Pruning words from my most recent text consumes a lot of time.
It’s made me consider how often I, among others, use too many words–whether in writing or speaking.
My husband occasionally complains about my compulsion to explain everything.
“It’s not enough you tell the children to do something, you then go on and on and on about why they should do it. You’re prolonging the misery of giving them orders.”
He thinks I should be short and sweet–pruning out some of those directions–and simply wave my hand: “Do it!”
I don’t know if this is the difference between male and female; first-born and last born, storytellers and actors–but we have a conflict here.
I needed explanations growing up–I wanted more words than I got.
He, apparently, didn’t care.
Our children don’t seem to care either. So, I’ve been pruning words–in my speech–for years.
At least it feels that way to me.
Pruning words? What does that mean and why?
Gardeners will tell you trees need to be cut back for a variety of reasons:
- to let in air for better circulation,
- to allow light into the interior of the tree,
- to cut off excess weight and to balance what a tree looks like.
Those also are excellent reasons to prune a manuscript.
And since words are like leaves (and easier to get rid of than sawing off enormous branches of unnecessary scenes), I like to start there.
I’m guilty of far too much explanation in my prose as well as in directing my children.
Lately, I’ve been watching my word count, so I’ve been pruning words as I go along.
Or now, in the rewrite, slashing at the thicket of unnecessary verbiage to find simpler statements that are
- easier to understand
- faster to read
- give me more words to use elsewhere.
How about a demonstration?
Here’s an example from my current manuscript:
“She pawed through the pages, vaguely remembering when he’d talked about sin and feelings.”
Not bad, fourteen words, but I’ve got a limited number and that gerund weakens the sentence.
This is one way to tighten it up:
“She flipped the pages looking for his thoughts on sin and emotions.”
Okay, I only saved two words. Let’s try another.
“She has a child to think about and family in England. What good is staying in a desert hut with foul-smelling soldiers and grieving followers begging her for wisdom?” (30 words)
How about
“She can take her child home to England. Why stay in the miserable desert with mourners begging for answers to impossible questions? (22 words)
Better or worse?
And a third:
“She drew her niece close and they stood together until Sylvia’s rigid body relaxed and her head drooped naturally to Anne’s shoulder.” (22 words)
I’m narrowing this to:
“Anne hugged Sylvia until her niece’s rigid body relaxed and she sobbed freely.” (13 words)
I can’t decide which works better.
Perhaps it needs to be read in context?
The frequency of overused words. What are yours?
Most writers have a list of “overused” words. Mine includes
- that
- very
- some
- just
- really
- and more.
Pruning : before and after (Wikimedia Commons)
I like to do a “word census” to determine which words I’m overusing in a manuscript.
I wrote about the idea here.
What’s the point of pruning words?
Using interesting and different words, stronger verbs, and simpler sentences are easier to read.
The paragraph-long sentences from Victorian England writing doesn’t work for 21st century “Google brains.”
Straight, to the point, with lovely verbs and content-rich simplicity, really makes the reader enjoy the work more.
Try it. You’ll be surprised at how “detaching” and pruning your words makes the book read better.
Tweetables
What words do you overuse–whether in speech or writing? Click to Tweet
Pruning words is a necessary part of editing. Click to Tweet
Really enjoyed this post, Michelle. Pruning is a vital part of writing, and the word census is something I am going to put into action. I usually take a census only after I realize I have used a word way too often.
And I mean way too often!
I like the longer versions.