Drowning in Description: 5 Tips for Minimalistic, Deep Writing

Vincente Huidobro, a Chilian writer, said something that I greatly admire. Huidobro was an aristocrat, so he definitely knew something about unnecessary luxury and false faces. He was surrounded by people who constantly “overdid it” with their lifestyle, clothes, and parties.

As a writer, Huidobro fell into a group of people who called themselves “los creacionistas” (the creationists), who, unsurprisingly, wrote using a style entitled “creacionismo” (creationism). The purpose of this group (and Huidobro’s personal purpose) was to make written works come alive through the use of dynamic description. However, he believed that there are important qualifiers to this type of description. “Creacionismo” was just as much anti-overt description as it was anti-non-description. He said, “El adjetivo cuando no da vida, mata.” (The adjective, when it doesn’t give life, kills.) Therefore, any unnecessary adjective is just as negative as no adjective at all. What an important thing to remember as a writer!

On one hand, in a world where Facebook stimulates us to update our status with a question such as “How do you feel now?,”  people make job, car, religion, and lifestyle decisions based on feelings, poetry has degenerated into an abstract collage of passions alongside smells, we are drowning in overt descriptions of unnecessary things.   

On the other hand, we also consistently miss the mark of actually describing how we feel because the only words that we often use to capture our horrible experiences or beautiful moments are strings of curses married to phrases of self-centered complaining.

Ever notice how our culture can’t find a balance between two extremes?

How do you come up with good, precise descriptions for your written work? Here are five tips to deep, minimalistic adjectives and word pictures:

1. Do read translations of books from other languages. Especially books translated from languages originating from the romantic languages. In other cultures, writers use different word pictures, and they often see the world in a way that resonates with readers who would never have dreamed of articulating a phrase in a particular manner.
2. Don’t be satisfied with your vocabulary. If you can’t find a word that’s not a curse word to describe how you feel, you have a serious vocabulary problem. That’s okay, however, because there is a cure. Ever notice that the thing you’re constantly texting on can be a pocket dictionary, too??
3. Don’t use clichés. Nobody ever knows what they actually mean, or the words generate an automatic response, not a critical evaluation of how the description changes the writing or the mind picture of the reader.
4. Do write raw. If you’ve clawed through your mind and you can’t find an appropriate word (providing that you’ve completed suggestion 2!), maybe there isn’t one. Raw writing can be so powerful and numbing. For example, read The Fault in Our Stars.
5. Don’t be scared to share your writing with others. They will be able to tell you if they can picture what you are trying to say/write. The highest compliment a writer can receive is, “I never thought of it that way before.”

Valuable

           Dallas was frustrated when he looked out the antique shop’s tiny hand-painted window. He wanted to lock up, but an older man was striding up to the door, moving quickly, as if he already knew that the shop was closing and time was short. Dallas’ fingers itched to take the sign and flip it to “Closed” in front of the older man’s face, but he knew that, as an employee, he didn’t have the power to close the door on customers. He just wanted to be off for the day – start his night life. But this old man – he couldn’t know that. He probably didn’t have much of a night life.

            Dallas moved forward as the little bell tinkled, announcing the old man’s entrance.

            “We’re closing, sir.”

            The old man’s eyebrows lifted. “Really? Are you the owner?”

            “Well, no, but…”

            “Splendid!” The old man relaxed, leaning on the front counter.” You know,” he said, smiling, “I’ll rescue a valuable antique in this store before you flip that sign around.”

            “Really?” Dallas lifted his own eyebrows, chuckling at the old man. The shop had been empty all day and no one had considered any of the merchandise valuable for a couple weeks now. It had been an off-week. Dallas didn’t understand why. Dealers had scrabbled around, paying a pretty penny for almost every item in the store at one time or another. Of course now, there were some things that didn’t look like they’d been hard-won. Take that doll the old man was picking up off the clearance shelf now – Dallas couldn’t even remember where it had been purchased. For goodness sake, it seemed like some of the junk had sat on the shelves since the beginning of the world!

            “This can’t be yours.” The old man remarked confidently, turning the doll over in his hands.

