A Cigarette Diorama

Here are today’s Wonderful Words:

Bill, for instance, chain-smoked but wouldn’t buy an ashtray. He stood his smoldering butts upright along the edges of desks and tables throughout the stockroom, and let them burn out, until he’d created a diorama of a forest fire. His eyes were burned out too, from reading so much, and his glasses were thicker than his beloved Russian novels. He adored the Russians, and spoke of Tolstoy with disarming familiarity, as if he owed the great writer a phone call.

The Tender Bar, J.R. Moehringer, page 128

Background

The Tender Bar is Moehringer’s memoir about growing up on Long Island. He’s since ghostwritten some titles you may know: Open, Shoe Dog, and Spare. This particular scene is a description of the manager at the bookstore where Moehringer worked when he was 13.

What makes it wonderful?

I love Moehringer’s character descriptions. They’re so vivid and unique, it feels more like watching a movie than reading a book. 

A chain smoker who doesn’t buy an ashtray? How impractical that man must be. He stands his smoldering butts wherever he pleases, so often that the stockroom looks like a miniature forest fire? That man is beyond impractical. He’s quirky to a fault.

Moehringer describes the man’s eyes, his glasses, and his love for books. So in one paragraph, we know his quirks, his looks, and his likes. It’s a lot of info packed into a small space. 

But I’m forgetting my favorite line: He adored the Russians, and spoke of Tolstoy with disarming familiarity, as if he owed the great writer a phone call.

You know someone who does this. My grandma was a Nascar fan, and she would refer to Jeff Gordon simply as Jeff. She was such a fan—felt so connected—that they were on a first name basis. 

I do the same thing with my favorite authors and podcast hosts. It’s a common human trait—or fault. But it’s common nonetheless. And because we know people who do this, we instantly feel like we know Bill.

After Moehringer spent the paragraph portraying Bill as an alien, he brought it back with the Tolstoy sentence. He connected us to Bill with a touch of familiarity.

Let's get technical

The imagery is what stands out to me in this passage. Imagery is a vivid description that appeals to your senses to evoke a picture or a feeling.

Describing the cigarette butts as a diorama of a forest fire pulled pictures into my mind—first of the burned forests I saw out west as a kid. And also of the Harry Potter diorama I made in third grade. An unusual combination, but I could picture Moehringer’s description perfectly.

He also does this interesting thing that I can’t describe with one word. He links each sentence with a concept from the last. He transitions from burnt out cigarettes to burnt out eyes. Eyeglasses thicker than Russian novels to the Russians Bill adored like Tolstoy. 

Each new sentence calls back to the last. It’s a creative way to string the description together and make the reader feel the flow. If you happen to know the name for this, please respond and let me know.

Imagery is a common theme in these emails because it’s the spice of writing. It’s the salt that seasons the soup. The cayenne that colors the chicken. The garlic that graces the green beans. A page without imagery is a meal without flavor, boring and bland. So serve your reader something special, and keep them coming back for seconds.

Happy writing, 

Joe