In the last post of this series, the emphasis was on modifiers, adjectives specifically. It talked about three keys to choosing a adjectives that will help your readers create the story picture you want to paint: they must be significant, sensory details are powerful, avoid overload.

Here are a few more attributes of adjectives to be alert to.

Precision
Some adjectives are so overused and vague they’ve become meaningless. What does it mean when you read that someone received “a big check” or “a little diamond,” that a new co-worker is pretty or beautiful or handsome? These judgments totally depend on the reader’s perspective and provide remarkably little information. They’ve become empty calories on the adjective buffet.

You might think it’s descriptive to say a dress is blue. But how many shades of blue are there? A website for designers shows 144. How descriptive is it, really, to say “blue”? Or green? There are 50 of them above. How different are Army green (maybe you’d choose it for the clothes of an ex-military character), fungal green (for a house in disrepair), Kelly green (for a patriotic Irishman), or teal (for a fashionista)?

The point is to make your descriptions as vivid as possible, which may mean going beyond the first adjective that comes to mind.

Surroundings
You know the old saying, “clothes make the man.” How you describe what characters wear, their living accommodations, their cars, the foods they eat—all should be selected based on who they are. A Buick is an American car manufactured by General Motors, as we all know. But if you write that your character is a Buick owner or a Lamborghini owner, your readers will surmise more about him than that he has a vehicle to get around in.

In other words, as in our discussion of verbs, the descriptive words you use have not only a literal, everyday meaning, they also carry connotations. If you say your protagonist is a Harvard graduate, that’s different than sending him to Michigan or Baylor. Different schools convey different impressions about the graduate, his family, his connections, and his attainments beyond the seal on the diploma. Make these choices mindfully.

Cliches
A word of caution: You don’t want to describe a character by drawing on all the clichés of status, high or low. People are more complicated than that, and such descriptions don’t ring true. I’ve received dozens of Facebook friend requests—you probably have too—from “retired Navy Seals” who live in Hawai`i, whose photos include friendly-looking dogs and adoring grandkids. And, oh, they’re all widowers. And handsome! Lucky me! These are clichés meant to make the guy seem manly, upstanding, and really OK. They make me laugh.

Once you settle on which details you need, you also have to find a fresh way to express them, avoiding clichés and overused phrases. Publishers don’t like them. Readers roll their eyes. Five years from now, your text may seem dated. Some clichés are so common, they can slip into our prose without our even noticing them. It takes a good ear to tune them in. One I read frequently is: “She let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding.” Have read this a dozen times, most recently last week (in Yellowface), where it was used to demonstrate use of a cliché–an archetype of the trite. How do you know what’s tired and what’s fresh? This is one more reason writers have to READ.

Here are two descriptions, one of a city scene, the other of two sisters. These are the kinds of topics authors write about every day. They can be banal. But these authors dug in and their descriptions are memorable.
“We stopped in the shadows of decrepit wooden structures leaning toward one another over the cobbled pavement as though telling secrets.”(The Railway Conspiracy, SJ Rozan and John Shen Yen Nee)
“Mandy’s clothes are smooth and sharp, Tia’s are rumpled and faded. Mandy’s hair is always pulled back. Tia’s is a mess of tangles. In short, Mandy is pressed. Tia is line dried.”(The Final Episode, Lori Roy)

Dialog is Different
As always, dialog is different than narrative. Trite phrases you wouldn’t consider including in your narration may be perfectly acceptable in dialog. In fact, I’ve read stories in which a character speaks almost exclusively in clichés. It says a lot about them, too. It’s as if they only know what someone else has told them—or have absorbed only tired, worn-out ideas. Author J.P. Rieger has created a wily Baltimore police detective who spouts business jargon whenever he doesn’t want his bosses to know what he’s up to. It’s meaningless—and hilarious—but it reassures the bosses every time. (A recent review of the new biography of Elmore Leonard talks about his stellar dialog: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2025/07/07/elmore-leonards-perfect-pitch .)

Next Installment: Part 7: Word Order Mayhem (A family emergency has slowed the posting of these articles. Expect Part 7 in early October.)

Find past articles in this series in the Writer’s First Draft tab on the home page.