I've been learning a lot about poetry lately, specifically how to use imagery to your advantage so the reader gets a clear and fascinating picture in their head.
How to Use Imagery in Your Writing
Using imagery is something that I've struggled with and even now have to be extra conscientious of as I write. However, I feel like I have started to get the hang of it. Here are the three tips that most stood out in my mind.
1. Expand and specify
When you say, “She went to her room and sat on her bed,” don't stop there. This is your chance to give us a glimpse into her life, her surroundings. What is her bed like? Is it queen-sized with a bedspread that doesn't have a single wrinkle in it? A twin bed with faded sheets that are riddled with holes? With a couple well-chosen details, you can say so much about your character and your story.
2. Be weird
Don't be afraid to get a little out there with your descriptions, especially when it comes to similes and metaphors. Sometimes the strangest comparisons are the ones that work the best. Clichés are tired, predictable, and boring. Instead of describing the snow like, “glittering stars falling from the heavens,” compare it to, “ash drifting to the earth, burning cold.” You can be dark, gross, optimistic, or anything else you want to be. Just get creative.
3. Use the five senses
This is one of the tried and true methods, of course, but it's a good reminder. Don't leave smell and taste out of your passages, the often forgotten senses in writing. But be careful not to make it a checklist situation, either. You don't need every sense in every description, especially not all in a row where it'll be painfully obvious what you're trying to do. Pick one or two that make the imagery unique and exciting.
How do you keep imagery fresh in your writing? Let us know in the comments.
PRACTICE
Keep these three tips in mind as you write for fifteen minutes about your character trying a new restaurant. Focus on the imagery and really put us into the story. When you're done, if you'd like to, share your practice in the comments. Don't forget to give your fellow writers some love, too!
Does “the stench of his arrogance” count as smell or is it like just a metaphor?
It could be both literal and figurative: maybe he literally has a cologne that he wears to impress people, or maybe “stench” is just a feeling people get after being around him.
Sounds like a metaphor to me – as though he is so arrogant you can practically smell it. I like it.
Funny story: I like the phrase “sunbeams and moonshine,” because it fit my story. I had descriptions of their sandcastle reaching the moon (that’s how high it would become) and how they would go to the moon to fetch moonbeams to give their mum afterwards to make her smile.
But my friend pointed out, “Oh, you mean moonshine like the alcoholic drink?”
Don’t be as stupid as me!
after they take the drink, they might go even higher 😀
😀 That’s so funny! Unfortunately, it was a children’s story with a teddy as the protagonist.
perhaps there’s a twist in the tale or u could add inn that in the teddy bear’s world, moonshine is only (only only only) a fruit juice 😀
Ha, that’s so funny! I once gave a character the last name “Moonshine” when I was younger and had no clue what it actually was. 😉
It is not really stupid. What if they get literal moonshine and give it to their mother? Then you could show that scene, …
Hi Loner
I don’t get it, …
I want to be your online friend
That does not explain why you would call me “loner.” Perhaps you mixed me up with someone else?
no, I apologize for that. i just found your profile and thought it would be nice to be friends with you, you seem clever and nice
If you say so then I must believe you. I, however, can still not understand why you called me a loner, if my memory serves me.
just get over it, i didn’t knew how to say hi lol. how are you?
Perhaps you might just say “Hello?”
hello, how are u?
Rather well, how are you?
They passed through a dirty purple curtain. It stuck to the tip of her fingertip like evaluating her worthiness before letting her enter this separate world. It was still cold outside being the beginning of rain season and her articulations had ached since early morning, but there, in that little shabby restaurant, the comal sitting in a corner produced a cozy atmosphere.
The noise of the street was also gone. Like entering a neutral space, the racket of cars and buses competing to reach the highway had vanished and been replaced for an incessant chatter coming from all tables and culminating with the voice from the radio, placed on top of the fridge, filling the place from above with the yelling of La Qué Buena the radio of choice for most restaurants and taxi drivers.
It had been a rough night, the rough week of an even more painful year but now seated with that man that could have been her father, she felt secure, more complete than ever before. She ordered two quesadillas, one simple and the other one stuffed with meat and potatoes. The decided on sharing a mango drink and she was surprised from the first zip by the sweet taste and the acid aftertaste lingering on her tongue in a rather pleasant way.
