How to Kill Your Darlings (and Why it’s Essential That You Do)
It’s ok, Dad, I’ve got the sat nav.
Isn’t that one of the most ignored sentences known to humankind?
It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve told him. It doesn’t matter that he has a sat nav himself and knows exactly how they work. Every time I go back to Wales, my dad gives me a full rundown of driving instructions.
Really detailed ones, too. Like this:
Dad: So, you drive up Llandeilo Road, you know where that is, don’t you?
Me: No, Dad. But it’s okay, I’ve got the sat nav.
Dad: You know, Llandeilo Road. Bryn lives there. You know Bryn?
Me: No, Dad. I don’t know Bryn.
Dad: Yes, you know Bryn. Moira’s brother.
Me: I don’t know Moira either. I haven’t lived in Wales for almost 20 years.
Dad: Yes, you know Moira. Lives up Pen-y-banc near where the old school was. You remember the old school?
You can see how this goes.
Anyway, my point is, sometimes people will give you way more information than you need.
Why? Because they genuinely think it’s important.
But before you label it an old man problem, we all do this to an extent, because we all live in our own worlds, and we are all biased.
It’s crucial to bear this in mind when you’re writing a story.
Whether it’s your brand story, a landing page highlighting the benefits of your product, or a case study showing off a brilliant result you got for a client.
There will be parts you’re really proud of. But ask yourself, is this important to my readers? Do they really need to know this bit? Because there’s nothing that kills attention faster than pointless detail.
That phrase you came up with that sounds so clever and funny? Is it serving a purpose, or are you just showing off?
As the famous line goes, Kill Your Darlings.
Not all your darlings, obviously. Just the ones that don’t have a function. But as I said, we’re biased, so sometimes it’s hard to tell the good stuff from the padding.
Once you’ve blurted your first draft onto the page, ask yourself these questions:
What’s the purpose of this sentence or paragraph? Does it advance the plot, build tension, or contribute to the point I’m making?
Would the writing still work without it?
Does it move things forward or slow things down?
What does this mean for my readers? Will they care about it? If I took it out, would they lose anything?
If I had to fight an editor to keep it, what would my argument be?
Have I already said this in a slightly different way somewhere else?
Is this serving the story, or is it just serving my ego? (Ouch, yes, I know, but we’re all human and we all have one of these, so keep an eye on it.)
Think of your sentences like actors on a stage.
They need to work together in service of the play. Maybe you’ve got an actor floating about the stage with nothing to do. He’s only there because he’s shagging the director, and he’s just disrupting the flow and getting in the way of the other actors.
You’re the director. This is about the play, not your ego. Sack him.
I hope that helps the next time you put pen to paper (or fingers to keys).
If you want more like this, along with examples and practical exercises, sign up to the waitlist for my storytelling course.
It’ll be downloadable, so you can do it on your own schedule and refer back to it as many times as you like.
If you sign up now, you’ll be alerted the second it’s ready, and you’ll get a snippy little discount.
Here’s the link again. There’s a cute photo of Pluto on the other side of it.
TTFN x
Photo by Alexandre Boucey on Unsplash