Many of us are visually oriented. We forget that others may respond equally well to a sense of smell or hearing. Describe a place of importance to you using sensory details of taste, smell, hearing or touch. Anything except the visual.
Weekly Response #3: Everything but the Eyes (due Friday Sep 30)
Writing Twelve 
I walk into the studio and am welcomed with the faint scent of sweat. Although it may sound displeasing to most, it’s a smell that I’m used to by now. In the background, I hear the loud, pulsing music and my body immediately starts moving to the rhythm as I practiced. Going through the dance routine a couple of times has already tired me out, it’s an intense piece. I lie down on the cool wooden floors to cool myself down when I hear the the familiar sound of the doors opening and the squeaking of wet shoes. My crew trickles in one by one until the sound of talking and laughing fills the air. I am thrown into the sea of energetic vibes and friendly faces. I sit down and take it all in, cherishing each second. In this place there is fellowship. In this place there is love. I feel the atmosphere of this place and know that I am safe and I am home.
I like how multi-sensory writing typically allows us to use more metaphor and figurative language.
While I was walking home I smelled a sweet scent baked goods. It was a smell I always smelled when I was on my way home. You could also hear the sound of the train whenever it passed by my house it was as loud as a bomb exploding right next to you. This was one of the noises I could not get used too. I finally reached home and when straight to bed. I was very comforting as if I was lying on wool. I slept for about 2 hours and then I woke up and went downstairs to have a cup of Milo. It smelt very good like fresh coco.
What a varied adventure! Make sure to check your work for typos. I caught a few.
I close my eyes as I lay down. The sun warms me up from head to toe, slowly melting the coolness of the water off of my skin. I feel my rough towel underneath me, and when I wiggle my toes the sand gets in between. After a few minutes, I decide that the sun is too much to bear. So I get up and run back to the water. I close my mouth and dive underneath the cold waves. My tangled hair brushes across my back. When my lungs begin to scream I come back up to the harsh sun. I taste salt on my lips, and water drips off my eyelashes, down my cheeks. I tread the warm path back to my towel, and I close my eyes as I lay down.
Oh, how I long for the summer’s sun again. You’ve done a great job of a little sensory narrative. Even good things need refinement – I wonder if some of the “telling” sentences in this paragraph could be converted even further into “showing” sentences by using figurative and metaphorical language?
When I was little, I always went to my Papa’s workshop. It always smelt like freshly cut wood. I would step through the big melt door and find myself stepping into wood dust. I could tastes the melt and wood in the air. As I walked along the rough wooden tables where my Papa’s worked. I could hear the clucking of his hammer against the melt nail, going deep into the wood. Hearing my Papa’s loud laugh, as I asked if I could help. I remember feeling his big strong hands around me, as he lifted me up and hugged me tight. I could smell the wood on him. Feeling the bristles of his beard on my face. The warmth of his body against my. Then he would put me down onto a stool, so I could see and help him work.
I can really picture this scene! I think the word “melt” needs to be “metal”… perhaps an autocorrect error. Want to take care of that by hitting the ‘edit’ button?
I walked into my grandmothers house. The spices filled the air, which made me hungry. I hugged my grandmother, whose perfume overpowered the spices in the air. Her smooth lips kissed my cheek. As the noodles sizzled in the pan, I went into the living room where the radio was on playing some of my grandmothers favorite tunes. My grandmother brought out a plate piled with noodles. I took a bite and sighed, I had never tasted anything better. The spicy flavors stayed on my tongue, so I got a glass of milk. The cup was smooth, just like the silky milk.
I live for spices.
It had been a drowsy autumn day filled with a few too many situations where I was forced to socialize. It had drained me completely, and as soon as I walked into the door I dropped everything and walked slowly to my room. As I sat in my big plush chair by the open window, a cool breeze settled over me. I realized that it had started to rain. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the smell of the crisp autumn air. Breathing in fresh air always made me feel better when I was sick, and today I had endured a pounding headache all afternoon. I felt the dampness of the rain as it started to spread over my body. Each individual raindrop was defined as it landed on first my face, then my arms, and finally on my legs. I succumbed myself to the feeling of helplessness. I took a deep breath. My throbbing headache had subsided for a while, enabling me to think a little clearer. My grip on the soft plushy chair loosened, and I fell into a deep sleep.
I appreciate the carelessness exhibited by your character here, just letting the world wash over them. I also commend you on your use of a variety of sentence lengths, types, and structures. It makes for interesting writing.