The fogginess of her brain was dissipating and she let her eyes travelled from table to table, mesmerized by the vibrancy of colors ranging from yellow to red, making no excuses for their presence in the middle of this damp September morning. She was drawn to the hands of the cook, a plump woman of indefinite age that flipped tortillas with surprising speed while chatting with the owner, smiling and laughing in a way that accentuated the lines around her eyes.
Quesadillas had arrived. They were crispy and slightly brown, smelling of oil and still very hot to the touch. She broke the crust as she had seen he had seen other do and was surprised by the vapor escaping. She felt like a child opening a gift, almost giddy, her heart was warmed.
The first bit almost burned her palate but left it numb so she could devour the rest feeling the melted cheese passing through her throat and descending to her stomach, crispy, hot, perfect. She ate her two quesadillas faster than expected and had almost forgotten her companion until his hand was on hers and reality was back with a bite.
They paid and got back to pushing the purple curtain, to the rain and the noise, but she was not cold anymore.
Good advice to ‘be weird’. Some of the great authors sometimes use similes that make me think ‘Hang on, did they just say that?’ Yet it takes a degree of confidence to pull it off and many do. Using the senses is advice I often give other writers, too. It’s easy to forget to use all the elements that give life its vivid colour.
Good article and reminder – I did this very quickly – no editing as always, and there is much work needed here, but it is an idea. Thanks for the practice!
The New Restaurant
At first glance it doesn’t look like much from the outside, they don’t have any of those super plastic windows. I refrain from eating in places with plastic windows.
The outer entrance hall only gets light from the outside and the inner doors have black glass so you are looking at yourself just prior to entering. I guess the keeps women
from running to the lounge im1mediately after being seated.
The doors open automatically, there is a wonderful aroma of bacon wafting over you. It only there for a moment as you pass the doors and approach the hostess it is replaced with the full body aroma of beef. Interesting approach to whet your appetite.
The hostess’s station appears to float in the air, it is almost invisible if it weren’t for
the calypso pink lighted edge. The hostess is dressed elegantly in a Greek style long black tunic and her hair done up with a gold ribbon tying it all together. Our reservation is ready and she directs us to another woman dressed in a tailed tuxedo jacket, white shirt, black skirt and stiletto heels.
Entering the main dining room sections of tables have a various color edging similar to the hostess’s station. There is the distinct smell of coconut and an ever so slight breeze filled with the smell of the sea. Once seated at our table the aromas go away. No, they are replaced with the smell after a hard rain storm, fresh, renewed air the hint of ozone, to cleanse the olfactory?
A cloud appears on the table and as it clears the night’s menu becomes clear. A waiter is ready to take our beverage request and he is off in a flash. We contemplate the menu,
point to the special and we can smell the meat searing in wine, garlic and oil. My date puts her finger to the fish and the aroma of lemon, tarragon, scallions and wine permeate the air.
This is an assault on your sense of smell. But what a way to stimulate your senses and prepare for your meal. There are wine selections for each and it’s aroma accompanies each dish after a few moments of savoring the meals odor alone.
Our mouths are literally watering and we have yet to order. I would have to say it is a
restaurant worth visiting again.
I either use a sense with a clear connection to my character, or on the basis of how primal is my story.
So for one story in which my character is a dancer, I focus on sound, rhythm and motion.
For another story in which my protagonist was a sociophobe who kept a fearful watch out for other people, I used vision and touch.
For horror, though, I sometimes like to take a leaf from out of John W Campbell’s “Who Goes There?” (the basis of “The Thing” movies). Campbell started that story by focussing on the odours of the Antarctic camp. We associate ‘sniffing out’ with hunting and predation, and smell is a more ancient, primal sense. Smell is not the first sense we use and for many it is scary to have to rely on it, because whenever we have to rely upon it, that means our vision and hearing are not telling us what we need to know.
By using smell, I feel that Campbell heightens our sense of unease.
I agree. I would like my writing to be more creative. Thank you. I think I can, I think I can……
I’m gonna try to incorporate what I’ve learned here at my character…
She’s walking towards the new restaurant down the street to meet her date, she’s sweating in a cold breeze, seeing the bright lights inside the restaurant. She wants to turn back, but her feet won’t stop walking, it doesn’t listen to her anymore.
