Killing Your Babies

I hate to admit it, but my college professors had it right when they said “the most important step of story-writing is killing your babies.” These statements would usually be followed up by a slow, sinister chuckle to drive the point home. Many teachers are sadists — which I’m allowed to say because most of my family members are teachers.

You might have the same problems. Almost everybody does — a plot that drags, dialogue that’s just going through the motions, a twenty-page description of the color white (I’m looking at you, Moby Dick.) All of these come from the same source, and that source is not knowing when to delete the stuff you like.

Here’s are the steps I created to fix my problem.

1. Identify the parts that don’t drive the story forward. Even if it’s action, that doesn’t mean it’s important. Even if it’s fun dialogue, that doesn’t mean it should be there. Summarize each part that you suspect of being extraneous. If your summary is: “Jane and Jill talk about ice cream,” yet your story arc is about grief, make sure that ice cream conversation actually has to happen.
2. Ask: Does it drive character growth? Does it create cause-and-effect for the events afterwards? These are the two most important reasons to keep a scene. If Jane and Jill talk about ice cream and it bonds them in a new way, that’s important. If they talk about ice cream and that leads to a decision to visit Jane’s hometown, that’s important too.
3. Delete or shorten what doesn’t matter. If part of your story is unnecessary, you can either delete it or shorten it. I think it’s okay to have a little fun by leaving in an entertaining quip or some dialogue that creates better atmosphere — just don’t let it take up more time than it deserves.

Silly me, I didn’t realize there was extra clutter in my work until I took a hard look at my word count and realized I was at 60,000 words, but less than half of the plot was completed. I knew the problem area had to be the languid beginning of my novel, where the protagonist spent most of her time just observing the fantasy world around her without actually doing anything. It wasn’t boring stuff, per sé, but it didn’t actually move the plot forward.

“But the scene with the salamander has action!” I thought. Sure, it was interesting, but it didn’t tell the reader anything new about the character or the plot. I decided to take the scene out and leave that world-building for a place where it could occur in conjunction with more purposeful plot. Sometimes your solution will be to use your ideas later, in spots where they’ll actually work.

So I buckled down and killed the scene. Spending half the day cutting out thirty pages is never as exciting as spending that time writing thirty new pages, but it’s important stuff. I also deleted a parental lecture that didn’t actually need to happen onscreen. Writers often hear “show, don’t tell,” but that doesn’t mean you have to show the paint drying on the wall. Epic fantasy can be a sprawling, convoluted thing, but some convolutions are less worthy than others.

The good news is, Shepherd of Feathers is now a full ten-thousand words shorter than before. It means four days of hard work have just vanished into thin air, but at least that bloated backstory will live on as subtext that may or may not matter at all. Er, not the worst fate, right?

I still feel like the stereotypical killer standing over my victim with a knife, shouting, “It’s for your own good!” as I slice off the unnecessary scenes. But hey, the book is better for it. And maybe everyone’s writing would be better if they did the same.