Imagine yourself in a place you like to be and then a place you do “not” like being (doesn’t have to be an actual real place).
Place I like:
When meditating you’re often told to find a place you like to go, real or imaginary. I like to image a tiny meadow, with lush green grass, like a cushion over the earth. Everything has the supersaturated colour scheme that happens after it rains and the sun is muted behind a sky full of whitening clouds. Their are big verdant trees on the outskirts but none of them cast shadows inside the meadow. There are toadstools scattered about with their ivory white bases and scarlet red caps dotted with creamy yellow spots. There’s also a baby dear in the meadow, she walks up to me as soon as I appear and licks my cheek before wondering off to graze (this actually happened to me the first time I met a dear, I was so delighted).
The ground beneath me is always cosy, soft and dry and the sun shines down making me feel gloriously toasty warm. Sometimes theirs a large armchair in the meadow with me. One large enough to curl my legs up under me, with big wings on the sides (not the type for flying), they’re firm but cushioned and perfect for resting your head against. The fabric is soft cotton without any joins and buttons to dig into you. It’s smooth and comfortable, perfect for a gentle snooze.
This is a place on contentment, peace, free of fear and stress, it just makes you want to breath deeply, filling your lungs with the fresh air. The out breath causes your entire body to relax, your shoulders drop, your head becomes heavy and wobbly, your muscles unbunch and everything unpleasant just melts away.
Place I don’t like:
The place I don’t like is cold and I can hear noises like the scuttling of tiny feet. Cob webs cling to you whenever you move and your skin tingles like something is crawling on your flesh. Somewhere there are small cracks that let in gusts of freezing cold air that cuts right into your bones, but you can’t locate them exactly and you have nothing to fill them if you could.
You have no concept of time, no idea how long you have been here, when you arrived or if you will ever leave. You’re also constantly hungry and thirsty. Your throat dry and rasping when you swallow.
The light is a sort of perpetual dusk, your eyes have trouble adjusting to the shifting levels of light and dark and you can’t see things clearly until you’re on top of them. This place makes your skin crawl and shivers like sharp pinpricks spread down your arms at every movement.
You’re brain feels cloudy, it’s hard to think or see clearly and your constantly feeling unsettled, unable to rest, to sit down for even a moment. You’re so exhausted you just want to lay down and sleep but fear of what lurks in the shadowy corners keeps you on you’re feet and moving.
Think how you can use this to develop ideas for writing
Oh I can clearly see how this is of benefit to writing. Being able to just take a moment to think about the setting, the surroundings your characters find themselves in, really being able to visualise that scene in detail, and then to pull those images out of your mind and into written words is exactly how a story can be brought to life, made to feel real for the reader.
I don’t like it when every last detail, down to the type of stone used to construct the walls, is piled onto the pages of a novel, but you really feel a part of your characters world when the author gives you a few visual cues, adds in a little auditory stimulation and just a little something to tickle your nose.