She’s standing at the front of the wide, wooden door, blinded by the flash of lights from the reporters. This is the hottest new restaurant in town, owned by the biggest prick she’s about to meet inside. What is she even doing here?
She steps inside and silently walks along the red carpet that lead her to long shining tables with giant, long-back seats around it. You wouldn’t see if someone was seated at certain places because of the ambiguous wooden seats painted in red, which almost looks like a spoiled blood.
She finally sees him, his legs crossed, looking outside the window which is only beside him. He looks irritated by the sound of people chatting, all looking at him with disgust. And now, they’re looking at me, too.
I placed myself across him as he turned his gaze on me. I tried to avoid looking at him, I can see his eyes gleaming from the lights, his gaze burns every part of my body he looks upon. His gray eyes is very deep, it is both as dark as the night-sky and as light as the porcelain vase on our table, filled with white tulips, at the same time. It’s as if he’s seeing my soul.
My senses came back to me as the table almost shook from the chef’s bell, it is so loud that I’d think my eardrums would burst.
Your discription is so great! I really love it.
“I’ll take the corner booth,” she told the waiter quietly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
He was tall and gangly looking as he shrugged and gestured for her to follow him through the dark, romantic restaurant. She tried not to make eye contact with the couples paired off at tables drinking wine and judging her appearance. The weight of her dirty coat hung on her shoulders as the holes in her jeans were prominent and impossible to hide. There was no doubt she carried the stench of dirt, sweat, and tears. But she kept walking, willing these thoughts out of her mind.
She only wanted to have a meal far away from familiar faces, and there was no better place to avoid that than the last place someone would think to look for her. The lights swung above her slightly as she slid into the padded leather booth and the waiter handed her a menu. The menu was dark red and difficult to read, but she made do quickly looking for the cheapest appetizer.
Her stomach rumbled violently as if metal screws were being tossed around in her intestines. When the waiter returned and placed a glass pitcher of water in front of her, she practically lunged after it. She gulped down the iced, water as it dripped down her chin and soaked up the drought living inside her mouth.
“I’ll bring you another one,” the waiter shook his head at her.
She nodded thanks unable to feel ashamed just because of how satisfying it was to sooth the aching inside her throat. Next, was the wired basket of bread where it laid all kinds of dough. The fluffiness of the pumpernickel and the smell of the sourdough wafting towards her.
As she ripped apart the steaming bread and watched the butter melt into a yellow pool, all her problems seemed to dissipate with each bite. She ignored the fact that they would all rise back up as her stomach emptied again, but for now she closed her eyes and let herself drown in the happiness.
Really great job. I felt the ache of sadness in the last paragraph because the girl knows she’ll be hungry again.
The discerning looks that went her way was more powerfully felt.
I ALWAYS forget the sense of smell in my stories and then I have to return and add smell to a scene. Working on it.
Kerry’s Dine-In was established not far from the lake. As Julia climbed up the wooden steps to the front door of the restaurant with Shadow beside her, she took in the swaying lanterns hanging on either side of the doorframe, their tiny candles lit and exuding a warm glow over the deck.
“Ever been here before?” Julia asked Shadow as he opened the door.
He shook his head, holding the door for her. “First time.”
The moment they stepped inside the restaurant, she sensed Shadow stiffen behind her. “Not much of a city person,” he said.
Julia nodded, but her muscles relaxed as the activity in the room washed over her. Waiters cut back and forth across the room, resting trays on their shoulders, to attend the guests in the thirty plus booths scattered throughout the dining area. Guests ate their meals or spoke across their tables to each other. Crystal lamps poured soft light
over every booth.
She gazed around the room as she waited in line behind Shadow, her eyes taking in the earth brown hardwood walls and floors and the smiling, laughing people. Warmth filled Julia’s chest. How many times had her mother taken her here as a child?
“Right this way,” the waitress said after Shadow paid for their booth. The blonde-headed woman then turned, weaving through the other employees and down the last aisle of booths in the room.
She stopped beside the last table in the far corner, right by the window, and set out their menus as Julia and Shadow slid into the booth across from each other.
