Color is one of Mother Nature’s most astounding gifts. The blue of the sky, the greens of the trees, the gold, grays, and browns of the desert. Color is Mother Nature’s invitation to feast our eyes on images so alive that sometimes we lose track of her gifts and begin to take them for granted. Then, magically, the tulips of spring burst open in all shades of pink and yellow or the setting sun washes the sky in oranges and reds unmatched by any artist’s palette, and we pause at the sudden reminder that, oh yeah, this a living, breathing painting we’re living in.

Color is a state of mind. Picture a rose. Picture a lilac. Picture a sunflower. Pink, lavender, yellow. We ask our minds to paint the same rose yellow, the lilac pink, and the sunflower lavender. In the blink of an eye, our world changes, because our imagination is boundless.

The best fiction respects the reader’s imagination in a slightly different way. A descriptive passage does not have to provide every detail. A scene does not have to provide every nuance. A child crying doesn’t have to portray every emotion. A good writer respects the reader’s ability to fill in the blanks. In fact, a good writer stimulates the reader’s imagination by giving a scene only the color that it needs to spur the imagination. Description beyond that which holds the reader’s attention can be the death knell to movement, pace, and momentum. Now you have a real problem on your hands.

Color doesn’t have to be splashy or vibrant; it just has to be compelling and evocative. Nothing could be truer for the art of fiction as well. Color need not be a stranglehold, only a kick-start, a sensuous touch, an eye-opener. The best fiction gives the reader a paintbrush and an ever-changing canvas and says, “Help yourself.”