(more than "all that flowery stuff")
Carol Baxter is the author of six internationally acclaimed "popular histories" or biographies. She now teaches writing skills to genealogists through her Writing Fabulous Family History courses.
In her writing classes, Carol explains that there are four literary writing styles:
Here we explore descriptive writing. Follow the links below to the other literary styles that should be used by genealogists.
Unfortunately, most genealogists craft little more than "prose timelines" in their family history writing — that is, lists of facts turned into paragraphs of prose. This dry expository writing style usually fails to engage their readers. However, the addition of descriptive and sensory language helps to produce books and articles that readers want to read.
To assist genealogists, Carol provides the following on this descriptive writing webpage:
The simplest way to craft an interesting family history, or other piece of prose, is to make the most of the words in our language. There’s no need to send our readers to sleep when a simple word replacement or two can bring a sentence, a paragraph, a story to life.
We’ve learnt how to craft vivid sentences, but how do we combine them to produce a vivid scene, especially when we have little information to work with? This online lesson looks at how we can use sensory language — that is, the senses — using practical examples from Carol’s own writing.
Mrs Miller's late father had always wanted her to visit his birth country, England. In 1927, she decided to leave her home and husband in Melbourne and take a six-month holiday to London. She found a different world to that experienced by her father.
If she’d been asked before her holiday to imagine a word to describe London, it wouldn’t have been ‘freedom’. Her late father had long urged her to visit his home country. His England was a world of dainty whitewashed cottages nestling around spires that thrust resolutely towards the heavens, of church fetes and church dances and church picnics, where the vicar was loved almost as much as his god. It was a world of moral rectitude and righteousness, of class and, most importantly, tradition. Everyone had their place and—as long as they accepted it—all was right with the world.
The lure for her had been different, touristy more than anything. The chance to drink tea beside the Thames as it slipped through the greatest city in the western world. To stroll across the romantic London Bridge. To ogle the crown jewels that boasted the nation’s wealth and importance.
Yet it was the atmosphere of flapper London that proved so unexpected, so at odds with her father’s fond memories of a Victorian England. The ‘bright young things’ who dashed around London in their loose glittery dresses and daring knee-high skirts had not only abandoned the Victorian constraints of corset and crinoline, of piety and prudery, they had embraced the sensual. Their adventurous flamboyance expressed an intoxicating independence, an uncaging of body and soul. This freedom represented the dawn of a new era, with London as its centre, the quintessence of modernity.
It couldn’t have been more different to the insular world she had come from, the world that would drag her back when her six-month holiday had ticked away.