After jotting down Julia’s request for lemonade and Shadow’s for water, the waitress smiled and said, “I’ll be right back with your drinks.” She moved away from the table.
Once the waitress was out of earshot, Julia said, “Do you think he’ll come?”
“He won’t be early, but he won’t be late.” Shadow flicked a glance at the window, which provided a view of the lake. “Sonic’s the type to be right on time and not an instant sooner.”
Julia hoped Sonic would be able to give them some information. The waitress came back with their drinks and they both thanked her.
“Are you both ready to order?” the woman asked, her pen poised to her notepad.
Shadow flipped open his menu. “We’ll need a few minutes.”
“Certainly.” The waitress departed.
Shadow turned a plastic-encased page on the brown, blue and white menu. “If what Sonic knows doesn’t help us, I’ll start looking for your kidnapper myself,” he said. “Whether the military likes it or not.”
“Can’t I come with you?” Julia asked, twirling the ice cubes in her glass with her straw.
He locked eyes with her and shook his head. “I’m not putting you in danger again.”
“But—”
The way Shadow cut his eyes to the left, his gaze piercing past Julia, made her stop.
She turned in her seat and stared at the person who had just walked into the restaurant. Her insides shriveled.
—
I decided to have this be a restaurant that Julia had been to many times before. Any feedback/comments are welcome. Thanks! : )
Hello 709 Writer,
Thanks for sharing your post, which is so well written that I couldn’t find any flaws. Frankly, I’ve taken a tip from your story, that of being expressive, of tightening up the tale and moving it forward without repeats.
I wish you had written more but i realise that you left off at an accurate moment, to arouse our curiosity.
Well done!
Thank you for the kind words, Lilian. : )
As I am deaf I always leave out the sounds in my writing. That needs to change I think, but it will be my hardest challenge as I’ve never heard anything but don’t want to be cliche.
You might mention sounds that make no sense in the context, but it might be all the more powerful for it.
I never thought of that. Thanks x
Great post! My readers always compliment me on my descriptions, they say they can see the scenes I describe perfectly. But it is something always worth improving and I did enjoy the tips. Specially the second one. I think I will experiment with it in my next short story. Thank you!
Regarding number three “Using the five senses”. There are more than five senses. Any scientist working in the field aknowledges a minimum of nine, and using the rest of them is what really brings it home. I’ll try to list these in no particular order other than the order I remember them in
Proprioception, the sense of the relative position of parts of your body to relative to each other and the strength or effort being employed in the movement of them. This gets out of wack when we have a growth spurt, which is why teenagers can become so clumsy or use way too much force.
Kinesthetic sense or the sense of balance and energy of movement sometimes gets lumped in with proprioception, but I believe it is distinct from it. Kinesthetic sense is your sense of the momentum of other things and have they move in relation to you, and how you move in relation to the world. I usually try to recall the feeling I get in a boat in bad weather or the the way almost falling feels to help me with using it in writing.
oh wait… [googles “wiki senses”]… there you go: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sense
using other senses in imagery could be things like “the weight of the clouds is crushing me”; “the earth is trembling”; (Kinesthetic sense)
Thermoception, or the sense of temperatur “the room was as hot like a boiler”; “she gave me the cold shoulder”
interoception or internal sense. the sense of what is happening inside your body “The stomach turns”; “heart in my throat”; “high on caffeine”
Chronoception, the sense of time. typical examples would be “a place where time seems to have stopped” or time can rush or be running. Chronoception also involves our sense of rhythm or beat and the Cyrcadian rhythm, i.e., what time of day it is.
mix these different senses with synesthesia and you will have powerful and novel imagery without even trying, although there are many clichés here too, e.g. “I can smell fear”; “they weight of your words”; “loud colours”
As a food critic, I expect the best of the best. If someone is bragging about a restaurant about how miraculous the food is I feel I must try it. I keep my expectations high when I work.
I walk inside and instantly feel the warmth and can hear the low conversations each person is having at their table. There is something very calming about the atmosphere. There is a sense of home when you walk in. You can just feel that this place is a place where people come to chat, eat, and just have a good time.
I get a table in the heart of the restaurant and can see the chef cooking through a tiny window. The waitress kindly asked me what I would like to eat, but I coldly dismissed her. I needed more time to think. After about twenty minutes of me going back and forth between the tortelloni alla zucca and the pansotti alla genovese, I decided to go with the tortelloni alla zucca.
