When I first started writing my goal was and still is a: If I can’t buy a book just like I’ve always wanted I’ll make one.

Little did she know how hard (and fun) this would be… XD Mr. King is right we bleed for this.

I got to going over my second book’s shopping trip as you talked about shopping, making sure I didn’t screw it up. I think I managed to make it different enough to pass the “weird” test. Great articles in this blog make me do that all the time. 1900 woman dropped into 2005, taken shopping by his personal assistant to the big shopping center (Galleria in Houston), treated to Neiman Marcus clothing (the guy she’s seeing is exceedingly rich), then taken to Victoria’s Secret (oh no, I am NOT that kind of woman…). I think I did okay with it.

My only complaint: damn it, I just named a great character Seraphina! Before I read your blog. She’s better than yours (of course) and will be fun to write. And no, I’m going to keep the name.

Wonderful blog entry as usual. Thanks!

I definitely won’t make that mistake again, though. Lesson learned. This is a great article to refer back to so I can suss out the less obvious versions.

That spree really is writing with only one goal, Mary Sue wish-fulfillment at its most indulgent. Of course it’s easy to let it slip in. And you do a superb job of showing the elements a scene should have had instead– real plot relevance, or conflict in the moment, or at least keeping control over the details’ length (and their accuracy for the world!). A scene should serve the story, the story isn’t there to gush out the scene.

I will say this: shopping and dressing up sounds like it *could* have a place in the drama. They could be a “hope spot,” that shows off that our heroine has finally gotten a break plus has a chance to move forward even more with the plot. (A very male version might the “lock and load sequence” of strapping on guns for a fight ahead.) But, we ought to remember, it’s a spot *between* the scenes where something happens, or else there’s something specific flaring up right then.

A fantasy shopping spree might be a nice place to live. But in a story, we only want to visit there, and get ON with it.

Exactly! It’s not a crime to offer a brief description of what a character is wearing – especially if it’s relevant. I mean, we want the readers to be able to picture the characters in their heads. If I say a character is wearing grungy jeans and an old grey sweater, that invites you to think of the days when all you want to wear is grungy jeans and an old grey sweater. It helps the reader identify with the mood of the character.

The Hunger Games is a great example of how fashion and clothing is used as a scaffolding for conveying the emotions, class systems, scarcity, and psychology of characters.

Also, hand off the salmon-pink satin/tulle dress! It’s MINE! LOL

Never underestimate your ability to find an occasion to use the word ‘parure!’ In fact, I am throwing it down as a challenge! Use parure in conversation at least once by the end of this week and report back :p

Sure, there’s a good bit of description of clothing in The Hunger Games novels, but it works for a couple of reasons. A, Katniss would rather be wearing her dad’s hunting jacket, and readers already know that. B, the clothes tend to be symbolic and/or related to the plot. C, she has conflicting feelings about wearing the described clothing because it usually means she has some ordeal or other coming up within a few pages. There’s a way to do clothing description, but you’re absolutely right that Cinderella Goes to the Ball is definitely not the way.

(But dang, I still want that salmon-pink satin/tulle dress. I didn’t have a THING to wear this Halloween.)