This past Christmas “break,” I re-watched a season 2 episode of Friends where Phoebe’s song Smelly Cat was turned into a music video. As is normal for me when presented a nonsensical song, it ended up running on loop in my brain for days afterwards. Since my brain refused to let that particular ditty go, I allowed it to go to town analyzing the lyrics (which are more fleshed out in that particular episode), and I realized the only reason listeners know that the cat smells bad is because the song specifically tells us so. We’re told that no one cares for it. That no one takes it to the vet. But other than that, there are no key details that evoke a sense of smell (let alone a fully realized image of what this poor kitty might look like).
What a great example of telling instead of showing!
When it comes to our five senses, smell is kind of like the baby toe. We don’t realize how much we rely on it until we can’t use it—either temporarily or long-term—during an illness or because we’ve suffered an injury to our nose. Like our other senses, the ability to taste or smell something will evoke a sense of pleasure or disgust. Like certain sounds, certain smells will also evoke strong memories.
Consider how a whiff of cologne or perfume can bring up memories of an old crush, or of a loved one who’s left this world too soon. For some, a particularly pungent scent can trigger an instant headache and thus ruin what started out as a perfectly lovely day.
In our writing, scents can serve as a strong anchor for a scene. The sickly sweet smell of burned wiring and plastic would alert our characters (and the reader) of danger, whereas the warm scent of cinnamon and sugar might conjure up a sensation of home and safety. As in life, whether or not a character feels safe will largely impact how they respond to other stimuli and the people around them.
Let’s put this theory to work!
The following text is an excerpt from an unpublished MG story I wrote many years ago. I chose a combination of smells based on an unpleasant discovery while clearing out the church van at the end of a hot summer filled with near-weekly youth outings. I have no idea how long that uneaten lunch had been overlooked back there, but I’ll spare you the gory details!
“It’s him!” Caiden started running toward the trees growing along the ridge surrounding the lake. “It’s the man from the castle!”
Caiden ignored Fern’s distant calls to wait up. This was his chance to prove he hadn’t imagined seeing a stranger lurking in the shadows during the state dinner two nights ago. Someone was following them, and he intended to find out why.
A sharp CRACK, like the sound of a boulder being split in half, echoed across the lake. And just like that, the stranger was gone.
Caiden slid to a stop next to a young noble fir and looked around it. Nothing. That’s when he noticed the smell. It reminded him of boiled eggs that had been left in the sun for a month, and then mixed with two-week-old bacon grease and rotten sprouts. He gagged and stepped back. A swan lay dead at his feet; its once regal body covered in oddly shaped growths and a thick coating of orange goo.
“Caiden!” Fern’s voice grew closer.
Caiden tried to wave his best friend back, but he slipped in the soggy gook staining the grass as he turned. His feet slid out from beneath him and, before he could shout for help, he fell backward, rolling down the rocky bank straight toward the lake. His hands scrambled to grab hold of anything as he slid further and further down the steep bank. Then, just before he hit the water, he finally caught hold of a straggly pine clinging to the ridge as if its life depended on it.
“Ugh!” buried his nose in his overstretched arm, trying not to lose his grip on the rough pine, as a fresh wave of nausea rolled over him. The lake water swished up and down the bank in soft rolling waves, but it had a sickly tint to it that he hadn’t noticed while up on the ridge. The edge of one wave brushed against the toes of his shoes, leaving an oily stain on the leather soles.
Whatever was coating the water smelled exactly like the dead bird.
It’s your turn!
Think of a scene you’re currently working on. Where are your characters and what are they doing?
Now pick a scent or odor that one might expect to encounter in that situation and make that the anchoring sensation.
How does that smell affect your character’s emotional state? Does it add a bit of nostalgia or romantic tension? Is it relaxing or invigorating? Or does it put them on edge and make them snippy or irritable with those around them?
Now grab hold of that scent and emotional state and show us how both are impacting how your characters respond to the immediate world around them.
Write boldly and with courage, my friend!
—Jen