Saying more with less: A practice in discernment and craft

Tips, insights and an invitation to dive into experience

Sometimes it’s not how much we reveal but the questions that we’re caused to consider when we’re presented with just enough, and the insights we discover when we selectively leave in and leave out the details.

No doubt we’ve all experienced someone telling us a story or an anecdote that goes on far too long or tangentially wanders in bewildering directions, with the effect that we lose interest due to lack of focus. Conversely, we tend to remember a handful of pivotal moments from a film or a book or a personal experience, likely because they struck a sensory chord and held our attention.

Short form writing, as an exercise in refining our attention as much as the editorial craft of the approach, is evidence of how a little can be enough, how a hint of something can be plenty, and a humbling, affirming reminder of the value of simplicity.

What did we see that shocked or surprised or thrilled us, what did we feel that did the same, what were we touched by, what were the scents and smells that got stuck or lingered, what did we hear that caused an alarm in the heart? These are all useful ways of pricking the memory, especially when it comes to diving into our own experiences, our own stories, and in doing so, learning or remembering why it is that certain moments affected us.

I’ve been experimenting with writing in very short form, using this technique to write 100-word compositions. It’s a useful exercise in zooming out to see the whole picture of a memory, then honing in on the details that really say something.

Of course, these sorts of pieces start out in the original form as lengthier jumbled explorations and experiments with recall.

From there, it’s a case of diligently and ruthlessly pruning away at the peripherals – deciding, discerning; what was the most important thing, what is the key detail, what is the image, the feeling that remained with me, that lingers still, after all this time? What is the unnecessary extra, what is the fluff, what can be removed to benefit the whole, what do I not need to say, what is getting in the way? What were the defining elements of this time?

And when it comes to the crafting, by way of inviting a reader to see or feel or wonder about the same, what are the small but significant details that say all that needs to be said, while leaving space for wonder?

For someone who tends towards verbosity, this is actually quite a challenging and therefore liberating exercise, as is any tangential approach to doing the thing we always do, albeit differently. It’s good for the brain, a healthy affront to habitual ways of doing, brings a different degree of satisfaction from realising that ah yes, there is another way, and that breaking the mold we’ve put ourselves into can help us see things more clearly.

With that, here is a sample piece, which started off by me recalling one of my first memories of reading:

How appearances pleasingly deceive

It wasn’t so much the stories as the heft of the book that mattered. The way it required both my small hands to unfold the hard backing, how the brown plastic sheath with its paisley print could be set aside, allowing me to pretend that this was a serious body of work. I remember the sense of childish pride when my mother’s friend walked through the door and saw me, head bowed down, deep in faux concentration. Little did she know it was only The Brothers Grimm. Not their fairy-tales, but the shape and the sight of all those magnificent words.

Now your turn...

How much can you say in just a few words? Try it – recall a memory, a significant event, what are the sensory details that come to mind and how can you convey them in 100 words or maybe even less? Share your compositions below and your reflections on how you found it to think and write this way.

And an invitation...

If you’re curious to dive deeper, this is one of the techniques we’ll use in my forthcoming programme, Express Yourself Freely – a three-month series of practices designed to tap into the wisdom of our individual experience via movement (yoga asana), meditation and reflective writing.

We begin on 9 January and gather weekly for a 75-minute live practice online every Tuesday until 26 March. The programme also includes recordings and bonus content that you can tailor to your own schedule and creative-wellbeing needs. All the details, including pricing and registration, are on my website.