Back in September, I published Emotional Beats: How to Easily Convert your Writing into Palpable Feelings. As promised, I will be posting the book on my blog. So, here is the next installment, starting Part 3 of the book: Other Beats. As this is a rather long section, I’m breaking it into two posts.

Analogies, Metaphors, and Similes

Emotional Beats | From the blog of Nicholas C. Rossis, author of science fiction, the Pearseus epic fantasy series and children's books

Read for free with KU

A good analogy is harder to find than… erm… well, it’s pretty hard. Unless you have these to help:

  • She slammed against the chair, her adrenal system upgrading from zoned out to Defcon 1.
  • The idea of being that close to her hit him like a shot of tequila in a Red Bull.
  • She’s crazier than a sackful of raccoons.
  • It was as futile as carrying water with a knife.
  • The food was spread out like a Thanksgiving feast.
  • Her comfort zone retreated into darkness, waving farewell with a lace handkerchief.
  • His voice was soft as a feather, yet cold as a hungry tomb.
  • Her mouth worked soundlessly, the words unable to permeate her brain. Instead, they bounced around her skull like rogue Ping-Pong balls.
  • Her apartment looked like a tornado had blown through it and left a couple frat brothers behind.
  • Her red blouse was a favorite—the shredded material looked like a yeti had tried to make out with her.
  • She had her kitten motor on purr.
  • He moved his mouth around her finger as if he were sucking on a piece of candy.
  • She was smiling so hard, the corners of her mouth were getting introduced to her ears.
  • Fortunately, he cleared his throat, which pulled her back from the lust ledge just in time, before she swan-dived right into the Abyss of Really Bad Ideas.
  • It’s going to start raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock, so let’s cut to the chase.
  • The words rang through her head like a cymbal crash.
  • …coming from her mouth gave the words a wasp-sting-like quality.
  • The pleasant smell wafted toward me like a snowflake carried by a gentle breeze.
  • He swore up and down and in every compass direction he was innocent.
  • She climbed the stairs with less grace than a drunken hippo.
  • She moved toward him like a skinless snake on broken glass.
  • A gossamer dress so fine, that spiders might have sewn it.
  • The memory faded from her head like last night’s dreams.
  • Trees with skeletal limbs, badly in need of a trim, scraped against slate, like oaken nails on the lid of a coffin.
  • He looked at the fancy balusters, like young girls at their first dance, all curves and waists and giggles.
  • Paintings in vibrant colors covered walls, like small windows into faraway scenery.
  • He vanished, like a movement one catches with the corner of their eye, but disappears when they turn.
  • The thought dissipated like morning fog at the rising of the sun.
  • Soldiers scurried about like ants swarming from a heap.
  • They scurried in a frenzy like the desert lizards do when people interfere with their sunbathing.
  • The image melted away like mist before the sun.
  • Anger like sharp barbs formed on her words.
  • The idea melted inside her head like an ice cube on an August sidewalk.
  • He sprang up as quick as a sucker punch to a blind man’s nose.
  • Whispers buzzed though the crowd’s tight huddle like hungry mosquitoes in search of a crimson meal.
  • She pranced about like a newly-minted deity demanding worship from somebody—anybody.
  • He trailed back to her, like a scared hound hoping for table scraps.
  • His eyes went as wide as a pair of pies cooling on a windowsill.
  • The words tumbled from her lips like loose pebbles bent on disturbing still waters.
  • His face blurred like a funhouse mirror.
  • His head bobbed like his neck was hanging from a string.
  • Insults fell like rocks from an angry mob seeking revenge.
  • His head gave in to a tilt that made him look like a hound hearing a whistle for the first time.
  • She wondered who had managed to coax a little sugar from that old pillar of salt.
  • She rose like a hornet got her on the backside.
  • I trickled inside the room like a slow leak.
  • Sweet melody dripped from her perfect lips like nectar from a flower. I swear I could almost smell the jasmine behind the soft words.
  • Her hands trembled like an old drunk, fresh on the wagon.
  • Her heart banged inside her chest like a tiger raging against the cage that stole its freedom.
  • Ideas like butterflies fluttered around her head.
  • Her fists drew up like angry stones.
  • His grin came lopsided, like the two sides of his face couldn’t agree on any one particular expression.
  • A smug grin took perch on her thin red lips like an ugly vulture.
  • He picked her to pieces, like plucking the wings off a nasty old fly.
  • All her words grew wings like moths and fluttered a-loose of her head.
  • She drifted back to her cot like a pale wisp of smoke.
  • She spat his name from her mouth like a sharp tack.

Next week: Part 2 of Analogies. View all posts on the subject, or buy the book on Amazon – free on KU!

%d bloggers like this: