None are so blind...

Exercise 12: Description and setting are hard – how does a writer choose what is important to the reader? How does s/he deftly direct the audience’s attention around the frame of their narrative? There are a few ways to accomplish this; here is one helpful exercise. Draft a short excerpt for a new work, or from a work in progress. Include description of your character’s setting using all of his/her senses — except sight. What does the air smell like? What does the rug feel like under bare feet? Are there birds singing? Fire sirens? What is your character’s physiological response? Get under the first layer of what things look like, and invite us in to a deeper description.

... as those who cannot see.



The weight of the heavy fireproof pants and overcoat pulls down on me, awkward, stiff, so difficult to move. I feel the air pack on my back. I must remember I need to be very careful going through hatches and small openings; the tank makes me larger, clumsy and slightly off balance.

Everything in front of me is black; the glass of the mask is completely opaque, no light can penetrate. The air I breathe from the tank is metallic, and at the same time rubber and plastic. I hear my breathing inside the mask, rapid, shallow; I realize I am on the edge of panic and force myself to slow my breathing rate. "Just be calm. You have done this before. You can do it." I tell myself.

 Repressing the acid reflux, my stomach churns. A bitter bile burns from my esophagus all the way to the back of my tongue. In the corners of my mouth, an acidic sensation like biting on a lemon. I want to vomit. I just want out of this place; I want to turn around and go back. I do not care if I fail at this task. 

The instructor commands me "Come on, get going, we don't have all day." I grasp the ladder, and descend from the deck, down one level. I fumble with my boots for each rung on the way down until I feel the deck under my feet. 

I feel along the wall until I locate the fire extinguisher and lift it off of its bracket. I check the safety pin and seal is installed, but leave it in for the moment as I do not mean to accidentally discharge the CO2 I will need at the end of this. I feel further along the wall until I locate the hatch. It is closed tight. I turn the four locking dogs, and swing the heavy door open.

Lifting one heavy boot over the lip of the open water tight door, with one hand, I grip the door frame and step into the chamber. Reaching out with my hand, I can feel the wall through the thick gloves. In my other hand is the fire extinguisher. I step with one foot forward. The splash of water as I set it back down reminds me there is water all the way to the fire and exit. Slowly I take another short step, my gloved hand touching the wall all the way. 

I listen to the crackle of flames, muffled by the helmet liner that comes down over my ears and throat. The heat of the fire ahead of me penetrates heavy protective gear. In spite of breathing canned air, the odor of smoke and fire penetrates, irritating my nostrils, rasping at my throat. I need to knock that fire down long enough to escape this place.

I move towards the flames carefully, one foot ahead of the other, feeling for the beams I know are on the floor, I do not want to stumble and fall in here. I try to remember how many steps it is from the door I entered to the exit when I did this drill with a clear mask on. Was it twenty? Twenty two? I must be getting close as it is warmer, and the flames are louder. I feel an opening on my left, I have reached the doorway, I want to just go through it and get outside, but the fire needs to be put out first.

I know the flames are just the other side of the opening, about eight feet in front of me. I lift the extinguisher up in front of my chest. I recall the word PASS. An acronym for firefighting. Pull. Aim. Squeeze. Sweep. I pull the safety pin and out. Lifting the nozzle up from the side, I lock it in position. 

"Aim at the base of the fire." I remind myself, as I squeeze the trigger and sweep it back and forth. The loud whoosh it makes is comforting as the noise of the fire lessens. My team mates yell, "You did it! Come on, get out!"

Turning to my left, I grab the door frame, and step over the door sill. Hands take my arms and guide me down the four steps to the ground. I tear off my helmet and mask and breathe the fresh air in deeply. Sweat pours down my back, and I can feel my hands are shaking. It is done. I passed the course.

© 2015 NoelHC

Glazed eyeballs and hobbies

Exercise the Eighth: Everyone has a passion – something that they enjoy, whether it’s yoga, obscure vinyl, or search engine optimization. (Or even coaching & mentoring new writers!) In other words, there is something out there that causes your character to wax passionate in the face of glazed eyeballs, awkward coughing, or even straight out door dashing. Let us know what that is.


This topic caused me to ponder my hobbies, and deep interests over the years. I was struck not so much by something that has stayed as a deep passion, but rather how many hobbies I have had, and how my approach to them evolved.

My first hobby was collecting stamps, I can still picture the album I got as a Christmas/birthday gift (more on the inequities of THAT at another time) with its pages dedicated to various countries around the world, and grey scale images of stamps to find and place in their own spot. I lived in a very small town and finding stamps was not easy. When we made the trip into the big city, a special treat was buying a small muslin bag of mixed world stamps at the Sears department store. I remember once we were home the excitement of dumping them on the kitchen table, and sorting through the brightly colored and exotic images from all over.

My album beside me, I would attempt to match the stamps to the missing spaces in my album, often puzzled by the name of the country. Really Switzerland; Helvetia? What is that all about? Greece; Hellas? Huh? But through this process I began to see some of the history of the countries, images of important people from the past and present, I learned about special occasions they commemorated, saw pictures of beautiful places, statues, art and sometimes just the commonplace, such as industry or agriculture.

I knew through my research that one of the most valuable stamps sought at the time was the British penny black, the first self-adhesive stamp to be used in general postal service starting in 1840. I do not recall the value of one at the time, but there was space in the album for one, and I would faithfully search each bag of stamps in hopes of finding this rarity. Had I, then a decision would be forced upon me. Do I put a stamp hinge on it, and place it in its spot in the album, or would I sell it, and retire with unthinkable sums of money (at least unthinkable in terms of an eight year old, in 1959.) This would have tasked the wisdom of Solomon.

My original album was a scribbler style binding, stapled at its center. This soon became full and I progressed to a larger album, with extra posts that allowed extra sheets to be added in order to expand. The original collection migrated from the old album to the new binder. I would carry this to swap meets with my friends, we would go through each others surplus stamps, and barter furiously for a prized specimen.

That album is still in my possession, tucked away in a box in storage, I looked at it just recently as we were moving items out of the way to do renovations in the house. I briefly flipped through the pages, and basked in the recollections some of the stamps brought to me.

Over the years my interests moved away from stamps, and I collected many other types of things, books and cameras being the most prevalent, but there is a soft spot in me still for my old stamp album.

© 2015 NoelHC