Saturday is my favourite day during the week, no school work or any thing that I need to worry about. I lie down on the grass in my grandma’s rose garden. I close my eyes to avoid the sunshine. As I take a deep breathe, I could smell the new born rose’s sweetness. I touch the grasses witch is full of morning dewdrops.Birds chirp on the big tree beside me. I could taste the moist in the air which make my lips moisten. I hope the whole wold could stop in this second. Peace and comfortable.
How lovely. It sounds like you live in an enchanted forest. Check to make sure you are using a verb tense that is consistent throughout the paragraph.
I always imagine I can live in a beach house. In the early morning, I open up my door and welcome the fresh sunshine lean on me and fulfill my energy. I walked to the beach with my bare feet. The soft sand sweeps over my toes and it feels like doing a massage. As I walking along the beach, the wind gently whips my face and brings a salty but fresh smell into my nose. The rush of waves on the shoreline fades in and out of my ears in certain rhythm. Everything is relaxing and pleasant.
Very pleasant!
After a 20 minutes of driving, we finally arrived. My family and I didn’t even need to knock on the door. The second we walked into my aunts house we heard people laughing and talking, and smelt good food cooking. You could hear all the kids running around upstairs, playing and yelling at eachother. Everyone was so welcoming and it felt so nice to have everyone together again. The aunts and uncles, the cousins, the friends. Everyone felt at home here. Then we all heard the call for dinner and gathered in the kitchen that was too cramped for this many of us. Everyone chipped in with making the delicious home cooked food that filled our bellys. There was always hours of endless conversations bouncing around the whole house. There was something comforting about being surrounded by so many people you love.
I walk through the woods on my way home. A creek can be heard flowing to my right. Leaves crunch under my heavy boots after every step. The cool, damp air numbs my face. It’s going to rain. I begin to walk faster. I don’t want to get wet. My legs ache and my breath becomes heavy. I’m almost home. A strong aroma fills the air as I approach my home. Dinner must be ready. As I step inside a wave of warmth washes over me. There’s a pizza waiting for me on the counter, nearly cold. I lie down a I eat my dinner, struggling to stay awake. As soon as I finish dinner I succumb to the exhaustion. Instantly I fall into a deep sleep.
I can picture you struggling to get the last few bites into your mouth before falling asleep in a satisfied, cheesy, greasy mess.
The smell is the first thing you notice when you enter this place. It smells too clean, like the walls are coated detol. Someone has left my door open, and I can hear the sounds of wheels rolling against laminate flooring. The ones who are lucky get to roam around the hallways, a luxury I have not yet been able to experience since I’ve arrived here. I shift around in my bed, the feeling of rough sheets rubbing against my legs. No matter how many ugly blue blankets the nurses give me, I can’t seem to warm myself up. My doctor comes into my room, then, and begins to talk, although his words don’t really sound like anything. He pats my arm on his way out, and his warm hands feel so different than my ice cold skin. I dread what comes next. I know that they’ve been pumping calories into me since I first arrived, but the thought of actually eating food makes me feel nauseous. When the nurse isn’t watching, I dump the food into the tall potted plant beside my bed. Some of the rubbery muffin they tried to feed me is stuck underneath my cracking fingernails. It’s a feeling I’m sure I’ll be getting used to.
It is finally show-day. Extremely early in the morning, the sun just waking up, it’s warm colors flooding the sky. Hundreds of Horse trailers come pouring in, professionals and coaches, young and old students. You hear the sound of anxious horses, calling out to their friends, the abrasive sound of their hooves banging against the metal stalls. I walk slowly through the show grounds, my horse by my side, tightly gripping onto the rope that attaches to her just in case of an unexpected spook. Mixed feelings of angst and tranquility slide through me as I see the hundreds of people setting up and riding. You can smell the manure, a very familiar sense in the horse world, as well as the mundane smell that latches onto our riding clothes at the end of a sweaty ride. My riding pants seem icy against my legs, my boots chafing against the frosty ground. I nuzzle myself into my coat trying to warm my upper body. The sun shines down and touches my skin, but the cold is nipping at my exposed face. Prada nudges her nose at me as I stop to pet her smooth coat, warming my frozen hands. I cluck at her as she refuses to move, like usual. She finally gives as I put all of my strength to get her moving. The sound of her hooves clacking against the ground in sync with my boots is calming me. We get back to her stall and I slide her head out of the leather halter. I close the cold metal door behind me and sit silently listening to the sound of her mouth chewing the straw hay as I await anxiously for my turn to ride.
