Oh you’d hate my writing then. I’m very descriptive but you won’t see me writing paragraphs about pancakes or anything, so
Uh, maybe try to use the five senses instead of just focusing on visuals?
I remember when I was in high school, part of our English class involved writing descriptive pieces. Such pieces were 100% purple prose and 0% plot (if you had a plot you’d be penalized). Since I couldn’t pants a good narrative piece in one hour, I resorted to writing descriptive pieces since I knew I’d definitely get high marks. As a result, my stories have become quite descriptive because I was so used to writing descriptive pieces
The trick was to imagine a descriptive piece like a single photo, whereas a narrative piece was like a movie. Maybe when trying to write a descriptive piece, pretend you’re taking a photograph of a moment in your story and try to describe that one scene.
Here ya go
So this is from a descriptive piece I wrote in high school. It’s part of an anthology.
The land had run dry. A sea of dust and dirt flooded the parched surface. Small grains of sand slipped between crevices of an ancient, wrinkled ground. Deep were the cracks that were carved into the sterile soil, but running even deeper was the well in the middle of the plot. It once boasted a belly of fresh groundwater, splashing and trickling sounds emanating from its brick mouth. Now that well was humbled, its pride evaporated, and its life dead and gone. Lest a single drop be gifted from the clouds as a sign of pity, the land might as well become accustomed to its new climate.
Golden yellow and light brown dominated the lands. In the past, the place had boasted a myriad of colors: dark greens adorned the leaves and the dewy grass; vivid violet, banana yellow, and shades of pale pink festooned the flowers; and blood red bricks encircled the orifice to a hidden pool of deep blue. All that had been driven out in favor of black and beige. A little bit of brown and grey was permitted, but anything of a more vibrant hue was forbidden. The barely-existent clouds, clothed in glorious white, and the heavens, with their wardrobe of midnight blue and cyan, seemed to be the only exception. The golden termagant in the sky continued to lash her light onto the Earth. Her heat scorched the soil and dried even the air. The skeletal trees swayed and kneeled before her, as though begging to be relieved of their suffering, but Mother Nature refused. Out of all the habitats in the world, that land was Mother Nature’s prodigal son. Mother Nature was callous and unforgiving - a lesson learned the hard way.
@iiingriiidd! Her short stories are full of such beautiful descriptions and creative metaphors. Unfortunately, I think she deleted her Wattpad account. It’s sad because her stories were truly hidden gems.