Milton Erickson, Abused Children, and the "Always-a-Robin" Syndrome (Part One)

As any number of writing gurus suggest, and rightly so, details are crucial in quality fiction. But why? What makes a "telling" detail telling? What makes an evocative detail evocative?

I think there are several reasons. Today, let's analyze one.

1) Concrete details serve as triggers.

The human brain is fearfully and wonderfully made...far more complex than our most sophisticated computers. It has an amazing capacity to record--in detail--the events and experiences that make up our lives. But, as time goes by, our unused memories are shifted...first, piled haphazardly on the table of our minds. Later, tucked in folders and filed away. Finally, crated up and shoved into the back row of the dusty warehouse. Beyond that? Some shadowy Goblin drags them off to The Deep Vaults.

Where they are...lost?

No, not lost.

Maybe you've heard of discoveries during the early days of brain surgery, when doctors touched certain portions of the cortex with a probe, and clear, detailed memories pop back to the surface from long-term storage: "Oh, yeah. I remember my first day of kindergarten. I had pancakes with blueberry syrup that morning. My teacher wore a red blouse and a ladybug pin. The room was hot, and the blond-haired boy next to me had a runny nose and B.O. And a girl named Stacy with buck teeth was crying so hard, she threw up, and it looked like cottage cheese until the janitor came in and put that sawdusty stuff on it."

All that from touching a spot in the brain.

Why can't you remember all that information on your own? For that matter, why can't you remember where you put your car keys? The problem with memory is not Storage...It's Retrieval.

When we include specific, concrete detail in fiction, we figuratively "touch" a spot in the reader's brain, and trigger a synaptic burst. "Wires" that haven't connected in years pass a message from neuron to neuron, and dredge up a response from the vaults.

You, as the writer, won't often know exactly what the response will be. For each person, the associations and memories attached to that detail will be unique. Sometimes, a detail that means little (emotionally) to you, sparks a strong reaction in another. Or vice versa.

Show you how it works:

If I say, "cereal," does that do anything for you? Get your juices flowing?

Probably not. Unless you're hungry. As a stimulus, it's not likely to evoke much--too vague, too abstract, and I doubt if it lights up your cortex like a Christmas tree.

But if I say, "Freakies cereal," some of you break into a broad smile. If you were a kid in the early seventies...or if you were a parent then...you may remember Boss Moss, Hamhose, Gargle, and the rest of that wacky gang that lived in a tree--and you will associate that detail (the name of a now-defunct cereal brand) with emotions/recollections from that period of your life. You may suddenly remember details about a kitchen, or a breakfast table, or something that happened at that breakfast table, you haven't thought of in thirty-five years.

I mostly remember eating twelve thousand boxes of it, in the effort to gain a complete set of the plastic figurines. Oh, and I also ordered a Gargle t-shirt.

Memories and emotions are triggered by specific detail. And reaching the emotions is one of the primary goals of fiction--getting your readers to feel something.

Sometimes, the response is dramatic--the "aha" experience of hearing a forgotten song and being flooded with memories from that time period, or revisiting the exact place where you first heard the news about 9/11. More often the response is subdued, sitting below the threshold of perception, and it impacts the reader "below the waterline" as a hint or suggestion of mood.

Thunderstorms would be a good example: Most of us associate thunderstorms with drama or danger. Why? Even if you wouldn't describe yourself as "afraid of thunderstorms," you've probably witnessed intense, even frightening, storm cells. A nearby lightening bolt that made you jump and put your heart in your throat. Or that angry green sky boiling overhead and the swish of damaging winds.

Those memories, of which you may have no specific recall, are still down there in the vaults. Thus, Snoopy...along with countless other writers of Thrillers and Chillers, take full advantage of "dark and stormy night" settings to evoke something in the reader.

"Light up" your reader's brains with fascinating detail...then next time, we'll dissect another reason why details count.