Blog

I once sent a novel of about 140,000 words to a really good line editor. It came back roughly 15,000 words shorter. The story was still there, but she had found places throughout the manuscript where I was using more words than I needed.

Sometimes two sentences were doing the same job, and one could go. Elsewhere, five words became two, or three became one. Those small changes added up across the manuscript.

I thought I was a pretty tight writer. Apparently, there was room for improvement.

As a writing coach, I want writers to understand how useful that kind of attention can be. I also want them to save it for the point when it will actually help. You can spend an afternoon getting a paragraph exactly right, then realize during your next revision that the entire scene needs to go.

Don’t waste your time.

Self-Editing Line By Line Comes After The Story

Before you start polishing sentences, look at what still needs work in the novel. Are you still thinking about a character’s motivation? Working out what happens in the ending?

Those decisions deserve your attention first. A sentence can be lovely and still belong to a scene that isn’t helping the book. Making it lovelier won’t solve that problem. It may even make you more reluctant to cut it.

With the writers I coach, I keep the order simple: story first, then scenes, then sentences. That doesn’t mean you have to ignore an awkward phrase when you notice one. Fix it and move on. But there’s a difference between making a quick change and spending your time polishing pages that you’re still figuring out.

Give yourself permission to leave imperfect sentences alone for now. You’ll come back later with a clearer sense of what they need to do.

Search For Words You Lean On

When the story is settled, a word search is a useful place to begin. Look for words you suspect you’ve been using repeatedly. The “find” function in your writing software works well for this.

Read each result in context. The goal is to notice a habit and decide whether that particular sentence needs the word. Some instances will stay. Others will be easy to cut.

“Looked” is a good one to investigate. A character looked nervous, looked surprised, looked out the window.

Those phrases get the idea onto the page, which is useful while you’re drafting. Later, you can ask whether a specific detail would do more for the reader.

What does the character actually do? What can the viewpoint character observe? There may be a gesture or action that conveys the feeling more clearly.

You can also search for words like “walked” or “sat.” Neither is a bad word. Sometimes sitting down is exactly what a character needs to do, and the simplest description is the right one. Other times a more descriptive word (perched, slumped, flopped) can add to the scene.

Let “Said” Do Its Job

Dialogue tags deserve their own look. It’s easy to feel that you’ve used “said” too often and start searching for alternatives. Soon everyone is exclaiming, declaring, or retorting.

Most of the time, “said” works well precisely because readers barely notice it. It tells us who’s speaking without asking us to stop and think about the tag.

A more noticeable tag can pull attention away from the dialogue. When several appear close together, the conversation starts to feel crowded.

Read a page of dialogue and pay attention to where your eye catches. Does the tag contribute something useful? Or is it there because you were trying to avoid another “said”?

You don’t have to eliminate every alternative. Just give each one a reason to be there.

Read For What Each Sentence Needs

Then read slowly enough to notice where you’re saying something twice or taking several words to say something simple. This is the patient work that made such a difference in my manuscript.

A shorter sentence isn’t automatically a better sentence. The useful question is whether the words are doing something for the story. Take it one section (chapter, page, paragraph) at a time. You don’t have to solve every sentence in one sitting.

This is also where another reader helps most. After enough passes on your own, your eye fills in what you meant to say, so doubled ideas and extra words slip by. My line editor caught them because she was reading the pages for the first time. A beta reader, a critique partner, or an editor can do the same for you, and you still get to decide which changes to make.

Sometimes the most helpful reader is someone who works with writers every day. If you’re done self-editing and want to work with a pro, book a call here to talk about where you are with your draft and whether my team and I can help.

Whoever you ask, the goal stays the same: to write the best version of your story, so that your eventual readers can experience the narrative you’ve worked so hard to put on the page.

You hand your pages to a reader and they leave a note at a moment you thought was working perfectly: “She would never do that.”

Oof.

It is a frustrating note because you know your character. You know exactly why she would do it. The problem is that your reader only knows what you actually put on the page.

Making out-of-character actions feel earned instead of random usually comes down to figuring out where that gap is. Sometimes the character makes perfect sense in your head but you haven’t written the part that explains her actions. Other times, the character needs more development before she can make that choice convincingly.

Those are two very different problems.

Sometimes the Character Is Fine

When I was drafting my second novel, I imagined an opening scene with my main character being born during a dramatic storm. Trees thrashing. Rain exploding in the mud. The whole thing was vivid in my head.

When I went back to revise, I discovered that my magnificent storm had made it onto the page as three words:

It was raining.

This happens with characters too.

You know she hates driving at night because of an accident when she was seventeen. You know he gets quiet whenever somebody mentions his father. You know she has secretly been considering leaving her job for six months.

But did you tell us?

Writers run into the same problem with what their characters look like. We see them so clearly that we forget the reader cannot.

Before you rewrite an out-of-character action, go backward and look for the information that would make the choice understandable. Sometimes one or two carefully placed details are enough.

When the Character Needs More

Then there are moments when that beta-reader is right.

Maybe your character is generally calm and suddenly flies off the handle. Maybe someone who has avoided conflict for three hundred pages stands up in the climax and does something astonishingly brave.

Those choices can absolutely work. Some of the best character moments are surprising.

I have written before about why you should let your characters surprise you.

But surprising is not the same thing as random.

If your timid character is going to do the brave thing at the end, let them practice earlier. Maybe they almost speak up and stop themselves. Maybe they try once and fail spectacularly. Maybe they manage one tiny act of courage that nobody else notices.

Each attempt moves them a little closer.

That is how an emotionally complex character arc starts to feel inevitable instead of convenient. The character does not suddenly become a different person. We watch them become capable of making a different choice.

Give the Past Just Enough Weight

Sometimes the explanation lives in backstory.

Say you have a character who is usually even-tempered but reacts with startling anger in one situation. Maybe it connects to something they learned growing up. Maybe there is an old fear underneath the anger.

You do not need three pages explaining all of this.

Too much history can create another problem entirely. I have written about how much backstory is too much, and the same principle applies here: readers need the pieces of the past that change how the present moment lands.

Give us enough to understand the reaction.

Then let the scene do the rest.

Plant the Seeds Before You Need Them

The most satisfying character turns usually have small clues leading up to them.

A thought. A hesitation. A failed attempt. A moment when the character watches somebody else do the thing they wish they could do.

A mentor can be useful here. Give your timid character someone who models the courage they are trying to develop. Let them borrow a little bravery from that person.

Then take the mentor away.

Now your character has to act alone.

That is where the payoff comes from. We have watched the character learn and have seen the small attempts. So when the big moment arrives, the action can still surprise us without feeling like it came out of nowhere.

Let the Surprise Feel Inevitable

Your characters do not have to be predictable. Please don’t make them predictable. Real people contradict themselves and surprise us, and fictional characters should have that same room to be complicated.

The trick is giving the reader enough that, after the surprising moment happens, they can look backward and think: Oh. Of course.

For now, go back to the scene where your reader said, “She would never do that.” Look at what comes before it. What could your character try, resist, or reveal that would help us believe this choice?

You might only need one small moment a few chapters earlier. Let us see that first attempt, and we’ll be ready when your character finally does the thing that surprises us both.