Susan Palmer's Exquisite Now

Writers have borrowed a trick from artists, writing en plein air, outside, making observations and jotting notes the way that painters take canvas, paints and easel out to capture what they see.

Books and websites about plein air writing are plentiful, with tips, gear and strategies.

I’ve found value both in writing and drawing this way. Mostly I write, but drawing requires me to linger in observation. Since I don’t have natural skill or formal training in art, I’m slow and plodding. When I do take time to draw, what I’ve seen remains embedded in my brain.

Besides going outdoors, I also like a coffee shop or restaurant or other public place for writing down details of people: faces, hands, the way people move, clothing choices. This has served me well when I’m creating characters, imagining how they look, how they move.

As artists already know, the more you write from life, the more your writing is lifelike, three dimensional and not lying flat on a page.

Here’s an example from John Le Carre’s novel “Smiley’s People.” I love how he uses the physical description of this character and the way she moves to impart details about her life and personality as well.

“A stocky woman of about fifty, carrying a shopping bag, emerged from the darkness of an old warehouse and set off, full of her usual energy and purpose, along the pavement to the bus-stop. …The heat, fouled by exhaust fumes and unwashed by the slightest breeze, rose at her like the heat from a lift-shaft, but her Slavic features registered no complaint. She was neighter dressed nor built for exertion on a hot day, being in stature very short indeed, and fat, so that she had to roll a little in order to get along. Her black dress, of ecclesiastical severity, possessed neither a waist nor any other relief except for a dash of white lace at the neck and a large metal cross, well fingered but of no intrinsic value, at the bosom. Her cracked shoes, which in walking tended outwards at the points, set a stern tattoo rattling between the shuttered houses. Her shabby bag, full since early morning, gave her a slight starboard list and told clearly that she was used to burdens. There was also fun in her, however. Her grey hair was gathered in a bun behind her, but there remained one sprightly forelock that flopped over her brow to the rhythm of her waddle. A hardy humor lit her brown eyes. Her mouth, set above a fighter’s chin, seemed ready, given half a reason, to smile at any time.”