I think we can all agree that show, don’t tell is, in fact, the most dreaded (and hated) phrase in the history of writing.
I know. But what does that really mean?
At its core, that advice points to one of the simplest truths about writing — everything we experience comes through our senses. The world is vivid to us because of what we see, hear, touch, taste, and feel. When your writing taps into those senses, your story becomes tangible.
And when it doesn’t, even the most inventive ideas can fall flat.
We all connect to our reality through these senses in various intensities. Using the senses will pull the story closer to reality, which is essentially what we want.
No matter how far off the real world your ideas are, they need to be sensually familiar to your reader. Otherwise, they would lose interest, and your story would cease to be relatable to them. Writing is usually about making people believe the story you’re telling them — and giving them a reason to stay and read more.
Sensory writing creates worlds your readers won’t want to leave.
1. The Art of Visual Anchors
Sight is the sense readers expect first. It sets the stage, frames the setting, and tells them where they are. But ‘seeing’ isn’t just about what something looks like — it’s about what it feels like to look at it.
Here are two simple examples:
The forest was dark and full of trees.
versus
The forest pressed in on her, trunks blackened by shadow, moss glinting faintly where the last scraps of sunlight bled through.
The second doesn’t just describe the forest — it gives it mood, shape, and depth. Sight provides your anchor, but emotion gives it life.
Quick Tip: Choose specific visual details. “Flowers” becomes “violet foxgloves heavy with dew.” Specificity turns a general image into something unforgettable.
2. The Soundtrack of a Scene
Sound transforms stillness into motion. It sets rhythm and atmosphere — the heartbeat of your writing.
Example:
The rain fell hard on the roof.
vs.
The rain drummed on the tin roof, steady as a heartbeat — a sound that filled the empty house with company.
With just a few sound cues, a scene that might have felt lonely now carries intimacy. Sound can build tension (the hum of fluorescent lights), create comfort (the crackle of a fireplace), or highlight silence — which can be even more powerful. It depends on what emotion you need to convey.
Quick Tip: Read your sentences aloud. If the rhythm feels right to your ear, it will read naturally on the page.
3. The Texture of Reality
Touch adds immediacy and intimacy. When your characters interact with the physical world, your readers experience it too. This is how we’re made. You should use it to your advantage.
Example:
The glass was cold in her hand.
vs.
The glass bit into her palm, an icy sensation running down her spine as she gripped it tighter.
Touch allows readers to inhabit your characters’ bodies — to feel their fear, anger, comfort, or pain. It makes emotion physical.
Quick Tip: One well-chosen tactile detail can anchor a scene. The grit of sand, the smoothness of silk, the bite of cold air — these sensations remind the reader that this is a real world.
4. Taste and Smell: The Shortcuts to Memory
Smell and taste are our most nostalgic senses. They bypass logic and go straight to emotion.
Example:
He remembered the market.
vs.
The smell of spice and smoke pulled him back to the market, where mangoes dripped with sugar and dust clung to his sweaty skin.
You can feel that memory, not just recall it. A single scent or flavor can carry the weight of time, longing, or home. And not only that. You want to know more. Want to know how that memory makes the character feel and why.
Quick Tip: Use these senses sparingly, but meaningfully. They should connect to emotion, not just exist for atmosphere.
A whiff of perfume, a hint of burned toast… the smallest detail can shift a reader’s mood instantly. Especially if those scents and smells also speak to them personally.
5. The Emotional Layer of Sensation
Beyond the physical senses, there’s feeling — the emotional echo behind what the character perceives.
Example:
The cold wind cut across her face.
vs.
The wind made her feel hollow — like it could scrape the warmth out of her bones if she stayed too long.
You move from describing the external to illuminating the internal. The difference between seeing a storm and feeling it. This is a common human habit: to emotionalize facts.
Quick Tip: Let emotion emerge through the body. Instead of ‘he was nervous,’ show the taste of bile, the twitch of fingers, the weight of silence. Your readers will recognize the feeling without being told.
The Secret to Depth
The real magic happens when you blend two or more senses. Our brains are wired for multi-sensory experiences — your writing should reflect that.
Example 1:
The bread was warm and soft.
Now add sound and smell:
The crust crackled as she tore it open, steam rising with the sweet, yeasty smell of comfort.
Example 2:
The city was loud.
Now add sight and touch:
Neon bled into puddles, horns blared in the fog, and the air tasted faintly of metal.
You don’t need to use all five senses in every scene. Two is usually enough — one to ground, one to enrich.
Avoiding Common Description Mistakes
Even strong writers can overdo or underdo sensory writing. Here are some pitfalls to watch out for:
Mistake 1: Overloading the senses
Too many sensory details can confuse the reader. Choose the ones that serve the story.
Mistake 2: Description without purpose
Ask what your detail does. Does it build mood? Reveal character? Support emotion?
Mistake 3: Ignoring character perspective
What a character notices tells us who they are. A soldier hears more than he sees. A painter notices color before sound. Description doubles as characterization.
Mistake 4: Skipping the senses in emotional scenes
Big emotional moments need grounding, too. Instead of summarizing (she was heartbroken), use sensations (her throat burned/the four walls of the small room were caving in and suffocating her).
Senses as Bridges Between Reader and Story
Readers don’t just want to visualize your story — they want to experience it. The senses are your bridge between imagination and reality.
We all know what warmth, hunger, smoke, or laughter feel like. When you describe them vividly, you invite the reader to live inside your character’s skin.
(That rule makes an exception if you would be writing a neurodivergent character or someone on the spectrum, and that’s a whole different subject of discussion. )
But in the end, that’s the goal of fiction: not just to show a world, but to translate it into feeling.
Bringing It All Together
A good description doesn’t mean ornate writing or endless adjectives. It means recognition. A recognizable pattern. A familiarity. It means that for one second, your reader smells the salt in the air, feels the ache in the wind, or hears the crack of ice underfoot — and believes it.
Even the most fantastical world needs sensory truth. Whether your story unfolds in a sunless kingdom, a neon city, or on the edge of the galaxy, your reader must feel it as something familiar.
That’s how the mundane becomes emotional. Because when they can see it, hear it, and feel it — they believe it.
And when they believe it, they stay.