Closing my eyes, I enter the sensory world. Punctuated by the rhythmic thumping of my heartbeat pushing blood to my head, the music pouring out of my headphones finds itself seeping into my ears and, by extension, into my thoughts. Feeling the grass poking at my neck and arms, I adjust my hood, allowing myself to lie still without disturbance. I could just as easily find myself on a quiet rooftop, or reclining in a chair at home. Where I am, physically, doesn’t matter as long as I feel most present in what really counts – my mind.
The pleasant chime of laughter from the young family nearby guides my thoughts back to a memory of my father, sitting in his well-worn leather office chair, telling me, “I love this house, because just across the river’s water I can hear the sounds of children playing at school, and I imagine my little Melody running around and screaming with laughter.” As this memory blinks by like my own little cinematic flashback, it segues into a very distinct depiction of my seaside home. However, the recognition of this memory is accompanied by a degree of sorrowful heartache. Although the briny ocean lies just a few dozen feet beyond my fence, the scent of salt is coming from somewhere much closer – a single tear, descending by its lonesome self, having emerged out of the deepest empathy imaginable. In this memory, forever engraved within my mind, the feel of my truck’s passenger seat caresses me like a mistress, callously pulling me away from my heart. Imperfect though he may be, with all his flaws and rough edges, the man standing before me is still my father.
Having spent an emotionally turbulent fortnight with him after nearly two full years apart, neither of us knew when we would next meet. Hearing the breaks in his voice, realizing that this prideful man has abdicated his throne at the top of the world just to see his children again, I let my eyes go blank. Open, but unseeing. My hands feel a light, yet roughly textured object being placed in them, easily recognizable as American dollar bills. Hundreds’ worth. Oh, how easily I forget that they are this man’s only true language; his world is ruled by money, and only has a few small gaps in each year for his true legacy, his family. Instead, he tries to compensate with gifts. Feeling the engine rumble to life and hearing the wheels crunch on gravel, I flutter my eyes closed.
Succumbing to the leather-backed seat, I lean my head back and let the tear continue on its path, hoping that it would fall on the meaningless notes within my hands, and exchange them for a magical wish which might piece together the brokenness in my life. And as I open my eyes, I whisper, “Goodbye.”
*There is a written breakdown of this piece on my original document, which explains the multiple elements and levels within this piece. Even having written dozens of similar things, this assignment was easily among the most emotionally pure. Moreover, this entire writing comes from true memories and events, all the way from lying down in the grass with the family nearby to whispering “Goodbye”.
**I actually CRIED REAL TEARS while writing this.
Alex! So sorry that I missed this little aside you penned. Truly beautiful. Truly a powerful piece. You have absolutely coloured this world with sensory detail that brings it fully alive. But the thing I think is the most powerful is the journey of the tear and its ironic meeting with the dollar bills, the sacrifice of the briny outpouring meeting with the lifeless substitute given in return. Powerful and tragic.
Solid rocks crunch beneath my feet, I can hear the birds chirping overhead as the new day brings up the warming sun. My hands reach to the ground feeling the wet long grass from last nights dew. A whistle blows from far away and my ears welcome the familiar sounds of the morning train. No pollution has ruined the fresh smell in my favourite place. Sweet pine smells drift to me from the nearby forest and the soft dirt makes this place smell like home. The ground rumbles beneath my feet and my face breaks out in a smile. The air gets cold and my hair blows behind me as the train whizzes past. Now silent I stand in awe of my favourite place.
I am walking on my bare feet, stepping on the moist soil. Grass has grown out of the soft ground and is tickling my toes. Sometimes I can feel a little prick when I step on tiny rocks that have been washed ashore from the stream. The stream is right beside the path I am walking on. I can hear the sound of water flowing and patting the rocks. The stream makes the air flow as well. Breeze is brushing against my cheeks, with the smell of the aliveness of the soil, the freshness of the grass, the purity of the water, and of course, the flourish of the trees. Rays of warming sun are peaking through the leaves of the trees, shining on me and the ground under my feet.
When I walking to house’s front door, and touch the cold gate, I can smell the iron from the gate. After open the gate, the fresh air suddenly come to my nose, the air accompany with the grass and the rose smell, because the rain just stop an hour ago, the dirt was clean up from the water. Everything is fresh. I knew the reason is my mother were diligently and attention with the garden. After pass through the backyard, I hear the sound from the television, my parents always play the music when they are stay at the house. Because they think that will not be too lonely for two people stay in a empty space. I am too use to this place I am living in 5 years, so I close my eyes and walking with darkness. I am trying to touch the table that in front of the TV, I feel something wrap with plastic paper, that is my favor snacks. My father always will get many pack from the supermarket, he knew that I love to watch television show with those snacks. Even I leave for a year, I still remember all the memories that the house bring to me, never forgot…