The restaurant was starting to become more and more empty. I guess I shouldn’t have waited that long to order. A short time after I ordered my food, it was arriving. I could smell the garlic and nuttiness from a few tables away. There was still steam leaving the plate, as the waitress walked. I began to get this feeling of excitement, which is rare. I rarely ever feel excited for a meal, this time was different.
A woman with fiery orange hair entered a five-star restaurants, donning a long maroon dress with a slit on the right side of the dress, exposing her leg. Behind her followed a subordinate to her, a young man with dusty brown hair and bright green eyes. He donned a simple tuxedo with a blue tie. On the woman’s left arm, an entire sleeve of tattoos sat, with imagery of pirates and the seas. She wore maroon flats to accompany the dress. This woman was no ordinary person, and was no person for a five star restaurant.
The woman and young man continued to walk at a steady pace towards two opaque doors. They seemed to appear as a rich woman and potentially her brother, but the woman herself was a gang leader, and a rather successful one. The man behind her was simply just a member from the gang that she trusted, despite his lanky and childlike appearance. A man in a black and white waiter’s outfit stood at the doorway, and opened the glass doors for the two people as they arrived. The woman seemingly flinched as she entered, as she had forgotten her manners. “Thank you,” the woman curtly said. Her voice was full of a rich Irish accent, and was softer and lower in tone.
Admittedly, she wasn’t used to using manners. She mentally noted that she had to remember her manners for the situation that she was in. The woman was meeting with another successful gang leader, one who started at the top. He had found a way to destroy her gang in one step, and she had to be the one to compromise to save the gang. The sight of the rival leader made her sick in her stomach, and made her filled with rage and pure, raw emotions. She had her reasons, to simply put it.
The restaurant was elegant in design; warm golden and orange lights dimly lit the tables and decorations, the floors were marble, the walls were a dark, wooden brown. At the tables sat companies of two or three, and rarely more. In the air wafted the smell of enticing and mouthwatering food; steaks, fish, vegetables, and much more. The woman grew hungrily very rapidly, but mentally reminded herself as to why she was here. The young man behind her looked at the restaurant in complete awe. An older waiter approached the duo. He had an easily understandable British accent when he spoke, “Are you Ms. Drae, perchance?” The woman glanced at the waiter. She simply nodded in response. “Right this way, ma’am.”
The waiter began to lead the duo to the reserved table. The young man looked at his leader in confusion. “Aylana… how’d he know that it was you?” Aylana, the woman, glanced back at the young man.
“Seems like we’re being expected, or he saw us walk in from a distance,” she replied. The young man still showed visible discomfort about the waiter recognizing them so quickly. “Don’t worry about it Jod. I don’t have a good feeling about this either. Besides… you have my pistol, right?” As she spoke to the young man, her voice became hushed, as the waiter may overhear. The man, Jod, nodded in confirmation. Aylana glanced ahead of the waiter, and there she saw the rival leader.
Her stomach turned at the sight of him, and in her heart, fires of anger and emotion welled up. She clenched her left fist, but she was well aware that a knuckle sandwich would only ruin this meeting. The redhead released her tensed fist, and crossed her arms instead. The waiter stood next to one of the chairs to pull it out for Aylana. He glided the chair out with little noise being made. Unfortunately, this seat was next to the rival gang leader. However, Aylana knew that she had little choice in the matter.
She sat in the extended chair, and immediately crossed her legs. Her eyes were set on the man who sat next to her, and his snake-like grin. Her blood boiled. She knew this was not going to end well, even if the food was gonna be good.
Jacob Delaque was a well known food critic in 1982. He had worked hard to become popular which all started with his education at Berkeley. Here he networked very well and got his first job tasting foods and rating them on a scale from 1-10. He was successful because none of the restaurant workers knew of him, so it was not expected. There were no employees trembling in fear and doubt when he walked in. He was treated as a regular customer here and he liked it. There was no special treatment because he was the critic.
