Revision and Conscious Cutting

You Don't Actually Have To Kill Your Darlings--Liberate Them Instead!

Last weekend, I dusted off an old story, one I’d initially written in 2019, before I’d started writing flash fiction. I had submitted the story a few places, but after the inevitable rejections, had put it away for a while.

When I opened the file of this old story, I was surprised at how long the story was: pushing 2500 words. Maybe not long for a standard short story, but definitely out of the realm of flash.

And I want(ed) it to be flash.

So how does one go about making a 2500-word story into one with fewer than 1000 words (1000 words generally being the upper limit for flash)?

The answer: very consciously.

The First Cut Is the Deepest

I’ve been writing flash seriously for three years now, and it’s funny how one’s brain adapts to a certain form. At first, I couldn’t imagine what I would cut from this old story. But there’s something instinctual about the flash form for me, almost like a kind of muscle memory. I’d initially put this particular story away because I wasn’t sure what to do with it. I knew it needed something, but I wasn’t sure what. (Tip: When I feel this way about a story, I almost always put it aside for a bit.)

As is my revision custom—particularly for extensive revision—I opened a blank document and started typing from scratch, with the previous draft up on my second monitor.

It was easier than I thought it would be! Within an hour, I had a new draft of the story, having trimmed close to 1000 words from it. Somewhat surprisingly, the story didn’t even seem to lose anything and, in fact, seemed stronger.

But it was still too long for flash.

So I kept trimming, reading through the story multiple times and eliminating words/phrases/sentences here and there, wherever I could—while also periodically adding in new words/phrases/sentences.

The last 250 words or so were the hardest, but I finally got the story down to around 900 words.

Conscious Cutting

So, what does “conscious cutting” look like in practice?

It would be easy for me to say, “Oh, just cut what’s unnecessary,” but the truth is that it depends. On context. On style. On your goal for the story.

But there are a few things that can guide you as you cut, namely the idea of trusting your reader. When I taught academic writing, I would tell my students to assume their readers know “nothing”—I would tell them this so that they would make explicit connections for their readers—spell it out for them, as it were.

But it’s pretty much the opposite with literary writing. Telling your reader too much and/or making the connections for them can actually bore or frustrate some readers. Instead, you need to trust your reader.

Trusting Your Reader

Flash fiction, especially very short flash, is sometimes called “hint fiction.” Those familiar with flash know that it’s often about what’s not on the page. And while this may be a primary tenet of flash fiction, it’s certainly pertinent to other forms of writing as well (though not academic writing!).

Have I Given My Reader Enough Info? Or Too Much?

In an effort to hammer home a certain point they want to make, some writers will give readers too much information. Dialogue might drag on, feel repetitive; description might become dull. On the other end of the spectrum are writers who don’t give quite enough hints. My own first drafts frequently involve a little of both—I need to add and remove. (Finding this happy medium is one of my favorite parts of the revision process!)

Readers often only need a hint, and then they can fill in the rest of the “picture” themselves. This is where precise and surprising language can make a difference. A reader doesn’t need to know everything about a character; they just need enough to infer more. Trust that your reader will make certain connections.

Some Recent Examples of Stellar Flash

I’m often blown away by the way a flash piece can pack such a powerful punch. Reading and studying stellar examples of flash—ones that indeed trust their reader to fill in information—is a great way to learn. Below I offer some recent flash examples that really knocked my socks off:

• “What is Yours First is Yours Forever” by Kathryn Kulpa, published in Milk Candy Review. In this short piece, the reader can piece together a whole lifetime, essentially, from the details provided. Read it and pay attention to what is said and what is not said. Notice how you’re able to fill in and piece together what’s not said by what is said.

• “Ghost Catcher” by Christine H. Chen, published in Ghost Parachute. I love the sense of otherworldliness in this piece, but I especially love the specific grounding details, the “frozen packs of chicken wings, rows of Heineken” in the fridge. In reading this story, I feel both rooted and displaced, which adds to the delight and depth of the piece for me.

• “The Guy in the Redwood Water Tank” by Melissa Llanes Brownlee, published in Fractured Lit. One thing that really pulls this micro together, in my opinion, is the repetition, which creates both rhythm and tone. And like the above pieces, it’s astute in the details it provides, giving the reader dots to connect, and allowing the rest of the story to emerge in the reader’s mind. I love stories that allow me to imagine what’s happened before and what will happen later—to fill in these details myself based on what’s on the page.

Killing Your Darlings?

“Conscious cutting” may also mean “killing your darlings.” This oft-touted piece of writing advice is one of those sayings that can make my skin crawl, but unlike a lot of writing platitudes, there’s actually quite a bit of logic and truth to this one.

Different people may naturally have different definitions of what “killing one’s darlings” means. For me, a “darling” is a phrase, character, word, plot point—anything—that I’m loath to change. Maybe it’s phrasing that has a poetic ring to it. Maybe it’s a sentence that is darkly humorous and makes me laugh. Maybe it’s a character I feel beholden to. Whatever the reason, if you’re stubbornly holding tight to some aspect of your story, this is a darling.

One of the things I’ve learned over the years is that if/when I’m reluctant to change something in my writing (a line of dialogue, a character, a whole scene), this is frequently a sign that I should change it, that I need to. We may love these “darlings.” We may find them amusing, endearing, or whatnot, but such “darlings” are often like a high-school crush; they may be attractive and kind, but once you get to know them on a deeper level, you find out that they’re all wrong for you, yet you still hold on, hoping you can make it work. Determined.

At some point, though, you just need to make that break, let them go. You’ll both be happier. But you don’t have to kill them! I keep old drafts and often go back to these lost loves/darlings, finding that they may be more compatible with a different story. So, let them down easy and remember that by liberating them, you’re liberating yourself—and your story—too!

Ahh, how freeing!

What’s Next?

Now that my story has been whittled down to around 900 words, can it be cut further?

Yes. And no.

After receiving feedback from a couple of trusted readers, I’m now at the stage where it’s finesse, finesse, finesse. I have a good idea as to what can be cut further, but also some ideas of things to add. In this stage of revision, I’m aware that the word count will fluctuate—sometimes wildly—as I add and delete. This stage is often the most time-consuming part of revision for me. But it’s crucial.

Key Takeaways

This whole process of conscious cutting has served to reinforce to me the idea of waiting and how important it is to set some stories aside for a while. But another of my takeaways from this experience is one of motivation. I have a number of stories that I wrote during my MFA program (2017-2019) that are long, many longer than 2500 words; these are stories that I believe would work better as flash, but the prospect of such revision has felt overwhelming, so I’ve been avoiding it (easier to write new stuff!). But as I found out, the slicing and dicing wasn’t so bad! In fact, conscious cutting of my old story was liberating! I am free to change it however I see fit!

Yay!

So, now I’m looking forward to tackling more of my older (and longer) stories!

Photo of Jessica Klimesh, 2022. Photo credit: Trumbull Photography.

Publication News

I’m excited to share that my flash piece “Herd Mentality” was just published in FlashFlood as part of National Flash-Fiction Day (June 15, 2024). I also have several other flash pieces due out in the next couple of weeks, so keep an eye out on my publications page! Thanks for reading, and thanks for your support!