The Brutality of Editing

You write it, you edit it, then you cut it.

Person at a laptop with their head in their hands. The brutality of editing — *Photo by SEO Galaxy on Unsplash*

In Hollywood, there’s a phrase I think most people are familiar with. It’s “Left on the cutting room floor.” Not only do scenes get cut and then not seen when the film reaches the theatre, but sometimes whole roles are left behind. Actors can spend weeks on a shoot and discover that their entire role will never be seen. That must be a combo of both depressing and infuriating.

A similar but slightly less well-known idea exists in writing. It’s called “Kill your darlings.” Like leaving film on the cutting room floor, killing your darlings means leaving plot lines, characters, scenes, and chapters in your virtual recycle bin.

In both cases, the reason for doing this is to keep the story moving forward. This can be challenging, however, because of the work you did on it. That’s part of the brutality of editing to keep your story cohesive, moving, and entertaining.

Editing three times

To all intents and purposes, I edit anything I write (save blogs like this) three times. This in and of itself is part of the brutality of editing. That’s especially true when you are dividing your time between ongoing writing and the different levels of editing.

Some writers edit as they go. They’ll realize that something they just wrote needs to be altered. Or, due to something they wrote recently they need to go back to an earlier section or chapter and edit it. They’ll pause what they’re doing and edit.

This has led to more authors and would-be authors than I care to count never completing a work. Nothing will stall or stay progress like not getting to the end before changing what you already have. In my opinion, that way lies madness.

Editing shouldn’t be started before you finish. Making notes about something you need to go back and redo or undo is the best way to avoid stalling progress. Done is better than perfect.

For me, when I get to editing, it’s a three-part process. Editing three times, in my world, looks like this:

Edit 1

I’ve completed the book. Now that it’s finished, I will go back and read through it. As I do my read-through, I will make alterations. This is the first check for developmental and line editing on my part.

Typos happen. I can’t tell you how often “the” is supposed to be “they” and I skipped the “y” before continuing. I’ve also discovered half-complete thoughts I never actually got all aspects of on the page.

This might also be the first place where I dump a chapter, expand on or dump a character, and so on. Part 1 of editing is my initial clean-up and is utterly necessary before the next round.

Edit 2

I don’t do this edit. This is where the pro comes in.

The truth is that you can’t be your own editor. There are several reasons behind this. For starters, you will miss things. It’s your work and you will be blind to elements of it that only another pair of eyes will see and catch.

The next is that you’re too close to it. Something that looked good and proper to you an editor might point out is lacking, unclear, or otherwise messy. For clarity, this can be incredibly helpful.

(The above, however, is part of the brutality of editing. It can feel like your editor is personally attacking you when they suggest your line is unclear, you’re rambling and making no sense, and so on. Yet this is where you get a “good” or “great” work from a “so-so” to a “good-enough” work).

Having another person go over your work is essential to making it stand out without sticking out. You can tell when the author didn’t get an editor to go over their stuff. Also, to me, this is where the line between amateur and professional exists.

Edit 3

Once your editor is done, they send back your work. This is not the end, however.

Editors still miss things. No, this is not in any way, shape, or form, a call to use AI – because they are often more fallible. What’s more, editors sometimes suggest alterations to things that show they are missing a point or not getting something.

For example, the editor who worked on Finder, the second book in my Source Chronicles fantasy series, wanted to change the prophecy that drives it all. First, what they wanted to change ruined the measure of the prophecy’s poetry. Secondly, they were being ridiculously pedantic with their suggested edit.

Anyhow, you as the writer need to go over the edits and accept and reject them along the way. What’s more, this can show you something key your editor might have missed because they weren’t looking for it.

As I write this, I’m on Edit 3 of the second novel in my new Savagespace sci-fi trilogy, Revelations and Reconciliations. I’m a little more than halfway through the edits to the novel. For me, the 3^rd edit serves not just as the acceptance and rejection of what my editor did, but also pre-reading for the audiobook recording.

To that end, I’m going through 2 chapters a day. I read and accept/reject edits, then read them again to record the audiobook. Arguably, this creates a 4^th edit, since I will catch things I missed in my prior readthroughs.

I accepted and rejected the edits on a chapter, then took a break for something else I needed to do. As I took that break, however, the chapter stuck with me. Why was it there? There was a lot of exposition, but did it move the story at all? Was this repetitive?

When I sat back down at the keyboard and looked it over, those same thoughts were louder. I looked ahead a few chapters and found much of what was in this chapter appeared later and more directly. Likewise, I looked back a few chapters and had a similar realization.

So, I took the one piece of information that was not previously or later shared from that chapter, placed it in an earlier chapter where it made sense, and proceeded to nuke the chapter.

That’s the brutality of editing. I took the time and energy to write those words. Then I edited it. After that, I sent it off to be edited by another. When it came back, I edited it yet again. Then cut it.

You write it, you edit it, then you cut it. But that’s how you tell the best story that you can.

There is nothing personal about the brutality of editing

For some people, it’s hard to detach from their work. A novel, a painting, a sculpture, a recipe. Whatever the art or creative endeavor is, it’s like your child. You birthed it in your mind. Then you lovingly cared for it, raised it, and hopefully sent it out into the world to flourish.

When your editor suggests you cut or massively alter something, it can feel personal. Killing your darling feels the same, which is probably why that’s what it’s called. You love your work (hopefully). It can feel like you’re removing a limb when you cut something you gave all that time and energy to.

That’s the brutality of editing. But without it, you lessen the quality of work you’re sharing with the world. The best you can do needs that critical eye and the delete key to stand out without sticking out.

This can be distressing, but the end result is utterly worthwhile.

Thanks for reading. As I share my creative journey with you, I conclude with this: How are you inspired to be your own creator – whatever form that takes?

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