A well known story of Delaque’s is at the Barb Key. This place started off as a joint when Delaque’s came to critique their food but it was very popular and had friendly service. It was an old burger shack with a lot of fame over their cheese. Delaque knew he had to go and try their cheeseburgers and chili cheese nachos! He remembers walking in and seeing the sweaty workers move at a pace of life in the city. Barb Key normally had people self serve their condiments as well as finding a table to eat. Think of it as a loud and busy courtyard with only one fast food place to eat. The joint was built like an old trailer with only a kitchen inside. You could see the smoke rise from the roof as it was steamy and hot inside. The smell attracted many new customers near by. Delaque’s remembers the first bite into his juicy burger. The cheese dripped off the burger as well as all the grease but the best part was the crunchy lettuce and onion. It all tasted so fresh. The buns were toasted but not to the point it was burnt brown. Barb Key’s was rated an eleven out of 10, the experience was delightful. Jacob Delaque still goes as often as he can.
The young woman fidgeted in place, she was waiting to be tend to in a new restaurant that her co-workers recommended. It was a small cozy place, with dimmed lights covered with red glass; the blue seats looked worn and the tables had beautiful stained glass pieces decorating the top of them. This woman did not take kindly to new places or with new people and was nervous about ordering, asking herself what if she didn’t like the food there? What if she made a fool of herself?
A young waiter, about the same age as herself with his hair was slicked back and his uniform rumpled, came over to her. “How may I help you today?” His voice was soft and some what calming, as if he was able to tell that she was nervous. “Uhhh… May I have your special please?” Her voice came out faint as she realized she hadn’t chosen her meal as her thoughts were occupied by her nervousness. The waiter flashed her a friendly smiled before going off to place her order.
It was going to take a while so decided to look around the restaurant once more in order to kill some time. There were a few other patrons lingering about over at the small bar, many were older than her and male. The bartender looked bored and forced a smiled every time one of the patrons talked to him. A few other waitresses were hanging around near the small entrance to the kitchen, chatting and most likely gossiping. There was a scent in the air that she did not notice before, it was appetizing and mouth watering; it was similar to meat cooking but with a hint of spices and something she couldn’t recognize.
She didn’t realize the waiter had placed her plate in front of her. “Enjoy your meal.” He told her, walking off before she could thank him. She realized that she did not know what exactly she ordered and scanned her meal. It was a decently sized juicy steak that looked well-done, a side of creamy mashed potatoes and a separate small plate for her green salad on the side. A pot of warm water, a cup, and a few packets of tea was placed on her table. She smiled to herself, happy with her meal, then dug in.
I like how you created the setting around your character!
Lauren was a mischievous person you never knew what her next motive was. After every person she killed you would catch her back at the same diner not far from her house. It reminded her of when she was young and she was having the time of her life with her lover. She didn’t want to think about her let alone couldn’t as it would just break her heart even more since it brought constant pain; constant misery and constant memories to re-appear. “Hello” the waitress asked for the third time already. “Oh my apologies” lauren responded. “It’s fine dear, what would you like to order?’’ Emily said as Lauren read it off her nametag. “Um.. can i get some fries with a milkshake please” the raven head girl said. “Sure thing coming right up” Emily walked away putting the order on the wheel. Lauren looked the small diner it was small but not too small it was actually quite comfortable to sit in. The retro lights giving light; but yet there is still darkness seeping in from the blinds hanging from the windows. Darkness was all that you could see from the inside besides the headlights passing by constantly; the passing cars, pots banging, and soft urban music playing in the background was so calming to her. But yet she still felt hurt; she knew that her lover wouldn’t be there with her or even with here, she’s gone for good and cant get her back. So now to feed her broken heart she hurts others instead.
She stumbled into the cozy, well-lit diner. Rain had just started cascading from the midnight skies and she found herself stuck with nowhere to shelter herself besides the endearing little diner on the corner of Mayberry street. The power had gone out and small tealight candles dotted the compact space. It looked as though there were flickering stars in her eyes from the reflection of the flames. Floral designs painted the walls and there was a warm feeling that overtook her body. A petite, fragile old woman walked over to her and offered her a booth in the corner.
“I’ve never seen you around before sweetheart, what are you doing out and about on such a cold, winter’s day?”
She refused to speak, she couldn’t tell this lady why she had ran away from home, why she had nowhere else to go. Her whole body shivered, goosebumps were sprinkled across her skin. The cold had taken over her body and her mind was in shambles.
