The Courage to Kill Our Darling Words
One of the hardest practices for me is to backspace and cut words from my writing—whether it be a novel, a short story, an article, a personal essay, or even a book review. I fear erasing those words that I labored over. I’ve grown attached to them—every single comma and period. It’s partly because I don’t want to go backward in my word count, but it’s also because I adore every word that I wrote.
But what if this resistance is what keeps me from becoming a better writer?
Oftentimes, what halts the growth on a piece of writing I’m working on is my resistance to cut away what doesn’t fit. The reason why I can’t figure out the flow of an article is frequently because I’m clinging far too tightly to a paragraph that simply doesn’t belong. When I’m stuck in a story, half the time it’s because I can’t bear to delete the scene in question or change the path of the plot because of all the hard work I’ve put in to get to that point.
How do we then, as writers, get more comfortable with cutting, deleting, and erasing? We know we’re supposed to murder our darlings, as the famous writer’s dictum goes, but how do we actually deal that death blow to the words we hold so dearly? Perhaps as Christians, we have the upper hand in this battle, and greater freedom to hit the backspace key.
Life from Death
We know growth often comes with pain and trimming. If you’ve ever watched a gardener, you’ve likely seen them peel away blighted and dead pieces so that the plant can redirect its energy into its healthy vines and limbs. As writers, if we desire to grow or make a piece of writing stronger, we need to be willing to cut away what’s hindering the work as a whole. As believers, we should have this truth ingrained in us that growth often comes from pain—God describes the sanctification process as passing through fires (1 Pet. 1:6–7), the work of a vinedresser (John 15:1–8), and even cutting away limbs (Matt. 5:29–30). Why should we expect our journey as writers to be exempt from such pain?
Still, we resist. There’s the temptation to simply fiddle with what’s already there. We’ve toiled so much with this paragraph, this introduction, this chapter . . . it probably just needs a few minor adjustments with commas and wording. Perhaps we’ve grown to love the way we worded this portion, or we feel passionate about the side-trail we’ve embarked on, or we think the dialogue is quite witty. Yet what the piece really needs is for us to simply trim it altogether.
In an interview conducted by Good Story Company (a secular company equipping writers), middle-grade author Rebecca K. S. Ansari says that sometimes we simply need to start again with the blank page to keep us from tinkering with what we already have. We can’t create a better scene if we’re still hanging onto the poorer one. We need to find the courage to face the blank page and blinking cursor once again so we can create something new and better. This is where true growth can happen as writers.
This cutting away of words isn’t just for our benefit; it’s for our readers’ benefit as well. Often those side trails, extravagant descriptions, or wordy sentences hinder our true message. They make it foggy and blurry, and we inadvertently obscure the beautiful truth we originally wanted to convey. When you cut words, you’re not just working toward growing your craft, but you’re loving your reader as well.
Temporary and Eternal Words
About six months ago, I lost 20,000 words in a copy-and-paste mishap. I told myself I would copy and paste these 20,000 words into another document to try to change something, and then if I didn’t like it, I could always return it to its previous form. I highlighted the words, hit “copy” and “delete,” and then pasted them into another document.
Except, I didn’t paste them; I hit the wrong key-combo. Then, I saved both documents. I didn’t realize this until days later. I cried, I Googled, and I fought more tears as my tech-wise husband tried to fix it, but we never did recover those words. All the traditional fixes we attempted didn’t seem to work.
Later, after I worked through my grief over those lost words, I returned to the manuscript with fresh ideas. The more I thought about it, what I had written didn’t fit the characters as I had come to know them, and the plot was moving in a boring direction. I found a new angle and a new plot twist.
Aside from the writing lesson, I learned something greater: My words are far from permanent. No matter how greatly I treasure them, they will eventually fade. They may never get published, the file that holds all these digital documents may someday be corrupted (or not sustained by new technology any longer), and the binders of physical copies may get water damaged. My kids or future grandkids might even toss them in the fire pit as kindling.
Even if they do get published, someday they will likely go out of print. Copies of my books will get thrown in waste bins, sent to second-hand shops where they’ll collect dust, or used to prop up an uneven desk.
There is only one book that will last forever:
All flesh is like grass
and all its glory like the flower of grass.
The grass withers,
and the flower falls,
but the word of the Lord remains forever. (1 Pet. 1:24–25; cf. Is. 40:6–8)
Above all, I want my words to point people not to myself or my ability to turn a phrase, but upon the beauty, goodness, and truth of God and his infallible Word to forever rest their weary gaze. I should still strive to write words that are worth remembering, but with the intention that the truth within them is made desirable and memorable, not the author who penned them.
He Must Increase, I Must Decrease
In that same interview, Rebecca K. S. Ansari said she finds the courage to kill her darlings by reminding herself that if she’s capable of creating something that she loves that dearly, she’s capable of doing it again. While I do agree there is truth there, I believe there is even greater freedom in recognizing that these words of mine will never be permanent. They are fading, even as I write them. I take courage not in my words being great and remembered, but that God will persevere the eternal truth they mirrored from his Word in another faltering soul in need of hope.
When Jesus’s ministry began, John the Baptist’s disciples were concerned that Jesus’s ministry was taking John’s place. John said to them,
A person cannot receive even one thing unless it is given him from heaven. You yourselves bear me witness, that I said, “I am not the Christ, but I have been sent before him.” The one who has the bride is the bridegroom. The friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly at the bridegroom’s voice. Therefore this joy of mine is now complete. He must increase, but I must decrease. (John 3:27–30, emphasis added)
Jesus and his words must always increase, and mine must always decrease. It’s not about me becoming one of the great literary mavens of history, my essays receiving prizes and recognition, or my books being one of the few that survive the centuries. It’s about him and the gospel going forth to all the nations. I am merely one of many stepping stones—a rocky ledge that looks much like the others as someone walks toward the celestial city. The moment someone’s foot leaves my place, I will be forgotten. It’s him, in his radiance and beauty, that their eyes should be set upon.
With that promise, dear writer, don’t hold too tightly to those words of yours. If you can’t kill your darling words, put them to rest in a spare document. But never be afraid of cutting out what isn’t working. They weren’t supposed to last forever anyway, and through cutting those beautiful words, you may find that your message points all the more clearly to your Savior.
Lara d’Entremont is a wife and mom to three from Nova Scotia, Canada. Lara is a writer and learner at heart—always trying to find time to scribble down some words or read a book. Her desire in writing is to help women develop solid theology they can put into practice—in the mundane, the rugged terrain, and joyful moments. You can find more of her writing at laradentremont.com.