how to trim the fat when editing
As writers, we have a troubled relationship with that number in the bottom left-hand corner. We watch it creep with glacial speed in the desired upward direction, sweating and weeping for each tick. Then we actually finish the story, and it turns out HOLY SHIT. This document is twice as long as we need for it to be.
There are lots of ways to cope with this, but before you remove an entire subplot or cut your favorite NPC, let’s talk about your prose. Good editing skills are key for writers. You may need to have a candid conversation with yourself about the fact that, to paraphrase the Hapsburg emperor, ‘There’s too many words.’
And to be clear: it isn’t just about numbers. Clunky prose that’s weighed down by vacuous noise doesn’t just colonize the stingy space a publisher will give you; it’s hard on the reader. People have limited attention spans. You need to direct that attention where it counts: your plot, your characters, your world.
department of redundant adverbs department
This is a fine detail, one that may not bother anyone who doesn’t make a living obsessing over words, but it’s a really great way to improve your flow and eject unnecessary verbiage. ‘Sit’ and ‘sit down’ mean the exact same thing; same with ‘stand’ and ‘stand up.’ Why double down on word count when the quantity of information remains static? Modern authors are frequently aggro about adverbs but fail to note the worst offenders, on, in, down, up, onto, into, after, of, et cetera.
Don’t tell me someone climbed up a ladder to reach the roof; I guessed.
it’s a story, not your stream of consciousness
You’re scripting a scene where a lot is going on and your brain is overwhelmed. Maybe there’s thrilling, complex action, maybe it’s a complicated conversation. The point is, you (justifiably) changed the plan halfway through as your understanding of the situation evolved, then you didn’t go back and [delete] the words you committed to setting off in the wrong direction.
So that’s all cool. But here’s the thing: when this happens, you need to go back and remove the part that’s totally wrong. Right now, your story says, “She told him to go to hell. Or she meant to. But then she realized she was just too interested in the livestream of Crusader Kings and didn’t feel like it was worth it.”
When I come across this in my work, it elicits a deep DUDE. It’s annoying to do it to yourself; don’t do it to your readers. “She had meant to tell him to go to hell but-” is how this passage ought to read, and if you don’t fix it, you have actually lied to your readers.
synonyms, huh! what are they good for?
We’re in a period of literary minimalism where you’ll always be told that less is more, and if your voice tends toward Rococo, more power to you! But still, synonyms are fucking useless when strung together in a chain. I promise you, they are not adding to the impact of your descriptive language but detracting from it.
“Sandra felt the room spin around her like her brain was in a blender, dizzy and twisting, cycling around and around in a circle that just kept spiraling like a merry-go-round as the world wobbled and spun around her.”
You said something once, and it was powerful. Then you said it three more times, using slightly different language while adding no new information. The reader isn’t more deeply invested than ever, they’re bored, because you keep telling them something they knew already. Choose the description you like best and move on.
“Sandra [whatever to do with a sense of spinning]” then go on to tell me about Sandra’s sense of smell/ hearing/ haptic/ her thought process/ what happens next.
an entire section devoted to the word
suddenly
I’m not going to belabor this point because it’s already been made by many other authors in other venues. We use the word because we’re trying to inject tension into a scene, but ‘suddenly’ does the opposite. Startling action doesn’t NEED a prologue. It’s there; it’s action. I’m startled. The word ‘suddenly’ accomplishes nothing but to introduce a fleeting pause into the process of me, the reader, being startled, which moves you in the wrong direction.
To be clear, it still has its uses. It’s boss if used judiciously; generally I’m more a fan in the context of exposition than action. ‘Why had it suddenly become’ or ‘Suddenly it was the rule of thumb.’ Just make sure it isn’t standing between your readers and the sudden thing you want them to be excited about.
and that
I can’t really get up on a dais and explain this one in detail. ‘That’ is the sand of words: it gets everywhere. Read a sentence out loud. Read it again without ‘that’ in it. Did it still make sense? Go with the latter.
it’s time to have a talk (about talking about time)
Time matters. It’s a crucial facet of the 4-dimensional reality you’re trying to spin around your readers so your story feels real and is meaningful to them. But. There’s such a thing as too much. How much time are you expending talking about the passing of time? How many times, in this chapter, have you used the phrases ‘for a minute’ or ‘for a moment,’ ‘now’ or ‘then’?
If you need to convey a pause, there are other ways. A silence might stretch; eye contact might be made and maintained. The quality of the light might change as clouds pass across the sun or the sun itself shifts position in the sky. Just be mindful of your word choices. Above all else, you don’t want to bore people.
is it, though?
I see this one a lot, and it’s hard to know how to come at it. We use ‘though’ in contexts where it isn’t necessary or even logical, and because I’m not all the way sure why writers habitually do this, I can’t know how to refute that urge. When the day comes that I understand this, I promise, a post will follow.
Until then, the best I can say is that ‘though’ (and its less popular friend ‘however’) should only ever be used in this context:
<assumption about how things are or how things work>
<truth about how things are or how things work, though>
complaining redundantly about redundancies
Another waste of space that all of use engage in is the superfluous verb phrase contributing no new information. Hands reach out and touch things. Eyes look and see things. This is unforgivable because 3/5s of both these sentences was already implied and now you have wasted my time. Skip ahead to the meat and tell me about the action that’s actually interesting.
to beat a dead horse
None of this should be taken as advice on your style; you have to find your voice through trial and error, and other writers’ rules don’t come into it. If you ever meet someone who tells you HOW TO WRITE, instantly stop listening to them, because they’re a fool who has closed themself off to new experiences. But still, word salad is your enemy.
You don’t want to bore your audience.
You shouldn’t be afraid to mash [delete] because – I promise you- the words never stop coming.
Comments are closed