I have a sort of friends-with-benefits relationship with brevity. It’s a tenuous bond that has never quite worked in my human associations, but with this stylistic choice, I find it’s best to leave the emotion out of it and keep things light. Sometimes, you want to dress up your writing in a frilly-cuffed tux and tails, and brevity only wears bespoke cardigans and slacks.
I love to read flowery descriptions that hoist the English language onto a pedestal like a breeder with a rare show dog. English has a surplus of synonyms, antonyms, euphemisms, aphorisms—its creative pedigree is unparalleled (in my rather limited opinion, having only dabbled in German for several years).
A well-chosen word can disperse meaning better than an air freshener in a well-ventilated room. Of course, this can also lead to a necessary discussion of meaning (or meanings) to gain clarity, and that promptly pummels brevity into a curt and straightforward ball in the corner.
I write in a genre that is home to some of the most loquacious authors of our time, and I enjoy their well-turned (if not well-trimmed) phrase. I fully support a broad array of instances where brevity would have stunted the mood of a scene or dialogue. (Is there a color-coded wristband for that?)
Still, I have killed my share of “darlings” during my own editorial crusades. Sometimes, I’ll tuck them into a “deleted sections” document to make myself feel better about their passing, but while they live on as ghosts in that file, they are rarely resurrected. If they reincarnate in something else that I write, it is often by happenstance rather than a deliberate, sought-out revival.
And so, complications arise when I am simultaneously processing corrections from Darren Todd, my talented editor, and writing book two of the Realm Riders Series. I am learning how Darren’s work reshapes mine, and I’m starting to employ his teachings (in small ways) as I write. This certainly saves a little effort down the road (although, I’m sure he’ll find plenty of work to keep him busy on the next book). However, it also summons a demon that I battled for years and thought I’d smitten long ago.
This demon can spell the death of the written word. Writers who lose the war against this wretch find themselves in an endless loop of self-correction that precludes any real creativity and progress. Perhaps you already know which demon I’m referencing:
The demon of editing while you write.
I wish I had a name for the fiend. Something that combines editing, destruction, and retrogression… Edrugress.
Yeah.
Edrugress and I go way back. I’m a Virgo with a non-religiously motivated guilt complex and a penchant for self-deprecation. I’ve toiled over those traits for many years now, and I won’t say I’m Master-Class material, but I could do a guest lecture or two.
Edrugress feeds on that pervasive, urgent, gotta-fix-it mentality. He knows that if he wriggles in and plants a seed of red ink in your psyche, you will hit the backspace key until your entire work is sabotaged into a blank page of unachievable promise.
Bastard.
Fixating on brevity can often have the same effect. I think it’s a lesser demon torn between good and evil, like one of Edrugress’ disciples that just wasn’t malicious enough to ascend through the ranks of hell. Deep down, he’s an okay guy, and I think it’s that bad-boy nature that keeps us coming back for more (or me; “us” just makes me feel better).
Brevity is important. But concision is not the only key, it turns out. Maybe in AP, but journalists live by a different set of rules. I’ll be the first to swipe through an entire line of fluff with red ink (okay, purple—it’s less threatening and stereotypical), but there are places where I like the extra words. It’s a delicate balance.
It’s also part of the process. If I’m honest, Edrugress never really went away. I’ve self-edited during the writing process for years—often because my mind and fingers work at different speeds and reliving my thoughts as they appear on the screen helps me develop improvements. But what I cannot allow Edrugress is a seat at my table. He’s welcome to stay when I get to the editing-only stage, but of course, he won’t come to dinner when he’s invited.
Again, bastard.
So, for those of you writing and editing your works, thrust in the war between the gods of verbosity and the demons of the succinct, just remember: you’ll have plenty of time to fix it later. Just get it out. And it’s not a sin if you incorporate a thing or two from your editor. Realm it, I adore and appreciate Darren’s work! But I cannot let that determine how I write or rewrite book two. He’ll get his chance when it’s done, anyway.
– H.A.
Find yourself prematurely editing your work, too? Feel free to name your self-censorship demons here. It’s a safe space.
