A Smiling Simile

​Writing is both wondrously fulfilling and endlessly challenging. I am always trying to improve my craft. I find it all fascinating: character development, pacing, plot twists, grammar, dialog, and setting. Nothing, however, captures my attention more than similes (a metaphor that uses 'like' or 'as'). Perhaps it's because I adore the imagery they create, but I also find them so very hard to write! Spotting this weakness early on, I endeavor to write them into all of my novels simply to grow that skill. So, smile for awhile as I review some similes from the Barrington Bay series:

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From The Stars Prevail:

• Remy set her jaw, planted her feet, and yanked upward like a strongman hoisting a barbell.
• Mayor Bronton’s head bobbed like that of an excited quail.
• Toby tried to calm the bug-eyed woman as she fluttered about like a hen eluding the fox.
• He caught a glimpse of her crimson scarf flapping like a military banner as she forged through the crowd.
• Remy shared her news like it was a sumptuous Sunday cake.
• The service room door creaked like an old man’s bones when Paul pressed upon it.

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From The Tide Turns:

• She grinned like a child with a new toy. He frowned like a parent discouraging mischief.
• He wagged his finger at Tremaine like an excited terrier’s tail.
• He didn’t want to deal with the VSC volunteers who wore loneliness like a Sunday hat.
• Paul placed his fingertips on his shouldered walkie-talkie as if to summon the Inspector like a vengeful genie from a magic bottle.

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From The Sacred Stones:

• She tossed the tidbit to the waiting elders like a crust lobbed at gathered gulls.
• The poor girl wore her grief like a mourner’s shawl.
• Remy screamed like a banshee in the night.
• He’d love to share secrets with this woman who still held him at arm’s length like a soiled nappy.
• Her laughter was a tender trill of notes that fell like a refreshing mist in a wooded glen.
• She wore her upset like an ugly hat.

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After penning my third novel, I came up with the quintessential simile. It rattled around in my head—like a loose marble—for two days before settling into place on the page:

• The village of Reeth itself was worn at its heels, relying upon strands of colorful bunting to add a spot of glamour to its dowdy appearance like a wrinkled dowager wearing luminous pearls.