“I didn’t have
time to write a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead.” —Mark Twain.
His
point?
Strong
writing is lean writing.
Because
writing is 10% writing and 90% rewriting.
That’s
a fact of fiction you can’t skirt round no matter how well you navigate.
Either
deal with it or find a new profession.
Because
nobody’s first draft of anything is great.
Which
is why Ernest Hemingway said, “The first draft of everything is shit” for good
reason.
Because
it’s true.
For
all of us.
Yeah
yeah, I know I know. You’re the exception to the rule because you’re a genius
tortured artist—at least that’s how you want everyone to think of you—and
passion fuels the wild abandon of your glorious muse while you write and, of
course, editing anything you’ve already penned to page is intolerable blasphemy
because such abuse will dull its brilliant artistic flare.
Hold
on a sec while I take a trip back to the 80’s so I can gag myself with a spoon.
Get
over yourself, because you’re not a genius tortured artist, and corrective
editing only improves your writing. There’s nothing special about you. You’re
the same as the rest of us insignificant bipedal monkeys. Only you enjoy
writing interesting lies and calling them stories.
But
don’t get all bunched in the swampy crotch because your first drafts are steamy
brown coils. All of our first drafts are steamy brown coils. That’s where
rewriting and editing come in.
But
first adhere to one of the three golden rules of assured excellent writing:
Write First, Edit Last (the other two rules of this holy trinity are: Show
Don’t Tell; and: Omit Needless Words; the three partake in manaja twa).
Now
that we have the ‘write first’ part out of the way and your turd of a first
draft is finished, it’s time to take out our mental knives and perform some
editing surgery via mass deletion.
I’m
assuming you use a computer to write instead of a literal pen and paper because
it’s not 1830 and digital typewriters exists. Load up that steamy brown coil
you call a first draft and hit CTRL + F. Welcome to Microsoft Word’s ‘Find and
Replace’ pop-up box (this is assuming you use Microsoft Word, of course, which
you should), your best editing friend. Click Replace, type the specific words
below into the ‘Find what’ box, then type ??? into the ‘Replace with’ box. Now
grit your teeth, swallow your fragile ego, and click Replace All.
After
your brutal editing butchery you then begin your first draft’s first rewrite by
restructuring your ???-containing sentences.
So
what are these specific pesky words requiring mass deletion and why should you
bother?
1. Seem (seems,
seemed).
-Seem
in all its forms is awful. Either something is or it isn’t. Seems implies insecure
writing and indefinite description because you’re avoiding explicit depiction
for vague suggestion. The wind seemed to wail and moan through the swaying
willows? No! Either the wind wailed and moaned or it didn’t. Stop being so damn
dubious and just tell us the damn information already. If you’re unsure then
I’m unsure, and unsure writing gets tossed for a better book, because using
Seem is similar to asking that indecisive loved one we tolerate by thinnest
margin, “Where do you want to eat tonight?” and their constant reply as always:
“I don’t know, where do you want to eat?” Ugh! Precise writing bleeds
confidence, and confidence inspires respect. If you wish to gain a better fix
on the Seem annoyance then take a favorite scene you’ve written and insert Seem
before every one of your character’s physical actions. Now read it over, and
after you’ve finished throwing up you’ll understand why Seem in all its forms
is so irritating and ridiculous.
2. Started/Began
-Characters
Start or Begin all the time in bad writing. He started hearing. She began
thinking. Blah blah bleh blah! Only have a character Start or Begin something
if it’s a physical action interrupted. (example: Eliza started walking away—until
Mark snagged her to halt by the arm.) Otherwise someone either does something
or they don’t.
3.
Suddenly/Abruptly
-Actions
happen in real time because that’s what actions do and why they exist, which
makes Suddenly and Abruptly redundant. Whether I punch you in the face or
Suddenly/Abruptly punch you in the face, it happens the same either way—fast
and painful. An easy method to imply how ‘Suddenly or Abruptly’ an action
happens is to provide it its own paragraph. Also, picture a slamming door. Does
the door take several minutes to slam shut? Of course not! Suddenly/Abruptly is
implied by the action verb imposing upon the noun. ‘The door suddenly slammed
shut’ vs. ‘the door slammed shut’ is redundant because ‘slammed’ already
ensures you know the action is performed Suddenly/Abruptly.
4. Really/Very
-Both
present vague description better replaced by stronger words. Very big? No!
Instead use Colossal or Gigantic or Substantial, or a hundred other available synonyms.
Really small? No! Instead use Tiny or Minuscule or Insignificant, or a hundred
other available synonyms. Thesauruses exist for good reason.
5. Felt/Saw/heard
-Injecting
character filters is bad writing and worse description. Bad writers use them
because good writing is hard work. Stop being lazy. And stop having your
characters feeling or seeing or hearing something indirectly to the Reader and
just describe it already directly. Character filters also interfere with Show
Don’t Tell because you’re Telling us what’s happening through the filtering
senses of a character instead of Showing us what’s happening round and to them.
6. Would Be Able
To
-This
passive voice 2x4 swung upside your head is simple to remedy: replace it with
Could. ‘Nuff said.
7. Stuff/Things
-Even
more vague than Really and Very. Describe the ‘stuff’ or the ‘things’ instead,
because if you don’t care enough to describe it then we don’t care enough to
read it. As well when you tell us Stuff or Things clutter a table, we can’t
imagine it, or we do but not what you’ve intended. Be specific or don’t waste
our time. We bought your novel to fill our imagination for us, not write your
story for you.
8. Like . . .
-Never
use Like similes because better description always exists, as well 99% of Like
similes provide their own redundancies and breed cliches (they fought like cats and dogs; he
slept like a log; her eyes shined like the stars; etc . . . Stop comparing and
start showing. *Also note the poor As-As replacement for Like similes: as sweet as
honey; as strong as an ox; as blind as a bat; as cold as ice; etc . . .).
