The phone rang, startling her from her story about a knight sent to modern times to save a beautiful but unhappy woman from years of barren loneliness. It was a real page turner in her opinion. Kaitlyn folded the page and closed her book. She set it on the oak table, worn rough from years of use, and stood. Shuffling across the floor she stopped to pick up a piece of confetti left from the party she’d thrown in her mother’s honor the night before. The phone continued to ring. She wondered who it might be, and took a few more steps to reach it. Her bare feet slapped against the tiled floor. Tile felt so cold in the mornings. She picked up the squalling instrument, pushed “talk” and held it to her ear.
“Hello?” She asked, her voice rose in question.
“Hey, it’s Chad.”
That is overwriting. What do we need from this scene? What is important to the plot?
The phone rang.
Kaitlyn picked it up.
“Hey, it’s Chad.”
Done.
The most important yet most difficult skill a writer learns is what is worth including and what isn’t. This is not to say that description isn’t essential, but its placement is also important. Consider our example:
The phone rang.
Katlyn picked it up. “Hey, it’s Chad.”
His voice flooded her senses. A deep baritone coated in hot, melted chocolate. Kaitlyn’s throat constricted, blocking a timely response.
“Kate?”
Her fingers tightened on the phone, and she drew a long, shaking breath. “Hi, I’ve missed you.”
The description here brings us further into the character’s POV and, while it’s debatable whether all of it is needed, it is far more appropriate here than it is for the simple act of answering the phone. We want the reader to slow down in this passage, so that she can experience the moment as Kaitlyn does. We don’t want the reader to slow down for the simple act of answering a phone.
Ultimately, the writer must practice recognizing the difference to learn how to decide what needs weight and what should be handled swiftly.
We’ll begin with an example: