> Don't tell us the protagonist's girlfriend is beautiful. Show us her flowing black hair, her lips perpetually on the verge of smiling, her brown eyes with tho

> Don't tell us the protagonist's girlfriend is beautiful. Show us her flowing black hair, her lips perpetually on the verge of smiling, her brown eyes with those eerie golden flecks. Truth be told, some writers go way overboard portraying everything, especially using metaphors, that it just gets annoying. For instance, this excerpt in Fahrenheit 451: > He saw himself in her eyes, suspended in two shining drops of bright water, himself dark and tiny, in fine detail, the lines about his mouth, everything there, as if her eyes were two miraculous bits of violet amber that might capture and hold him intact. Her face, turned to him now, was fragile milk crystal with a soft and constant light in it. It was not the hysterical light of electricity but—what? But the strangely comfortable and rare and gently flattering light of the candle. One time, as a child, in a power failure, his mother had found and lit a last candle and there had been a brief hour of rediscovery, of such illumination that space lost its vast dimensions and drew comfortably around them, and they, mother and son, alone, transformed, hoping that the power might not come on again too soon… I can't visualise what the author is trying to illustrate. Whenever I see something similar, I try hard to understand by going over and over again, but then, I just move on feeling a bit stupid. I have come to a conclusion that maybe fiction is just not my cup of tea. I am sure these are the parts other people can appreciate but I am just tempted to close the book and move to next one.