            “Oh, no?” Dallas slowly crossed his arms. Are you implying that I stole it? He thought to himself.

            The old man studied Dallas’ face momentarily and said nothing.

            Dallas looked away, annoyed. He’d had a bad day already. Why couldn’t the old man just leave him alone? He wanted to say, “Go away. You can come back tomorrow. I’ll have my act – and my shop - together by then.”

            The old man was carefully moving the doll’s arms and legs, testing its flexibility. He rearranged the holey wool sweater around the doll’s shoulders and looked into her face. Her skin was smudged and her hair unkempt. She had a hole in her chest and some of her stuffing was missing.

            “Do you know anything about this doll?” he asked with interest.

            You just said it wasn’t even mine. How do you expect me to know anything about it? Dallas wanted to say. Instead, he strained to keep his tone respectful and business-worthy;

            “Not really. Things just come and go. It’s the business world. You know.”

            “Hmm. Every doll has a story, I guess. This one was made by a famous doll maker about nineteen years ago.”

            “It’s only nineteen years old? Wait, how’s it worth anything?” Dallas could hardly contain his disdainful surprise. What lunatic of a dealer paid anything for that?

            “Because there is only one doll.” The man interrupted Dallas’ scornful remark.

            “A famous doll maker who only made one doll? Ridiculous!”

            The man chuckled. “Dear me, no!” he said. “The doll maker has made thousands of dolls, but only one like this. You see, the incredible thing about this doll maker is that he hand-makes every doll so that each one is completely original. No two dolls are ever alike.”

            “Dolls aren’t handmade. Especially not the ones made in the last twenty years.” countered Dallas. “A doll that’s only nineteen years old couldn’t have been handmade. Everything’s done by machines now. Science dominates the factories.” Get with the times, old man!

            The man shrugged. “I know what science does.” He replied. “But see this?” he touched the doll’s face. “This complexion is clay-based. You can’t machine-make this kind of work. It’s hand-workable clay that purifies during a specific baking time in a specialized oven on a high and then a low temperature until it solidifies. And see this,” he lifted the doll’s hair and gently stroked the back of the doll’s neck. “There’s the artist’s fingerprint, implanted very close to the hairline at the nape of the neck. That’s the artist’s trademark.”

            Dallas’ interest piqued a little. He’d never thought of looking for an artistic trademark. He edged closer to the man and peered over his shoulder.

            “But you can’t even see the print!” he spluttered. “It’s smudged! The doll is dirty! And it’s scratched. Obviously, the wrong kind of children played with it for many years.”

            “Maybe.” The man said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that the fingerprint is there now, does it?”

            Dallas backed off, unable to reply.

            “Besides,” the old man continued. “The doll maker has another trademark. All of his dolls have very green eyes, just like his. When he’s asked about it, he always says that green is the color of life. He brings them to life, so all his dolls are overflowing with it.”

            Dallas laughed. “That’s a nice thing to say…even though dolls are just pawns. They really have no life. No ability to do anything or change anything.”

            “Really?” the old man probed. “Have you ever seen a little girl hold a doll?” He tilted his head thoughtfully.

            Silence imprinted the question in Dallas’ mind.

“Anyway, they bring me pleasure.” The old man finally continued. “That’s all that matters in the end, right?”

            Dallas shrugged carelessly. “Well, I guess if you want a doll, you can buy it.” Besides, it’s worthless! He thought, looking at the clock. Ugh! It was fifteen minutes past the time he’d wanted to lock up.

            The old man’s eyes followed his gaze. “Why are you so worried about the time?” he asked, keeping his hand on the doll. “I bet I have a busier night life than you.”

            “Oh, I don’t care.” Dallas shrugged, feigning disinterest. He strode over to the cash register. He had one-upped the old geyser into buying a cheap trinket. “Since you love the doll so much, it’ll be $200 for you.”  

            The old man smiled. “It’s already on my son’s account.”

            “Er, wha..” Dallas started.

            “I gave him this shop years ago.” The old man said. Leaning close, he whispered; “He’s your boss.”

            Stammering, Dallas looked up just in time to see the old man wink. He suddenly realized that the old man’s eyes were blindingly green.