Reader Question: How to balance scene description which is minimal yet descriptive?

This question in response to my tweet featuring this screenwriting mantra: “Minimum Words. Maximum Impact.”

Raza, here’s my advice in a nutshell: Think of scene description not so much as prose but as poetry.

What do I mean by that?

Let me state up front: I read poetry, I don’t write poetry. Okay, I did recently write one poem. And if you make it to the end of this post, I have included it for your… ahem… reading pleasure.

I have made poetry a regular part of my reading for about a decade now. In fact, one of my New Year’s resolutions for 2018 was to read a poem a day. First thing in the morning when I get up: poetry time.

Here is a wonderful poem by Billy Collins I read a few days ago:

Litany

By Billy Collins

You are the bread and the knife,
 The crystal goblet and the wine…
 -Jacques Crickillon

You are the bread and the knife,
 the crystal goblet and the wine.
 You are the dew on the morning grass
 and the burning wheel of the sun.
 You are the white apron of the baker,
 and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.
 
 However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
 the plums on the counter,
 or the house of cards.
 And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
 There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.
 
 It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
 maybe even the pigeon on the general’s head,
 but you are not even close
 to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.
 
 And a quick look in the mirror will show
 that you are neither the boots in the corner
 nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.
 
 It might interest you to know,
 speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
 that I am the sound of rain on the roof.
 
 I also happen to be the shooting star,
 the evening paper blowing down an alley
 and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.
 
 I am also the moon in the trees
 and the blind woman’s tea cup.
 But don’t worry, I’m not the bread and the knife.
 You are still the bread and the knife.
 You will always be the bread and the knife,
 not to mention the crystal goblet and — somehow — the wine.

Setting aside the aesthetic, psychological, and even spiritual value of reading poems, relative to the question at hand, what we can take from poetry is this:

• Like screenplays, poems exist in the present: They often take a single moment — a moth flitting about a candle… a raindrop trickling down a window… the bare back of a sleeping lover — and unpack a world of meaning out of that moment. As screenwriters, we write in the present tense. We are right THERE with our characters as they live out the beginning, middle, and end of each scene. So the very mindset of a poet aligns with that of a screenwriter.
• Word choice matters: As screenwriters, we strive to craft a script which is a ‘good read’ and a big part of that is less black ink and more white space. Tight, lean, economical writing. That spirit exists within the writing of many poets. You can tell how they must have slaved over every single word choice. Screenwriters should have that same discipline. Make. Each. Word. Count. To that end…
• Use strong verbs and vivid descriptors: Poets attempt to evoke images in our minds. So, too, screenwriters. After all we write: Motion. Pictures. Both words are visual in nature. Thus, strong, active verbs. Vivid, colorful descriptors.
• Do more with less: Or my screenwriting mantra: “Minimum Words. Maximum Impact.” Poems are often no more than 2 pages. A poet knows very well the importance of impact crashing against brevity. Similarly, screenwriters. Screenwriters have a mere 120 pages to tell our stories. We should always be looking to do more with less, like our kindred spirits — the poets.

Thus, my advice in trying to find the balance between minimal writing yet effective descriptive writing is to think of scene description as poetry.

Okay, as promised, here is the ONLY poem I have ever written:

Toast

By Scott Myers

“Man does not live by bread alone.”
But we need toast.

Toast is bread with a crunch.

Scrambled eggs? Fluffy.
Bacon? Chewy.

But toast?

It provides us a nibble.
A gnaw.
A chomp.

Toast is a satisfying counterpoint to the softness of breakfast
which eases us into the new day…
yoke as the rebirth of hope.

Meanwhile toast reminds us
life has bite.

Like when I die
Someone will say…

“He’s toast.”

For more background on the subject, check out my post: The Poetry of Screenwriting in which I discuss the haiku style of scene description.