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’ve broken it into two posts.

Analogies, Metaphors, and Similes (Part 2)

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

• Ideas bounced inside his head like tiny rubber balls.
• He chewed on some idea or other, gnawing away as if they there were seeds or pulp.
• He hemmed and hawed, shuffled his feet like a petulant schoolboy who doesn’t want to confess a wrong deed.
• He sifted words like sand, trying to lessen a blow he never meant to administer.
• She could see the string dangling from his thoughts like a kite caught in a tree.
• Her nose went all wrinkled as if she had caught whiff of a raccoon long dead.
• His words hummed inside her head like a nest of angry hornets some fool poked with a stick.
• She swallowed courage by the glassful, letting the words slip through her lips.
• Her voice rang like a pealing church bell announcing the second coming.
• His eyes went wide and bright, as if in competition with the low-hanging moon.
• She didn’t know if she’d call fear, that sharp taste at the back of her throat, but his words swooped down on her like angry swallows coveting a barn.
• He dropped to the ground like a lead mannequin.
• Her hands were as cold as a hot-water bag in the morning.
• The stone was as cold as the drifting snow.
• Her belly was as cold as if she had swallowed snowballs.
• Her lips were as cold as the night winds.
• She floated onto the street like a ballerina on her big debut.
• He waved off her words like they were mosquitoes.
• Her gaze hit the floor like a dropped quarter.
• A rip along the bottom of her bag called to mind some battlefield casualty, like a veteran’s scar.
• He grinned like that ancient serpent, tricking foolish Eve all over again.
• He crept across the threshold like a mangy old mutt scrounging for the crumbs of yesterday’s supper.
• Liking her came as easy as sipping iced tea on a lazy August afternoon.
• Denials leaped from my tongue like watermelon seeds bent on winning a distance contest. But the words bumped one into another, falling into a pile at my feet.
• His cheeks pinked up real nice, like a schoolgirl’s.
• Smoke swirled up like a charmed snake from his pipe.
• Angry words buzzed through the room like hornets threatening with their barbed stingers those evicting them from their nest.
• She stood bare before him, a new Eve; a female Cain.
• She spun hard on me like a top that’s lost its center.
• His greed came awful heavy, like a wet wool blanket suffocating, snuffing out the light.
• My words fell dead and brittle like oak leaves in fall.
• His gaze took hold of her, searched her body up and down like she’d only just now appeared from the ether; a dream or a specter looking for something solid to rest upon.
• Secrets swirled around us like spirits of the dead looking in on sins of the living.
• Second thoughts poked and jabbed at him like a sharp stick.
• Long shadows like dirty fingers reached out from between darkened houses forever empty.
• Fear swallowed whole the curiosity I’d foolishly dared sport with.
• A familiar recollection filled the void in my head, spinning memories of…
• His voice came as soft as his brown-eyed gaze.
• He spewed demands as thick as black smoke.
• The little house sported airs of a petulant child demanding a treat despite its naughty doings.
• She rose like a hornet got her on the backside.
• A grin curled around her full lips like a lazy cat settling in a puddle of midday sunshine.
• They drifted inside the house like flotsam wandering away from the actual wreck.
• Nobody could snatch that smile from her lips.
• The darkening sky rumbled like an empty stomach.
• Her gaze sifted him like a handful of loose pebbles.
• He knitted wisdom to logic and strung a fine bunch of words together; lines carrying enough sway to spring a condemned soul from a death owed.
• A bead of sweat like a lover’s fingertip traced her spine beneath her blouse.
• Like a benevolent specter from the netherworld, he eased back into the inky black.
• Like a perfect ballerina, she pulled lazy pirouettes behind the true bones of his discontent.
• She drifted toward him like smoke.
• Footsteps in the stairs outside yanked her from the dirty little smudge of her naughty daydream.
• Her dress graced the floor with a pale blue splash like fallen sky. Discarded underpants conjured visions of puffy white clouds.
• He grinned at her like the devil grinned at Eve.
• His grin washed away like chalk drawings in a spring rain.
• Like quiet smoke, her body settled into the narrow scrap of space of the bathtub.
• A jumble of protests meant to plead his innocence came loose from my lips and fell to the floor, scattering into nothing worthwhile.
• Her silence pricked the sticky air and made it bleed.
• Silence sprinkled the room with its ancient dust.
• Silence, heavy as baled cotton, fell in around them, blotting out the happenings on the street.
• Her tongue went dry as toast; her tone cracked against the quiet air.
• He was as nosy as a heated tomcat.
• Suspicion turned the sticky air fearful.
• Lines of smoke swirled from his nostrils like dizzy snakes.
• Smoke, like twin phantom snakes, curled lazily from his nose. Demons they were, peeking through for a curious gawk at what lay ahead of her.
• Inky black butterflies gathered along the edges of her sight, whispering threats of putting out what little light remained.
• His words came out delicate, an easy saying wrapped in a whisper.
• Her words fell out a frantic mess, like frenzied bees shook loose of their hive.
• Her eyelids gave a flutter like brand new butterfly wings hoping for flight. She fixed on him through a lazy squint.
• His brow furrowed as if ideas bumped headlong into his mind.
• The words lingered in the space between them like the stench of something gone rancid in the heat.
• The name came sour against her tongue, sharp and jagged. She spoke it aloud and cringed at the taste.
• Hushed voices conspired like conniving schoolboys behind the thin door.
• His point jabbed me like the sharp end of a stick.
• The building was designed with a sort of enclosing roof, a Noah’s Ark on stilts, offering the added advantage it would forever be beyond the reach of floods.

Next week: Chairs, windows, and furniture. View all posts on the subject, or buy the book on Amazon – free on KU!

Emotional Beats: Analogies, Metaphors and Similes, Part 2

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