What do you think of this description of setting? Does it make sense? Can you see it?

I had to walk over a high pile of giant grey pumice-like gravel to get to the entrance. Each chunk was a 2 inch radius of quasi-roundness, making each step a guaranteed wobble. Once I made it to the opening without losing my balance completely, I had to duck my head because the overhead was about a foot too low. There were two flights of steep steps, each about an inch too short, encased by the stone walls of the building. This made for a claustrophobic dare-devil climb. Making it to the door front felt like a small victory, and I wanted to do a little dance - but I controlled myself.





After ringing the bell, it was only a moment before I could hear the double locks being undone. It was the young maid who welcomed me inside by opening the tarnished dark wooden door a bit wider and immediately returning to the laundry.





I had just returned from a short errand to buy a cell phone recharge. This was my friend's house, and I had already been a guest for a week. It lacked the amenities of an American house, like a smooth sidewalk in a front yard and a proportionate entrance way, yet it felt like home.





This being an Indian household, I removed my sandals at the door where four other pairs of shoes were already lined up – each belonging to a family member. The first belonged to Didi, Hindi for elder sister, my friend Rajiv's aunt. She was in the kitchen, home on break from her clinic, making roti to eat with lunch. The second belong to Rajiv, my friend, who was in the toilet. The third pair belonged to Mummy, Rajiv's grandmother, who was in the lounge watching a Hindi soap opera, and the fourth belonged to the maid who was sitting on the floor in the shower stall washing clothes by hand.





The flat was not far from the railway station, and from the lounge window I could see the frequent passing of commuter trains. Better yet was the fact that no matter where I stood in the house, the trains could always be heard. I found this to be a strong selling point because the constant rhythmic passing of train cars had an ethereal calming effect.





In the guest bedroom was a door that led to a small balcony, big enough to sit 2 or 3 chairs. This was my favorite place to hang out. Standing on the balcony and looking below me was a line of squatter housing. It was one long row made from scrap wood and tarps where 4 or 5 families must have lived – each in a makeshift room about 4 and 1/2 meters wide. Rajiv enjoyed throwing the rubbish out onto the tops of the houses. He had no respect for them because they dirtied up his neighborhood and ruined his view. And if they made any noise at night the sounds could be heard vividly in the guest room often because the door was left open in the summer. Otherwise it would be too stuffy.





In India, everyone takes a nap together , so it wasn't unusual for Didi or Mummy to invite me to lay down beside them in the afternoons once lunch was over and soap operas were finished. It gets so ridiculously sticky hot in the summer that naps are a must if you want to reserve your energy and keep your sanity...

What do you think of this description of setting? Does it make sense? Can you see it?
So far I think it reads well, however, if you don't mind, I have a few suggestions. In the very beginning of the opening, I thought I was in an archaeological dig-- not approaching an Indian home. Perhaps if you made some small changes to this paragraph:





I had to walk over a high pile of giant grey pumice-like gravel to get to the entrance. Each chunk was a 2 inch radius of quasi-roundness, making each step a guaranteed wobble. Once I made it to the opening without losing my balance completely, I had to duck my head because the overhead was about a foot too low. There were two flights of steep steps, each about an inch too short, encased by the stone walls of the building. This made for a claustrophobic dare-devil climb. Making it to the door front felt like a small victory, and I wanted to do a little dance - but I controlled myself.





You could possibly eliminate this feeling. Perhaps talk about what the walls look like, what color are they, what does the entrance to the home smell like? Can you smell the roti the aunt is making? Make it appear more domestic, even in the struggle that the narrator is having to get to the stairs.





Beyond that, I'd suggest sticking to 1 unit of measure. In the first paragrah you use inches, later you use meters, use either metric or American measurements. I'd use meters since you are talking about India and it was once occupied by Great Britian.





Other than those minor things, I think it reads really well. If you want someone to read more of it, I'd be more than happy to. Indian culture fascinates me. Good luck!
Reply:I can see it, but its a little too much detail, and thus not a relaxing reading.
Reply:Wow! That's...very descriptive! But I must point out it's WAY TOO descriptive. In a writing forum I signed up for, a writer pointed out to me u don't need to describe everything unless that something was significant in the story. And we definitely don't need to know the measurements. Tone it down a little and try to shorten ur sentences. Short, sweet, and straight to the point seems to keep the reader going. (But don't forget u must be descriptive in some parts.) The three S's I call them!





I can tell u did a lot of research for ur story to know so much about India (unless of course ur Indian urself) and that's great! I love the way u described the Indian culture!





In the 4th paragraph, how would the speaker know where everyone is? (Especially since her friend is the RR?) If it's from the speaker's POV, u should only say things the speaker can see, and I highly doubt the speaker can see her friend going to the bathroom. ;)





Also, what kind of crowd are u aiming for? If this is for YA, I think ur too advanced. What is a quasi? No offense, I love this piece, but teen readers tend to turn off at big words they don't know unless they're persistant readers or the story excites them in a way. Work on using good words a YA should know, but don't go too advanced where u loose them.





Again, I really like this. Good work! I hope I helped u out a little bit. Good Luck with ur story!
Reply:I'll answer backwards, if I may. 1. I see it. 2. It makes cerebral sense. 3. It doesn't make sensory sense, that is (a) you are telling me about it, rather than showing it to me, (b) it is decorative rather than rooted in the story--explaining why people think it's too much description, and (3) it doesn't flow.





First see, smell, hear, touch and taste the place, yourself. Then ask yourself, if you were in a particular situation, that is, if you were going to see a friend or an enemy, if you were going to see if a corpse were there, or were going to a party and on, which of these senses would stand out to you? That way what you describe would be pertinent to your story, not random or decorative, and your descriptions would be actually told as you sense them, not as you desire to tell them to someone.





The way you're "setting" the setting seems to have nothing to do with what it is you're trying to say with your story or your characters. If we sensed that behind your description was a need to make us feel what the character is feeling, then it would flow, and it would have meaning. We'd want more and more of it, but instead the readers want less, because it has the ring of a real estate broker "describing" a place, rather than an artist or a character in real life "experiencing" it with the anticipation of what is going to happen there or what has happened there or why she's going there. In other words, the inner life of your story and your character must be hidden in what you choose to show--again, that is show, not tell.





You might consider studying metaphors and similes; they make the descriptions very personally yours, more beautiful, original and captivating, and they allow you to create a setting that has unique meaning and the mystery that is in only you, as it is only in each of us. Anyone can say, "It lacked the amenities of a big house, yet it felt like home." It's a good sentence. But it's a great example of telling rather than showing by feeling through metaphors. What does home feel like to you? What amenities does this place lack?





"It smelled as if the kitchen hadn't been cleaned in months; curry seemed to be growing in the chinks of the walls, walls which hadn't been painted, which cracked and peeled as if hands had been clawing at them for generations, yet I could hear my mother's chocolate-custard voice even through the whining of the broken fan. I could see her lullabye-smile at my having arrived here, and as I rubbed the belly of one of the nine or ten cats which were mulling about, the softness of my bed arrived of a sudden and surrounded my legs and back. It was time to rest. 'All places are home in these weary and vulnerable moments,' my tired eyes seemed to be telling me." (Something like that!)



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