4 Things to Remember When Editing Your First Draft

By Jacklyn Walters

You’ve finished your first draft!

Your brain child. Your life blood. Your perfect, precious creation.

It’s finally out of your head and down on the page, nearly ready to be sent out into the world to enter the malleable minds of readers everywhere.

Now, it’s time to gut it.

Don’t be scared! This is a normal part of the process, and edits are where the magic happens.

As I shared in “How to Write a Shocking Plot Twist,” my best editor was a ruthless one. It wasn’t that she didn’t love or respect the intricate flourishes of my writing, but that she loved and respected my writing so much she knew which parts detracted from its success.

Now, that’s your job.

Be brutal. Be honest. Don’t be your worst critic, be your best one.

Here’s how:

Ask yourself, “What’s the point of this?”

Oof. Let’s pause for effect.

What is the point of this?

Is it critical to the plot? Is it a moment of levity in an otherwise heavy scene? Is it a character-defining statement? Or is it just beautiful prose that strokes your ego? (Yikes. Also, me too.)

There are two simple questions to help determine what makes the cut and what gets cut.

1. Is it really important or do you just love it?

This is the hard one. It’s when you read and reread your most beautifully written chapter, and know you have to remove it.

Put yourself in the reader’s shoes. Because you’ve been in their shoes. You’ve read books and thought, “how did that get past an editor?”

It got past an editor because the author got too emotionally attached to the words instead of the story. You know, the forest and the trees and all that.

Don’t fall into that trap. Hold yourself, and your writing, accountable for what you’re putting in other people’s brains. Send those perfectly crafted sentences to a friend so they’ve seen the light of day. Then cut them out.

2. What does the reader learn from this scene or chapter?

We’re going back to elementary school with this one. Think of your W questions—Who, What, When, Where, Why. Okay and also How. If the scene gives readers insight into any of these, it’s probably worthwhile to keep.

More than “who is this character,” we need to know “who is this character, really?” What makes them tick, what’s their backstory, what’s their dynamic with the characters around them? These things can be illustrated through narration or dialogue, through internal insight or the tone of voice they use with others.

The beautiful (and terrifying) truth is there’s no “one way” for your story to outline something to readers.

There are countless aspects of your story to convey, and only a few hundred pages to do it. So if a part of your piece doesn’t move anything forward (or deeper), you know the drill.

Cut. It. Out.

Don’t Get Caught Up In the Small Things

Now that you have all the parts of the story on paper, it’s time to decide if everything is where it should be.

First-round edits are more like a kid carving a pumpkin than Michelangelo sculpting David. You have to remove the guts and seeds and chunks of flesh with the dullest knife on Earth before you get into the details. Once all the gunk is gone, then you can start refining your design.

If you’re feeling overwhelmed, remember to take it one chapter at a time.

Focusing just on chapter 1, notice if there’s any critical information missing. Now that you’ve been plopped into this new world, do you have the information you need to understand it? (If the answer is “no,” don’t worry. We’ll dive into this in a bit.)

The opposite might also be true—if chapter 1 is way too info heavy, consider what’s actually necessary to know first thing and what would be better told later in the story.

We see this most often with world building. If you notice you’ve front loaded all of the information in the first chapter, take all that scene setting and break it down into bite-sized pieces. Then you can sprinkle these tidbits of information throughout your first 10 chapters where they make sense. This is a much more subtle way to get readers acquainted with the world, and allows them to explore new areas when appropriate instead of overwhelming them with everything in the beginning.

This is also when you start to notice the places where you tell instead of show.

Instead of introducing a new character as a guy in finance, 6’5”, blue eyes, the voice of Alan Rickman in the body of Jason Momoa with the humor of Sacha Baron Cohen, wearing shoes that reflect the sun and a jacket void of a speck of dust, show us.

Introduce him by his frame, the way the sun hits his perfectly coiffed hair, the first physical traits that your MC sees. Save the details of his voice for the first time he speaks. Better yet, wait until his fifth, six, tenth line before your MC realizes he has a voice that feels like the softest flower petal between your forefinger and thumb. Don’t explain his sense of humor in narration; let it reveal itself throughout the dialogue.

