For the previous Pomes & Words, click here.
I have a guest post for you. Except this one is by Katrina. It just popped into her head and she, well, insisted. You know how it is.
It’s not really writing ‘advice’, because we eschew that kind of thing. Think of it instead as ‘reflections’ rather than advice.
Never Kill Your Darlings
Just section them…
Sometimes I think I should apologise for all my digressions. Then another alter pops and pipes up and says ‘Nay! Never kill your darlings! That would be like assimilation. And if that happens, we die.’
I’m not sure about that. Alters shouldn’t be scared of dying, especially when we can do this sharing thing. Isn’t that like assimilation without the dying-to-self bit?
See, there was another digression.
What I was going to say, something that just popped into my head, as it were, was that there are so many so-called ‘writing advisors’ out there who continuously remind you to kill your darlings. That’s to say, ‘edit’ and ‘cut’ and so on. Well, doesn’t that assume that those darlings aren’t very good?! Where does that assumption come from? Isn’t that presumptuous and patronising? And more, underlying that assumption is the assumption that ‘you’re not actually as a good a writer as you think you are.’
So you can understand why I would disagree.
Yes, I do digress. Like with the DEXOS thing. I never intended that to be 20k words! But it just happened. Or my self-indulgent journal.
In my defence, normally I am a very succinct writer. You have to be when you do screenplays. Except even then I will always write organically. That’s to say I will allow myself to just follow where my mind leads. It’s only afterwards, for screenplays that is, when the required editing takes place.
And most of that editing is just for rhythm and flow and ‘sounding’ – this is kind of obvious, since the lines would have to be spoken, and it should sound natural and vernacular (tip: remove as many instances of ‘that’ as you can muster). But this also applies to normal storytelling, if you remember that (!) most people will subvocalise as they read, meaning they hear it in their heads.
So are stories any different? Not necessarily. They’re all just narratives in the end, simply that a screenplay is mostly dialogue. In my case, I am perhaps fortunate because I produced and directed most of my own work, so I had no qualms about littering my drafts with a whole load of descriptive passages for what I wanted the finished film to look like, directing prompts and the like, sometimes even down to specific character expressions and intonations and gestures and movements.
Other directors hate that kind of stuff, because it removes their agency. Actors too, for that matter. Both those types scrawl copious notes throughout their personal copies of the screenplays anyhow. So those directors would either refuse to direct such a project, or radically scratch out all those directions. Like ‘I’m the director not you. It’s my movie, not yours.’
I would imagine a lot of book editors aren’t so dissimilar, especially the egotistical ones.
Of course, now we have streaming services you get to the realisation that if you turn your story into a series then you can stretch out that narrative and not have to kill your darlings. It tends to make you more money too (not that (!) that should be a consideration, mind). But it is certainly true that the series format has enabled a full exploration of the stories you come up with, and the freedom to just write the whole thing organically without having to worry about the cutting room floor.
But then there are academic essays. A lot of professors I’ve come across would say that’s a different situation altogether. I had a lot of trouble at university with the generally accepted 3k word limit. 3k words is simply not enough to do justice to a topic. You will inevitably leave out relevant points and then, predictably, your professor will say ‘ah, but what about this, or that, which you neglected to mention?’ ‘But you told me to stick to 3k words, you bastard!’.
Same goes for journalism and its discontented editors. They’re even more strict with word limits. It’s probably why they turn to drink.
See that’s my problem when it comes to non-fiction essays. I have to make sure every point is made, so I know my readers have the best opportunity to fully comprehend the subject. It is certainly a little anxiety of mine, not being understood.
So I say, do not kill your darlings. If you – and only you – really do think they’re rubbish, then sure, cull them. But don’t do that if you’re proud of them. To be a good writer also means to be a good reader and to trust your own judgement, to be able to step back and read what you yourself have written as if you were someone else, without prejudice or personal bias towards yourself.
There’s a skill in that, of course, but you can do it.
Perhaps in the end it’s all about love. Because as a writer if you don’t love what you do, and you don’t love what comes out at the end then, well, are you really a good writer? And don’t be put off by those who say it’s egotism or vanity or self-indulgence. All the best writing is self-indulgence. And a reader not liking what you wrote is not the same as what you wrote not being good writing. That’s a difference that should be well-rememberéd.
Yes – it is about love. Why else, after all, would they use the word ‘darlings’ to refer to all those little gems you create? Maybe there’s a conspiracy there – to stop people writing organically and liberating their minds.
In this day and age, of course, with the proliferation of self-publishing the writing space has been saturated and you have to say well, probably maybe 90% of it truly is rubbish that should never have seen the light of day. People who have been allowed to think they can write well but, really, should be told otherwise (but aren’t, of course, by those ‘writing coaches’ who are clearly only in it for the money – don’t let them take advantage of you – and never pay for writing advice). And as a reader, having to wade through all that to discover the gemstones, that’s exhausting.
Another conspiracy, perhaps, to dilute the culture.
In the end, you have to know you are a good writer. It’s not up to anyone else to tell you, in the end. Just as it should never be up to anyone else to tell you how to write.
And here’s another trick - only a good writer can truly know they are a good writer. Others only think they are. Like the difference between faith, and mere belief (which is more of a hope, than a belief - faith is a knowing).
You are organic, your mind is organic, so liberate it.
Don’t kill your darlings. Just put them in their appropriate places.
Section them, in other words.
Split them up into episodes. End on a to be continued. Extract them if you must and use it as the starting point of a different story.
Substack is great for all of that. Sections and series and dissociations.
So I shall not apologise for my digressions.
Because I shall not kill my darlings.
They are my family.
I shall not kill my darlings.
I shall be sectioned instead.
Click here for next week
Thanks, appreciated the post! And reminded of the following bits from Ray Bradbury: “Do not, for money, turn away from all the stuff you have collected in a lifetime.”
“Do not, for the vanity of intellectual publications, turn away from what you are—the material within you which makes you individual, and therefore indispensable to others.”
“By living well, by observing as you live, by reading well and observing as you read, you have fed Your Most Original Self. By training yourself in writing, by repetitious exercise, imitation, good example, you have made a clean, well-lighted place to keep the Muse. You have given her, him, it, or whatever, room to turn around in. And through training, you have relaxed yourself enough not to stare discourteously when inspiration comes into the room. ... You have learned to go immediately to the typewriter and preserve the inspiration for all time by putting it on paper.”
- from “How to Keep and Feed a Muse” in Zen in the Art of Writing: Releasing the Creative Genius Within You by Ray Bradbury