what you dont understand is that what I said is not what I meant
Just fine, thank you very much.
Best Beloved finally had time to put on her accountant hat this week and gave me numbers about book sales this year.
The numbers themselves are small. It’s sad, but I’ll get over it.
Here’s the wildly unexpected part: sales of Through the Fog, which I give away free just for signing up for my fiction newsletter, are the highest of all my books, and higher than they’ve ever been for this book.
It was good to be back in Ireland. My annual trips to Sligo had not only helped my understanding of the ancient language of the land, but given me an almost native comprehension of the modern as well.
It was a warm morning for Sligo; the sea breeze was usually cooler this time of year. Doesn’t matter; I’ll just lay here a bit longer; eyes closed, pondering the first cup of tea like you can’t get anywhere else in the world. Milk, not cream; no sugar, please.
The pain in my temple made me shoot upright in bed, which not only made the pain worse, but confused me immensely—there was no reason I should be in Sligo right now; the first glimpse of the room confirmed that, indeed, I was not.
I should, in fact, have been on the floor of the shed outside this house, not lying in my underwear in a feather bed in an upstairs bedroom.
Memory; that’s it, I’ve been having trouble with my memory.
An excerpt from my book, “Through the Fog: An Irish Advenure”. It is available at Amazon.
The descriptions written by masters like Chandler aren’t there so we know what a wing-back chair looks like or because the cigar smoke plays a role in the book.
Psychologically, statistically, we are conscious of less than 1% of what we experience. The other 99% goes to our unconscious, bypassing our conscious mind.
But we still experience it.
If I don’t know that your protagonist is a little chilly, or that the drapes are green, or the woman at the next table is wearing flats instead of heels, how will you connect with my unconscious, touch my memories, dredge up what I’m afraid of, or willing to fight, or fight for?
Chandler wrote great long paragraphs of what most authors would call “description.”
Continue reading “Vicarious Experience Depends on Description”