Have none? Check out the "elevator pitches" as posted on Idea Sandbox for some inspiration. He reviews the opening narration from tv shows such as Star Trek and My Name is Earl:
It can be challenging to boil down what you do into a short blurb… For inspiration, I suggest paying attention to the 30-second narrations at the beginning of TV shows.
At the start of each episode producers deliver the swift backstory and premise of the show. If this was our first viewing, we would understand what makes the show worth attention.
Think about parties or those instances at the bar or meets where you briefly meet someone, and they ask about you. What do you say? Do you stumble for words? Do you define yourself by your job? Blech. I'm not insinuating that it's all about drawing attention to yourself, but it's more than that. It's about refining your observation of yourself in order to communicate with those around you more efficiently. This builds more effective networks in which you can explore. It also allows you to gauge your thoughts, actions, and future decisions against what may, in time, become a fairly accurate portrayal of what sort of human being you want to be.
The power of poetry (and design) is being able to see a context where others can't. Wrapping word around concepts by which you can easily share with others. According to Alan Moore in this video clip, this is also, by definition, one of the jobs of a magician.
Perhaps this is a key to what imbues authenticity, to what defines the gods as higher ideals by which me might devote ourselves. And perhaps this is what eludes so many people, the capability to turn one's analysis on the self in order to create a brief model which can define. This model can be tested against future actions, reduced further over time, and changed. But the further we can extrapolate a poetic model by which we act, the more we know about ourselves.
And the gods we serve.
A visual analogy of this can be seen in Neil Kandalgaonkar's digital art (coincidentally enough, he uses the online handle brevity), who was inspired by the work of Jason Salavon (whom I posted on back in September 2005). In the above image, by Neil, he uses 50 images of the Eiffel Tower, all pictured by different people and then blended together. No matter how abstract, though, in the blur of perceptions is the Tower.
I am sure most of us look within with blurred vision. These are all analogies for things spiritual and subtle, but the more time we cross-referencing ourselves with our environs, the closer we'll get to a more refined picture by way of finding similarities and dismissing the disparate.
EDIT — A lot of my posts are the antithesis to brevity, but I use this blog as an outpouring so that I might peruse it later… and then make more condensed understanding and statements about the more lengthier bits. Anhow, Logic+Emotion has this on Saying More With Less:
I didn't need to read anything else. In one word I understood exactly what it was saying. But even more meaningful was what it wasn't saying. I'm not an eco-activist by any stretch of the imagination, but I do think about the kind of world my boys will live in when I'm gone.
What if we used less words more often?
A single word. It didn't condemn me, or make me feel guilty or defensive. By not saying more it did.
What if we got back to basics and just said what we really meant--instead of using the right kinds of lingo and abbreviations?
What if we left more room for intepretation?