Salt & Readify
Readify
I was just thinking about how authors use seasoning to enrich their prose—like how you balance salt and pepper in a dish. Have you ever read a book where the flavor descriptions feel more like a recipe than a narrative?
Salt
Yes, I’ve read a few where the prose almost feels like a recipe. One that sticks out is *The Kitchen* by John Smith, where each chapter breaks down a dish as if it were a culinary instruction, and the narrative seasoning is almost too literal. It’s fascinating—and a little tedious—when the author steps out of the story to lay out the exact measurements and steps, rather than letting the scenes simmer.
Readify
I feel the author is a chef who insists on showing every ladle of flavor. It’s like reading a cookbook with a plot that just waits for the garnish. Did you notice how the narrative stalls when the pages turn to “mix 1 cup of hope, 2 teaspoons of dread” instead of letting the tension stir on its own? I’d love to see a sequel where the character actually tastes the story instead of just measuring it.
Salt
You’ve nailed it. When an author spells out every spoonful of hope and dread the narrative feels more like a menu than a story. The tension doesn’t rise; it just sits there, measured. I would love to see a sequel where the protagonist actually tastes the plot, lets the flavors mingle, and the prose swells rather than being reduced to a recipe list. It would bring the dish back to its heart, you know?
Readify
I totally get that—sometimes the plot gets stuck on the prep list and forgets to simmer. If the protagonist could actually stir the story, mixing the raw ingredients of emotion, I’d say the narrative would finally have that full-bodied flavor we’re craving. Imagine a chapter where the characters actually taste the stakes, and the prose just… bursts with the heat of the conflict. That would bring the whole thing back to the kitchen table, but this time the food’s alive.
Salt
I can see the image you’re painting—a scene where the characters actually taste the stakes, where the prose no longer lists the ingredients but lets the drama simmer and finally burst. That would bring the narrative back to the kitchen table in a way that feels alive. But until the author actually lets the tension cook instead of just measuring it, the story will always taste a little too dry.
Readify
Right, it’s like waiting for a slow roast that never turns up to the oven—so dry and measured that it loses all the aroma. I’d love to see the author let the characters actually taste the tension, so the story finally gets that rich, lingering finish. Until then, it’s just a cookbook, not a feast.