“You don’t have to talk, It’s okay. I’ll just bring you a hot chocolate to warm you up.”
The hot chocolate was placed on the table in front of her. She shakily brought her frozen fingers up to the reindeer covered mug. Steam wafted into the air and brought the rosiness back in her cheeks. She took a careful sip, the piping hot liquid flowed down her throat. She felt her insides defrost and her heart start beating once again, though it never stopped. She turned her head to the window and pressed her now heated hand to the dewy glass. She felt a glow within herself, a feeling she hadn’t felt in a millennium.
I love how real this seems. The imagery and descriptiveness is absolutely amazing!
When it comes to my meals, I am a very picky person. I prefer the moderate of meals; burgers with cheese, ketchup with fries, topped off with a medium Coke. But all month long, I have been hearing ranting and raving about this cafe that just opened. Optimism struck and I decided to give it a try. Upon entering the place, a homeless man wearing a faded San Antonio Spurs hat asked me for change. I thought to myself, “That’s a good way to greet newcomers, filthy peasants waiting at the entrance to panhandle.” The aroma upon entering the establishment was a deluge of eggs, bacon, the crisping of breads, and steaming coffee. I went to the first open seat I seen. I was then greeted by a young petite blonde waitress; she was no older than 20. She seemed very positive and ditzy, she pulled a miniature notepad out, pen, and opened her ears to hear my order. I asked for a brief moment in order to browse the menu, the first item to catch my eye was the burger combo they had for $9.99. She quickly wrote my order and then proceeded to the next customer. I waited an annoying 15 minutes for my meal. When the dish was finally served to me, a heap of cow remains, dirty lettuce, a rotten, and a crunchy bun presented itself. I have never been so disrespected. I paid a hard earned $9.99 for this meal and they serve me complete garbage. I do not even bother complaining, I just pushed back my seat, pushed it back in, and headed for the exit.
As I walk through the front door I look around trying to find an empty table. The restaurant was extremely busy and it wasn’t long until a waiter came walking towards me with a friendly smile he gave me a hand gesture telling me to follow him. I was lead to an empty table clean with pure white covering. I sat down and asked for a drink. As I was waiting I realized the alluring smell of food . It was a nostalgic smell almost as if I went back in time waiting for my mother to finish with dinner. Once the waiter came back with my drink I asked “what was that smell coming from the kitchen?” The waiter told me that it was the chef’s signature dish. I immediately said “well i’ll have that then.” The waiter nodded and headed towards the kitchen. About six or seven minutes have passed by when I saw the waiter come back he was proudly holding this steamy plate of meat and vegetables. When the waiter sat the plate down I could hear the sizzle coming from the plate. It was a dish my mother would make for me when I was a kid I didn’t have to take a bite to know that i was going to love it.
Jaime doesn’t normally like to try new restaurants. She gets skeptical about trying new food, but today that changed. As she walked down Nuevo Avenue, she noticed the sky was the perfect shade of blue and the sun felt delightful on her sleeveless shoulders. Her off the shoulders yellow crop top made her stand out over every other person. The sidewalks were filled with tons of people, going into little shops and cafes. This town is known for all the glamours things it has to offer especially the enormous line at the Dine Inn. The Dine Inn has been around for years and never fails to have outstanding reviews on Yelp. Jaime knew since it was Saturday afternoon the line would get long as people crowded in for lunch and the wait would be unbearable. She decided to get a head start down the street, for she was only a couple blocks away. When she arrived she noticed the building looked very modern with glass doors, high ceilings with long lamps hanging down at almost every table. The tables were made of black and white marble and the chairs a matte black with a bouncy cushion for a seat. Jaime only had to wait ten minutes before she got a table since she was eating alone. The waitress gave her a large laminated menu and smiled ever so softly before she asked what she’d like to drink. She happily replied “Just water for now, please.” The waitress was stunning, with dark brown hair, a small little nose and a mole on the right side of her upper lip like Marilyn Monroe. She said “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to try one of our Monster Slam shakes?” Jaime hesitated to answer her. She was staring at the vivid pictures of the shakes on the menu which looked very delicious. The way the caramel drizzled on top of the fluffy whipped cream called to her and she said, “Actually yes I’d love to.”