For this week’s prompt, I challenge you to use all five senses to describe your car. Sometimes, we overlook potential inspiration because we are too familiar with it. So sit in your vehicle of choice and write down what your senses take in. If you can work in taste, bonus points! The above photo is me in my Mom-mobile. Here’s what I sensed:
Sound: Windshield wipers working, Christian rock song on radio, kids chatter
Sight: Dust (My car really needs dusted and vaccuumed). Mystery book on dash. CDs on shelf. Dash illuminated. Driving through gray countryside as wet snowflakes fall.
Smell: Nothing special, although I have a terrible sense of smell.
Touch: Smooth steering wheel. Slick finish on dash controls.
Taste: Water and mint gum. (I usually carry those supplies in my car.)
Now how can I work these observations into a scene?
The windshield wipers whipped back and forth, back and forth, as the singer crooned on the radio a ballad.
My son said nothing.
What was wrong? Caden was always so chatty when I picked him up from school. Now all he did was trace lines in the dust on the dash.
The smooth steering wheel slid through my hands as I made the turn in our SUV.
“So what did you and your friends talk about at lunch today?” I said.
He shrugged, unwrapping a stick of wintergreen gum. “Stuff.” He scrunch down in the bucket seat.
The next song began in an upbeat tempo. But the atmosphere inside our SUV was anything but.
For more prompts using all five sense, click here. And here’s a post from Seekerville about appealing to the senses when describing a scene.
How would you describe your car using all five senses?
You’re so good at this! Here’s my attempt (I thought back to my farmhand days in high school to remember the feel of a farm truck):
I don’t know which feels worse in my face, the blazing heat or the dust. I give in to the dust and roll down the window, a window that still operates from a crank, which totally rips open my blister. As this pile they consider a truck ambles through the cow pasture, I hear the dry grasses wisping together in the breeze. And then I smell it. It, which makes me roll the window back up. My new boss tries to hide his grin at my culture shock. Two weeks ago I was still a movie director’s daughter, dining with luxury. Now I’m on a reality show, From LA Skies to Cow Pies, so everyone can laugh at me. Actually, it’s so Dad can save money on his newest show and hopefully keep us afloat. When he first asked me, I said I’d do almost anything for us. I was thinking surfboards and sunscreen, maybe skipping a pedi if things really got tight. I was not thinking become a ranch hand in Texas with ten other girls, all of them snootier than me. Begrudgingly, I take a tentative bite of a turkey sandwich from a lunchbox, which I didn’t know existed beyond movie props. It tastes like dirt. I want to spit it out the window, until I see the camera honed in on my face. I give a thumbs up and roll my eyes. That’s when a cow sticks her massive head through the window and licks my hair.
I love it! I love how you let the reader know up front the situation. What’s even better is that I could see this being an actual show. (That’s better for your writing, but I think it’s worse for our reality). The title is perfect. I can believe I would find that title as I was scrolling through the TV guide.