It's funny how I look back on stuff now, stuff that I didn't realise years ago might be useful for more than just the reason I was doing it then.
As some of you reading this know, I was a theatre major. As such, we did a lot of exercises about things like why a character does what he does, how to use your own memory (or imagination) of sensory detail to make your performance deeper and more meaningful. At the time, I wasn't thinking about how I might ever use these sort of things other than in a performance.
But now I write. And one of the things I've found is that a lot of what we worked on in theatre translates well to writing. You have to know your character inside and out - things that the audience may never see or know about, you have to know about. The audience might not ever have smelled freshly cut poplar wood, or heard the scream of steam escaping a boiling conch, or walked outside at night under a sky so far away from any lights that you feel like you can see to the end of the universe. And maybe you never have, either. But if it's a part of your character that's important for the audience to know, understand, or feel, you have to help them. You have to deliver that sensation to them.
One of the things I've realized about my writing is that I am very good at this. When I go to workshops and get feedback and critiques, one of the constant and pretty much universal observations is how good I am at folding rich, sensory details into my work. One reader at a workshop once said that my level of description is cinematic; when she read the excerpt from my novel she could very clearly see the world I was describing.
I was reminded of this recently when I started going to a new writing group. I took a story that I knew was good, knew in my bones that it was strong and well-written, but was also concerned about sharing it with a new group. I was concerned that the details might be too strong, the emotions might be too much to throw at people who didn't know me. And you know what? When I asked the group, "Is it too much?" the overwhelming response was that it was just right. "Don't change a word," one of the ladies said to me. Another thanked me for being brave enough to "dare to go there." Two women who I had never met got teary while I was reading it, because it resonnated with them so strongly.
The peice I talk about above is a short story called "Ashes." It's going to be the next peice I work on for submission (and as evidenced by the feedback above, it's pretty much ready). So you won't be seeing it on here for a while*, but I promise, someday I will share it with the world.
*Most literary magazines require that submissions be unpublished, even on personal websites.