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A Smiling Simile

3/13/2021

 
​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:

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.

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.

From The Sheltering 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.

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. 

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