In the middle of my cavort across the countryside this weekend, I visited the marche Jean-Talon in Montreal, and took pictures like a tourist of epiciers, fromageriers and chocolatiers.
Of buskers and boucheries and bushels of cranberries and coloured cauliflower.
(I apologize for my English keyboard which seems impervious to accent marks.)
I left with red pepper jelly and smoked gouda cheese and Moroccan sweets.
The most sensual delight of all was a (rather famous) booth/shop offering exotic herbs and spices and oils, a selection of mortars and pestles, as well as other, more arcane tools for gourmet cooks.
Writing is like cooking.
Writers are warned to avoid the bland and passive and to punch up a narrative with vivid verbs.
Unfortunately, this recipe sometimes leads to an excess of hyper-verbs, dumped in by the heavy hand of an inexperienced cook, where simple movement is exaggerated to "storming across a room," or a distant sound "assaults" an ear.
Strong verbs elevate prose, but seldom should they be the only thing one can taste in a sentence.
The idea is to make the mouth water - not the eyes.