I promise I'll get back to the superbly superficial world of Cromwell and Boone soon, but until then here's an exercise suggested during a conversation with a friend.
Describe several characters, each in only two regular-length sentences. Try to pin down the character. What makes that person striking, or unusual? In a word: memorable.
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Mr. Becker had white hair. Not a distinguished silver, which would have better fitted his demeanor, but as white as his bathroom tile.
Within minutes I lusted for a hacksaw or brick. Anything to stop Yvonne's fingernails from tapping a punctation to the end of every sigh.
Some children bathed each day, some only weekly, but this little girl looked as if she'd been scrubbed every hour. Her skin was red and scabby, and her fingers had dried blood under each nail.
"It's a cliche, I know, to say she lights up a room. But, really, it's as if the sun was trapped in her smile."
Glen Takral wasn't just color-blind, but reason-blind. Today he wore a flannel shirt, leather pants, sandals and a yellow cardigan.
"You can't miss him. He's the dwarf scientist holding the fifteen pound turnip."
Each time he came home he did three things: checked that a piece of cellophane tape was unbroken, looked up at the ceiling, and put on a new cotton glove before touching the door knob.
"You weren't expected, mmmm, until seven o'clock," said Justine. "Please, ahhh, come right in, mmmm, and have a seat."
"Oh, yes, it was astonishing, profound work. Fabulous in its denouement."
There was no reason to continue. His pupils were periods, and his skin was parchment.
In the space of four minutes, she had hugged every man and shaken hands with every woman in the room. There was one exception: Frank Michelson, who warranted a peck on the cheek.
As it got closer to three-thirty, he more frequently wiped his hands on his slacks, and fiddled with his hair. Rather than helping, he ended up a shaggy mess.
Crafton Wheely knew inks, adored inks, spoke of inks to whomever would listen. His fondest dying wish was to drown by falling into a vat of India Number 15 Black.
Red hair, yellow teeth, blue pumps. Margie was his primary concern in every way.
To Morris, there was only one torture, and the new babysitter now levied it. Tickling.