How Detail and Context Work Together in Fiction Writing

We're currently stuck in the rain on a broken boat in eastern France, so whiled away an afternoon in Strasbourg. In the cathedral we spotted this mason's moment of madness, or sentimentality, or rebellion, or joie de vivre...

This little dog is tucked away at the back of the pulpit. The first picture I took just showed the animal, until it occurred to me that you need some of the surroundings in order to give a sense of perspective and proportion, to get an idea of just how sweet the little fellow is.

The same is true with writing: detail on its own doesn't really work - you need context as well, as this gives the reader the tools with which to interpret the detail you are describing. If you show a character performing an act of extraordinary kindness in isolation, it means less than if we have some yardstick to judge the action by. Perhaps your character is usually cruel and unfeeling, so this kindness has significance; perhaps they have never been show kindness themselves; perhaps the kindness is a means of achieving something in return.

Detail is important, but you can maximise the effect of it by showing it in a wider context.

Bow wow wow...

It Ain't What You Say...

...it's the way that you say it, as the song says, and in this instance, the song is right.  To prove this to yourself, write a passage of dialogue between two people.  Keep the speech as neutral as you can and then inflect it with meaning by describing how  the characters are speaking - expend your energy and word power on the context of the exchange.

When you have done this,  rewrite the scene keeping the dialogue identical, but changing the way in which your characters behave.  See how radically different you can make the two versions. I remember reading somewhere that only seven per cent of communication between two people is verbal, so have some fun exploring the other ninety three percent.

Six Characters in Search of a Different Reaction

Mostly I think of doors, or gates, or entrances in general (which by now you will know that I love), as enticing. A worn and flaking door is an invitation, freighted with possibilities, or even with secrets...

But not this one. This is a kind of fortification, something that repels and excludes.  It is haughty and divisive.  All of which brings me on to my thought for the day: how the same thing can be seen differently by different people in different situations, although it's not just about context, it's also about how the viewer (or the reader) draws on their own experience to inform what they are looking at or reading. In any given situation there are a number of different forces at work, so if you are writing a scene, you need to think how the participants will respond to it, given their temperament and history. 

Try this little experiment: describe a number of different people walking past a door (why not?) and explore the various reaction was they might have.  One walks past it without noticing it, they are too absorbed in their own stuff; another slows down, stiffens, crosses to the far side of the street glancing back over their shoulder; a third leans against it because the surface is warm, and eats an apple; a fourth tries the handle, but when the door, opens shuts it swiftly; a fifth faults over it; a sixth, checking that no one is watching, whips out a can and sprays graffiti over it...

If you can do this with inanimate objects, orchestrating responses to characters or events will seem much easier, and the variety and subtlety you will be able to bring to your work will make your writing infinitely richer.