If you don’t see, you invent things. Then you pad your writing with clichés and filler words. It becomes like putting cushions on a sofa that you know you don’t like, but which “looks like a sofa is supposed to look.” And you end up with a sofa full of cushions where no one has room to sit.
Writing requires that you actually pay attention to things.
Not just “sunset”—but how the light on this day hits the one sharp edge of the windowsill and makes the room slightly uncomfortably yellow. Or fills it with the last remnants of warmth.
Not just “grief”—but the way a person avoids taking off their jacket when they come inside—not because they don’t want to stay, but because they are feeling so down they don’t want to get comfortable.
If you describe a scene from memory and it ends up feeling flat, you haven’t truly seen it yet. Go back. Look at it again. Not as it was, but as it actually is. See it as your protagonist sees it. Not as you remember it.
See the difference between generic writing and precision:
Generic (Flat) Description
Harald sat down at the table. On the table stood an unopened glass bottle of beer, the polar bear on the label. It calls to him. He pops the cap on the table edge and drinks. Lukewarm, but he feels how it runs down his throat and warms his head.
Precise (Seen) Description
Harald sat down at the table. The condensation was beading on the unopened glass bottle of beer, the polar bear on the label facing the window. He caught the sharp, metal lip of the cap on the table edge and drank until the foam reached his mustache.
No one needs grand metaphors. But everyone notices when something reads false. Conversely, when something appears true, the readers can feel it, even if they don’t consciously think of it.
Some exceptions to this rule
Some write surrealistically and completely twist reality. But even the bizarre must have a core of something seen or felt, otherwise it is just random images thrown against the wall. Noise that is fun for five minutes, then the reader falls asleep. Surrealism is more demanding than pure precision. Don’t start there if you are new.
You can start with clichés and see along the way. If you stay in the movement. If, in the middle of a sentence, you stop and ask: What is this, really? What do I see, what if I look one more time? Then the cliché can become the opening to something more precise.
Some write brilliantly without ‘seeing’ first. They just sit down and it flows. This is not because they have talent, but because they have experience—either through years of unconscious attention, or because they never give up. They write, day in and day out. But even they don’t see everything the first time. No one does.
Seeing properly is not about poetry. It is about being accurate.
Take heart. Most good sentences start out as bad. The difference is that good authors bother to keep looking until it’s whittled down to a good one.
Optional Things To Do
If you do them and feel up to it, share it in the chat.
The Uncomfortable Detail: Go to a space you know well (your kitchen, your desk, a local park bench). Write a full paragraph (5-7 sentences) describing a common object (e.g., a salt shaker, a houseplant, a worn book) using only details you have never noticed before. Ignore its function and describe only its color, texture, damage, and light interaction.
The Unsaid Emotion: Describe a character experiencing a strong emotion (e.g., fear, relief, shame) without naming the emotion itself. Focus entirely on describing their physical actions, their relationship to the objects around them, and their sensory perceptions, as exemplified by the person avoiding taking off their jacket. (Aim for 5 sentences).
Reframing the Cliché: Write a short scene (3-5 sentences) using a common cliché (e.g., “The rain fell in sheets,” or “His heart skipped a beat”). Then, immediately rewrite the same scene, forcing yourself to replace the cliché with two precise, seen details that convey the same feeling or information.