Chances are a lot of your lines will change throughout the editing process, so don’t focus too much on the details. Save the small stuff for later and ensure your foundation is strong and all the main points are where they’re supposed to be.

Put Yourself in the Reader’s Shoes

You don’t want to overwhelm your reader with information, or give too much away in the beginning, or bore them with details in lieu of storyline. This isn’t “Everything Everywhere All at Once.”

Still, you need to give your audience enough information to orient themselves in this new world.

Imagine you’ve never heard of this place, or these characters, or know how the story ends. Imagine the story was written by someone else entirely. Would you have all the information you need to understand what’s happening?

Let’s revisit our W questions.

Who are we following, meeting, or interacting with? Are they supposed to be someone we already know or someone we’re meeting for the first time? Should we feel safe? Suspicious? Curious? Enamored? How is this character connected to the scene at play?

What is going on? What is the most important part of the scene? What’s happening in the background? What is the dynamic? What are the stakes? What cultural or spiritual beliefs do we need to know so we understand the importance of this moment?

When are we? At what point in time does this happen? Are we jumping around in the timeline? What is the year, season, or time period? Is it morning or night? Does it matter “when” it is? And if so, is it clear?

Where is the story set? Are we in our primary location or have we moved? What’s the climate and scenery? How vast is the land? Are we in a small community or a large kingdom? Do readers need to reference a map? Do the elements and solar system work the same way as on Earth?

Why is this happening? Why does the character care? Why should the reader care?

Don’t just come out and state these things. Your characters should reveal the answers naturally. Chattering teeth and yawns indicate the chill of morning. A crackling fireplace tells us we’re in the cooler months of autumn or winter. Stiff shoulders show us our MC feels unsafe.

The key is to balance what the reader needs to know without giving too much away. Some things need to remain ambiguous so they can unfold in due time. A good way to check if you’ve found the balance is to ask if there are enough context clues to ground readers in their surroundings.

Give us just enough to know what’s going on, and leave us wondering just enough to want to read more.

Be Ruthless

I recently played Yahtzee with my boyfriend’s family. It was pretty intense. One specific word came up throughout the game that I hadn’t used or even really considered in years.

“Ferocious.

Now, I’m a writer. If you’ve read this far, chances are you’re a writer, too. So if you’re anything like me, you might spend your time in front of a computer, or a journal, or a book. Maybe you go on little walks or workout like a Valkyrie or do yoga in the park. You probably fit in better at a café than at a UFC match.

If you’re like me, ferocity is not a big part of your lifestyle. But it should be a part of your editing style.

Round 1 edits require a ferocity that pushes most of us out of our comfort zones. Not just because we wrote the piece, but because scrutinizing anyone’s work can be brutal. That’s what makes editing so important. It should be scrutinizing. It should be to the point. It should be ruthless.

Your piece will go through multiple rounds of edits, and likely multiple different editors, before it’s finished. So it helps to go into round 1 with a clear goal.

“I want to cut back my dialogue.”

“I want to fine tune my pacing.”

“I want to revisit the section I struggled with most.”

This is the time to cut words, to remove the fluff, to whittle down to the core of the story. Remember, we still aren’t line editing. We’re clearing away the fog so readers can see more clearly.

Think of it this way: first-round edits are when you channel your most honest bestie. You know the one. The one who knows your romantic partners are never good enough for you and wants you to quit your job and who you call after getting a bad haircut because you know they’ll tell you the truth about it.

They’re also the one who comes over to help you fix those bad bangs. They write the email negotiating your salary. They give your partner not-so-subtle pointers on how to do better.

They point out the problems so they can provide solutions.

So many of us love creating worlds but dread editing them. The editing process is about more than just cleaning up your story. Editing is where you transform yourself from a writer into a storyteller. Don’t fear the process—remember that each round of edits has its own purpose.

Take it one step at a time. Go in with fresh eyes. And be your own ruthless bestie.

Your book deserves it.