In writing, one way of explaining things about a character without going into his thought processes is to describe his surroundings. A room with a bed, a lamp a dresser shows one thing; a room with a bed, lamp, dresser, wilted plant–that is something else. It can be an especially useful device if the object of the scene is to have the character discover something about himself. We have seen the outward manifestations of his state, but he hasn’t.
Of course, it’s not mathematics: you can’t count on the formal symbols of centuries past. There was once a “language of flowers” so precise that a young woman’s little doily wrapped nosegay might as well have been a billboard to announce her interests and availability. Beyond a red rose for passionate love, not much of that remains. We recognize the meanings for a dove or a lamb, but would you or I place a peacock in a scene to imply immortality? Or a stork for piety and chastity? Still, if we don’t have the clarity of historic symbology, we have more flexibility. The things we introduce to define the character’s state of mind are specific to that person, and as anyone who watches forensic mysteries can tell you, the scene is a narrative of the person as well as the act.
That said, we have company from out of town on the way, and I need to hide my thoughts.
Dana, at rwp has posted a different sort of challenge. She suggests a little exercise in prose. An essay, or rather two. One truth, the other written as if it were. Her examples were clever, and had a weird beauty to them, especially if you think of in the sand as sad and lovely, no matter how many toes show up.
It made me want to try my hand. Those who know the difference here are disqualified from guessing, but ought to try their own.
I once discovered that losing weight makes walking feet less prone to tripping, however gaining weight improves the standing stability. Even ballanced on one foot, a sturdy woman withstands the buffetting of life. I assumed it was my trifocals that made the world seem out of focus, but losing weight changed my perspective for a while. I suspect too many cookies and chocolate stout bread puddings may be behind my recent fall.
I bought a hand mirror at the Goodwill where the drug store used to be at Main and Eastland. It was small and fit inside a plastic sleeve, like something someone had a product or service name on as a giveaway. When I pulled it out to clean, I blew on the mirror, the way you do before wiping your glasses, and in the fog, this appeared:
smile.
