When writing, people often overlook how something feels to the touch, paying most attention to sounds (dialogue) and appearances (description/characterisation). Look around, there are hundreds of textures all around you. As I sit here, I can spot some of my favourites. Titch is sitting on the arm of the sofa next to me, every so often leaning her soft, black, furry little head towards my hand and giving it a few licks. I love the feeling of Titch’s little pink sandpaper tongue on my hand.
My hairbrush sits abandoned on the coffee table. I like the feeling of its bristles pulling the tangles in my hair free. On the window sill there’s a crystal vase of yellow roses. They remind me of the walks I often take through the Princes Street gardens. Sometimes, as I pass the flowerbeds, I run my hand along to petals. They’re soft, but have a sort of glossy, almost slick feel to them.
The other day I got caught running in the rain. I was freezing, tired and my fingers were numb, but I could feel every muscle in my body working, even the sting from the sweat and water running into my eyes was worth it. I love the feeling of rain on my skin.
On the other arm of the sofa, my suede jacket is draped over a sofa cushion. It’s too thin for the approaching winter, but I still love the softness of the outer shell. I try not to think of where it came from.
All of these textures, pleasant or not are worth remembering and noting. Here’s a secret, my favourite feeling is a hug.
Try this, look around the room. Describe an object by how it’s shaped and how it feels. See if you can do this to the point where someone can work out what you’re describing without spelling out what it is.