When your story matures from its fanciful, free-ranging, cheeky early drafts, it’s time to instill it with the discipline of self-editing. One important method to rein in your earlier wayward tale is to review and review again your word choices. Replace the bland with the bold, chuck bloat, and bolster your voice to hone your craft.
In my passes over passages, I seek out the following words and phrases, then press on them to justify their staying aboard.
It, there — When I come upon “it,” I ask what is it? Did I already make clear to the reader what it refers to? If not, put the answer here. Likewise, sentences that start with, “There is/was” need to be rewritten to be active and descriptive. “There is worry in his smile” becomes, “Worry shadows his smile.”
Was, is, has — In my early drafts I often use these words without much thought. They’re drab stand-ins awaiting livelier actors. Upstage these passive verbs with stronger, specific verbs. Which leads me to…
Adverbs — Are adverbs really terribly awfully bad to use? To find out, I look at the adjective, noun, or verb they modify. In most cases, a stouter, more vivid word or phrase takes the place of both. Other times an adverb is perfectly right.
Look, see, and look again — Let me concede that this one may be a peculiarity that I share with few, if any, of you, but to my thinking, look and see have different connotations. Often, “look” is the character physically sighting an object. Whereas to “see” an object can mean a deeper perception or recognition. In using look, am I conveying information about the scene to the reader or is the character internalizing what they perceive? Then I choose accordingly. Also, look prompts me to write a richer scene by bringing in other senses I may have neglected. Finally, the word look can be dropped when it’s implicit. Instead of “He looked up to read the sign,” instead write, “Above, the sign said, ‘Welcome Home!’”
Feel, think — Like look in the preceding example, the words “feel” and “think” may be implicit in context. Instead of, “she feels a chilly gust,” describe the slashing wind. Strike out “she thinks” from: I should have brought my jacket, she thinks.
Hawing, hedging, hewing — Somehow, somewhere someone (me) somehow sometimes uses ambiguous terms when precision serves the story better. This muddledness reveals to me that I am not being clear in my writing, because I am not clear in my thinking. What do I want to say here? I need to pause, reconsider, and reword.
In other places, I will catch myself being tentative. Perhaps, maybe, probably, appears, seems—and many more noncommittal words undermine my telling. Replace evasiveness with certainty.
And uproot weedy spots that choke vitality. Cut the redundant (stoop down, raise up) and the unneeded (“approaching midnight” can be “midnight”, “few and far between” can be “few”). What remains—clear, crisp, confident prose—will reach your reader with a refreshing impact.
Look, writing definitely seems like an art, so do what feels true to your voice and, hopefully, it will come out not too badly, even great. I think.
About the Author
J. P. Cane is a long-time reader and first-time writer of vampire stories. His debut novel, Shadows Within, begins The Shadowless series, largely set in his hometown of Philadelphia. He hosts a podcast on writing and, as a member of James River Writers, enjoys supporting fellow writers. He and his wife live in Virginia.