9. Had
-The
main problem with Had is repetition (as well it implies actions already
performed and thus static instead of current). Often a character will reflect
upon a particular past event because you wish to insert some backstory, and to
ensure you know the Reader knows it’s backstory you inject Hads all over the
place and into every sentence for the entire paragraph . . . or worse for
multiple paragraphs. And therein lies your crucial mistake. Instead, either
leave Had out altogether or put it in the first sentence only then leave out
the rest of your Hads because the first Had provides enough to imply past
reflection throughout the remainder of said reflection: ‘Donnie Limper
remembered the day he had broken his leg. He had run home from school, had
slipped his foot into a snakehole, and had twisted his ankle something fierce
before he had tumbled and snapped his leg.’ Yuck! And much better: ‘Donnie
Limper remembered the day he had broken his leg . . . running home from school,
his foot slipped into a snakehole and twisted his ankle something fierce before
he tumbled and snapped his leg.’
10. Was (were)
-I
wrote an entire blog on this terrible passive poison in Irritating Pricks. It’s
the #1 killer of great fiction so I placed it here at #10 because I’m
unpredictable that way. Was is poison to almost every sentence it infects.
Delete it at all costs and learn to restructure your sentences without it and I
guarantee your writing will improve beyond measure.
“Substitute
‘damn’ every time you’re inclined to write ‘very’; your editor will delete it
and the writing will be just as it should be.” —also Mark Twain
Get
with the times, Marky Mark, because nowadays ‘damn’ is not the page-stopper it
used to be. Neither is the F word rhyming with Luck, but Mr. Twain has a point.
Weak
words diminish the value of your writing. Poor words possess better
alternatives. And bad words are prime candidates for deletion.
We
tend to write how we speak, such is natural, and some of us don’t speak ‘damn’
well. Let alone the plethora of state-of-being verbs rampant in passive-voice
writing (Is, Am, Are, Was, Were, Be,
Being, Been, Have, Has, Had, Do, Does, Did, Shall, Will, Should, Would, May,
Might, Must, Can, Could) though you won’t rid your writing of them all, nor
should you, but delete as many possible while restructuring your sentences with
stronger words.
Asides
the 100 most common used words in the English language (a, about, all, also, and, as, at, be, because, but, by, can, come,
could, day, do, even, find, first, for, from, get, give, go, have, he, her,
here, him, his, how, I, if, in, into, it, its, just, know, like, look, make,
man, many, me, more, my, new, no, not, now, of, on, one, only, or, other, our,
out, people, say, see, she, so, some, take, tell, than, that, the, their, then,
there, these, they, thing, think, this, those, time, to, two, up, use, very,
want, way, we, well, what, when, which, who, will, with, would, year, you, your)
us writers repeat a whole slew of words with mad abandon and through habitual
practice.
Some
of them are useless filler words (that,
just, only, really, slightly, almost, seemed, perhaps, maybe, simply, somehow,
absolutely, basically, actually, now, sort of, kind of, a little, very)
best deleted or replaced.
Some
are vague in their weak description (big
or small, good or bad) or create redundancies (actual fact, add an additional, added bonus, advance preview, basic
fundamental, basic necessities, brief summary, circulate around, close
proximity, collaborate together, during the course of, each and every, end
result, exact same, gather together, integrate together, introduce for the
first time, lag behind, may possibly, new beginning, new innovation, past
experience, reason why, revert back, separated apart, still remains, truly
sincere, unexpected surprise, unintentional mistake, usual custom, whether or
not).
Respect
your readers by honing your craft.
Because
if you don’t care then we won’t care.
Bonus Round: AND
STOP WRITING OUT CHARACTER ACCENTS!
Seriously.
Just
stop it already.
I
know you think you’re being cute and clever but you’re not.
I
could write an entire book on how irritating having to read through a
character’s paragraphing accent spelled phonetically is.
I’m
in the middle of an engaging scene, my imagination is waxing fantastic, my
heart’s racing, my boner’s vibrating and—
You
see what I did there?
My
‘vibrating boner’ just killed your reading pace.
Because
it’s jarring.
And
so too most readers cannot stand having to read a character’s accent ad
nauseam. A ‘muh’ instead of ‘my’ or ‘yew’ instead of ‘you’ and so on and so
forth.
Ugh.
Here,
you try:
Henry
said, “Yeh, but muh Pappaw said heeduv went tuh thuh store an fetched thuh milk
hisself but fer thuh wagon’s busted wheel an thuh herses need sum new shooing.
An on toppa that he canna walk on accounta hiss swelled foot frum thuh rains so
he axed me tuh fetch it fer him. Yew unt to come? I cud yews thuh cumpnee.”
Did
you understand even half of what Henry said?
I
don’t either and I typed it!
That’s
an exaggerated example, mind, but my point’s proven.
Instead
of phonetically spelling your character’s ‘charming’ accent out every annoying
time they speak, describe it as possessing a southern Texas twang or that their
S’s stretch a bit overlong or they roll their R’s or possess a lisp or what
have you, then continue typing their dialogue as normal. Or if you must,
provide an example of their accent through an opening sentence or two then
allow its suggestion to carry us along while you type out the rest of their
aberrant speech as normal.
Because
abnormal speech kills reading pace.
It
jars and slogs and slows because our jolted brains aren’t used to reading such
abnormal dialogue. Hearing it is one thing, reading it another.
Spelling
out a character’s accent is similar to the infamous example of a character
‘ejaculating’ their speech, or my vibrating boner.
Don’t.
Just
don’t.
And
Happy Writing!