When it comes to writing, one of the most gut-wrenching, soul-crushing parts of the process is editing—especially when it involves “killing your darlings.” This phrase, often attributed to William Faulkner, encapsulates the brutal but necessary act of cutting elements from your story that, while you might think are necessary, simply don’t serve the greater narrative.
For me, this process has been particularly challenging with my current project, Fatal Mechanisms. If you’ve ever poured hours, days, or even years into crafting a scene or developing a character, you know how it feels to let go of something you thought was perfect. But, here I am… staring down the word count and realizing I’ve gone way overboard—10,000 words overboard, to be exact.
The maximum word count for this manuscript should be less than 120,000 words, especially since I’m planning to present it to an agent. That’s the sweet spot for marketability, pacing, and reader engagement. However, as I’ve edited and refined this book, the word count has bloated to around 136,000 words. While part of me is proud of the additions—new scenes, dialogue, and world-building that felt necessary in the moment—I know that presenting an overstuffed manuscript won’t do me any favors. It’s time to get ruthless.
How to Cut Down Your Word Count Efficiently
Cutting down to 120,000 words will take more than just trimming around the edges. This is going to mean making difficult choices. Some of those choices involve asking hard questions: Does this scene advance the plot? Does this dialogue reveal something crucial about the character? Is this subplot integral, or is it just me indulging my own cleverness?
For example, one side character in Fatal Mechanisms added some deepening tension, but after revisiting it, I realized he wasn’t carrying his weight. He didn’t advance the main plot or provide anything substantial as a relationship with other characters. As much as I loved him, he’s a darling I had to let go. And it’s not just characters—sometimes it’s individual lines or even entire subplots. Each cut feels like cutting a hole in a carefully woven tapestry, but I’ve come to learn that simplifying doesn’t unravel the story. It tightens the weave.
The Refreshing Side of Editing
That said, there’s something oddly refreshing about the process. Once I get past the initial pain, I start to see the story for what it really is: clearer, crisper, and cleaner. By cutting what isn’t necessary, the scenes that remain gain more impact. Pacing improves, and the emotional beats hit harder. Each element has room to breathe, making the narrative stronger overall. It’s like clearing clutter from a room. Suddenly, you can see the space underneath the excess.
Of course, getting to this point hasn’t been easy. I’ve had to be honest with myself about what’s working and what isn’t. Sometimes, that means admitting that a scene I’ve been in love with since the first draft no longer fits the evolved story. Sometimes it means cutting a character’s witty one-liner or a description that felt poetic but ultimately slows the pacing. It’s a humbling experience but also an empowering one. It forces me to focus on what’s important: telling the best story I can.
Why Killing Your Darlings Matter
So, while “killing your darlings” is never easy, it’s an essential part of writing—a way to refine and elevate your work. With each darling I cut from Fatal Mechanisms, I’m one step closer to a manuscript that may appeal to a traditional publisher. While the journey is far from over, I’m confident that the end result will be worth every difficult decision.
By embracing this challenging but rewarding process, I’ve learned that less really can be more—and that the best stories are the ones where every word truly matters.
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