She’s reacting to the loss of the scene; it’s not personal!
Killing my darlings is the order of the day.
The term, “killing my darlings,” has been attributed to a number of writers from William Faulkner to Allen Ginsburg, but it boils down to writers need to be ruthless in their personal editing.
They need to really think about lines they love and consider getting rid of them for the sake of the story.
It has nothing to do with how valuable or beautiful the lines or scenes are, but whether or not they contribute to the tale you’re telling or distract.
I’m afraid I’ve got some distractors, and it’s killing ME!
Before I plead my case, I’d like to point out that killing my darlings is something I’ve needed to do in my personal life as well, and therefore the concept might be valuable beyond writers.
We all need to consider what’s important in our lives and remove the harmful. Click to Tweet
For example, if I want to stay healthy, I’ve been killing my darlings of sleep: I get up to attend a 6 am exercise class several days a week.
When I’ve had friends, often well-meaning friends, who have diverted my attention from what I needed to do, I’ve severed the relationship–well, maybe just politely declined invitations. I’d never kill my friends!
I really need to kill my darlings love of M&Ms and I’m working on it. I don’t care for plain anymore, limiting myself to peanut butter M&Ms which are harder to find!
(Help me!)
But it all comes back to defining goals and making the ruthless choices, cuts, changes needed to achieve what you really want.
In the case of my current novel, I’ve got a gorgeous scene that I love that I may be able to slice and slip into a different place. Maybe. But I need help.
If you’d like to voice your opinion, read through this excerpt and tell me, is this a case of killing my darling, or one of say, reformatting? Click to Tweet
Vote in the comment section.
Thanks!
To delete or not?
One sparkling night, Anne agreed to visit Cairo’s most famous tourist attraction. They took a cab across a grand bridge to the western side of the Nile River and up the Giza plateau. Under a moonlit sky, they hired horses and rode to the base of the pyramids.
Certainly Claire had seen drawings; she knew plenty about the three largest pyramids and the mysterious Sphinx. Coming up the rise with the full moon shining across the landscape, however, Claire thought it an eerie place touched by magic.
Across the silent Libyan desert, a faint wind pushed the hair from her face and made her skin tingle. The biggest pyramid, Cheops, shone in the moonlight, throwing black shadows into precise angles on the sand. Claire shivered at the plaintive cry of a jackal far away. Her horse shied.
Claire understood the unease. The plateau glowed otherworldly and ancient, a place far removed from anything she’d seen before. Swallowing a whimper, she stared at an ebony sky spangled in stars, galaxies wheeling in clouds across the universe. Against the pyramid’s age and mass, Claire felt tiny and unimportant, a wisp of a girl doomed to waft away like the shifting sand. Was frigid eternity reaching down to touch her on such a clear night?
“The heavens declare the glory of God,” she whispered.
Her God must dwell beyond the faintest pinprick of light. She knew he looked upon her with favor and could see her tiny form. It comforted Claire to remember his everlasting love and know underneath that love, God’s arms waited to catch her.
“This way,” her mother called.
They rounded a corner of the rugged pyramid and stopped. The matching triangular tents of an Australian army division spread toward the horizon. Camp fires sparked in the textured night; low voices rumbled in the dark.
Did the soldiers camping in the desolate desert fear heaven? Did the enormous night sky fill their minds with eternity? Her horse stepped into Cheops’ shadow.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Jock said.
“Timeless.”
He nodded, the moonlight playing with the planes of his face. “Good word. Will you write it up?”
“This is too big to describe. I don’t know how to paint the picture.”
“Start with the emotions; the story will write itself from there.” He nudged his mount forward and they paced around the lofty and overpowering monument to a dead Pharaoh. Claire could not look at the stone majesties straight on; she could only peer at them from the corner of her eyes. They were too much, otherwise, to take in.
She gazed at the stars once more. They stretched to the western horizon and disappeared over the edge of the world.
“Do you remember?” Jock murmured to Anne.
“How could I forget?”
Once again, Claire heard unknown emotions. Her father reached for her mother’s hand and they rode on.
Hollow, Claire thought, watching them go. That’s what she felt.
Hollow.
If it does not move the story along then you must kill this darling. It is a beautiful scene, but some of the description early on could be tightened up. IMHO
Whittle and polish, whittle and polish. Go for gleam and sparkle. A diamond has many small flat surfaces that reflect light. Go for that for each scene. Onward…★★★★★