Last night while writing away I came up with this gem:
"Walking into the room was like walking into a sock."
Possibly the best (read: worst) simile I have ever written.
I could attribute this wonderful turn of phrase to the fact that there were some serious distractions in my apartment at the time. Or maybe it had something to do with the half inch of sour mash Tennessee whiskey I was sampling... But mostly likely it has to do with the fact that I'm running out of ideas.
You see, in my book I go to a lot of parties and all these parties look pretty similar in my memory. I'm starting to struggle to describe them and set the scene properly without becoming repetitive and boring. So that's how I end up comparing a party to the inside of a sock: warm, dark, a little fuzzy.
I've really got to expand my repertoire of similes because I'm only a few chapters into writing this book and there are lots more parties and nights at the bar to describe.
So I thought I'd bounce around a few ideas here on the blog and see how they do.
Here we go:
Walking into the room was like...
... plunging into a cup of Tim Horton's coffee. Dark, a little acidic, inexplicably waxy.
... walking down a subway tunnel. Uncertain of where you might end up. In constant fear of sudden death.
... walking into a damp basement. Full of strange smells and creatures you hope never to touch.
... venturing into a cave. Empty, full of echoes. Pathetically anti-climactic.
So what do you guys think? Do I have a Nobel Prize coming my way?