So you’ve finished your first draft. Congratulations! That’s such a huge accomplishment, and most people will never do it in their lifetimes. But what happens next?
First, it’s time to take a break. Not just because you’ve earned it, but because you’ve been drafting too long and you need to come back to your book with fresh eyes. I recommend taking space from your book for about a month. Then I recommend printing it and reading through the whole thing, from start to finish. Mark it up and take notes as you go.
Remember when you were drafting and you gave yourself permission to suck? This is where you fix those sucky parts. If you’re a pantser, you might be dealing with some structural issues and need to rearrange things and see what works. If you’re a planner, you might be happy with your structure, but certain scenes might need a few more passes. Regardless, revising is the stage where you polish your novel into something publishable.
Some writers prefer this stage! They find it easier to work with a draft that’s already been completed. Some writers (like me) dread this stage and can get bogged down by the long to-do list that takes shape. Whether you love or hate revising, that’s okay! Let’s get you the tools you need to tackle it.
Killing your darlings
Almost every writer has heard this specific piece of advice before. It’s been attributed to William Faulkner and Stephen King, but it actually originated in a series of lectures given by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch. Here’s the quote as it appears in On the Art of Writing:
If you here require a practical rule of me, I will present you with this: ‘Whenever you feel an impulse to perpetrate a piece of exceptionally fine writing, obey it — whole-heartedly — and delete it before sending your manuscript to press. Murder your darlings.
So what does “kill your darlings” or “murder your darlings” mean? Is “exceptionally fine writing” a bad thing that always needs to be cut? Of course not. But as writers, we can often get attached to these pieces of writing and have a hard time working around them. I love the way Gail Carson Levine explains this rule:
You will sometimes write paragraphs of staggering loveliness. You will! Perhaps you already have. You’ll want to have those paragraphs tattooed on your forehead where everyone will see them.
Then you’ll discover that they don’t help tell your story. Do not do not DO NOT DO NOT DO NOT bend your story to accommodate your brilliant words.
Revising and cutting take courage and self-confidence. You have to believe that you will write equally brilliant prose again.
This version of “kill your darlings” makes a lot more sense to me. It’s okay to have beloved sentences and paragraphs, but your draft should never bow to their whims. Revising demands a lot of cutting, rearranging, and reworking. Unfortunately, sometimes good bits of writing have to face the axe. This part is always hard, especially when it’s your first ever novel. The more you do it, the easier it will get.
However, when you come across a particularly darling sentence, or character, or scene, or chapter—don’t just hit backspace. I like to keep a document for each draft, in which I copy and paste things I didn’t want to cut. I like to call this “cryogenically freezing my darlings”, and it makes the process a little less painful. The other great upside to this is that I’ve frequently reused this material. As you go, sometimes you’ll realize that a sentence you cut might fit better elsewhere. If killing your darlings is too hard, try my method; tuck them away for later.
About adverbs
After twelve books, I still haven’t vanquished my love of adverbs. Most writers haven’t. They’re easy to fall back on, and they definitely play a role. However, sometimes an adverb is just a disguise hiding a weak verb. Let’s look at when they should be cut (and when they’re okay to keep around). Here’s a few examples:
- He ran quickly. / He sprinted.
- She cried sadly. / She sobbed.
- He asked angrily. / He demanded.
The verbs on the right are all stronger. Frequently, adverbs point to writing that needs to be polished. It’s normal to have plenty of them in a first draft, but in revision, you get to go back and clean them up.
Adverbs can point to something else, too: telling, rather than showing. Here’s another example:
- “Why did you do that?” he asked angrily.
- He slammed his glass on the counter. “Why did you do that?”
Here, we eliminate the dialogue tag completely and replace it with body language. This is another great way to rework an adverb, especially in dialogue. Instead of telling the reader how your character is speaking or feeling, show them their body language and how they interact with their surroundings. You’ll paint the scene with greater clarity, and the reader will be able to sense the tone for themselves.
When is an adverb appropriate? Usually, when an adverb does belong, it’s because it changes the verb it’s attached to. Let’s look at another example from before. “Sadly” isn’t a good adverb for “cried”, because crying already implies sadness; the adverb doesn’t give us any new information. However, maybe our character isn’t crying sadly. Maybe she’s crying bitterly, or angrily, or happily. In these cases, an adverb might be justified—but it’s always a good idea to double check. If there’s a better way to communicate “crying happily”, such as through body language, do that instead.
Go to the find/replace section of your document and search “ly”. All your adverbs should pop up, and you can comb through them one by one. See if there are any sentences you can strengthen with a better verb or body language, and try to eliminate as many adverbs as you can.
Is said dead?
Speaking of dialogue tags, “said” is a controversial word. Some writers suggest you should avoid it at all costs. I disagree. To make my point, I’ll share a section from a notorious fanfiction called My Immortal:
“I’m so sorry.” he said in a shy voice.
“That’s all right. What’s your name?” I questioned.
“My name’s Harry Potter, although most people call me Vampire these days.” he grumbled.
“Why?” I exclaimed.
“Because I love the taste of human blood.” he giggled.
“Well, I am a vampire.” I confessed.
“Really?” he whimpered.
“Yeah.” I roared.
This bit of writing is hilarious (and I love it). What makes it so difficult to read is the dialogue tags and how much they distract from the writing itself. You can see that the author tried to avoid using “said” repetitively, but might’ve been better off just using it. By contrast, here’s what Levine thinks about “said”:
Said is a magical word. Boring maybe, but magical nonetheless. It’s magical because it disappears. It becomes invisible.
Which dialogue tag in the excerpt from My Immortal wasn’t distracting? “Said”. It’s the only one that doesn’t draw attention to itself and pull the reader out of the story.
So how can we avoid distracting dialogue tags without using said every single line? The best piece of advice, in my opinion, goes back to one of our adverb examples—our second rewrite of “asked angrily”, where we eliminate the need for “said” altogether. Dialogue tags can be necessary, especially at the beginning of a conversation or when more than two people are talking. But whenever possible, try to replace them with body language, or simply let the conversation flow without them. Readers can keep track of two speakers for several lines without being told who’s who. If you’re worried, check in every now and then with a “said” or a gesture to keep the reader grounded.
Now, this doesn’t necessarily mean that there’s never a time for tags like “whimpered,” “giggled,” and “grumbled”. As a general rule, these kinds of descriptive tags should be reserved for moments where you need to clarify volume or mood. If your characters need to be quiet, that’s a great place to drop in a “whispered” or “mouthed”. If your character is furious, it’s okay to throw in a “snapped” or “hissed”. But use these kinds of words sparingly—a good rule is no more than one per page. When you reserve them as a rare accessory to your writing, they’ll pull the reader deeper instead of distracting them.
Structural edits
If you’re a pantser, this might be a good time to check out the “story structure” and “outlining” sections. You’ve finished your novel, you let your creativity run wild, but now you might be faced with a couple pesky plot holes.
Try Levine’s tip about writing your scenes on index cards or sticky notes. (You could use a different color for scenes that are giving you a hard time.) Lay them out and rearrange them, checking if a different order might solve some of your issues. Should an Act 2 scene really be moved to Act 1? Or is your climax really your midpoint? Keep troubleshooting and see if something sticks.
Another great technique is to tackle your plot holes by brainstorming about them. Try bubble brainstorming, or maybe make a list of ten possible solutions to the problem. Is there anything you could add (or remove) that might fix it? Do any loose ends still need to be tied up?
You may have heard this quote before: “Writing is rewriting.” This is especially true for pantsers. The first draft is about getting your vision out of your head and onto the page. Now, in revisions, you get to tie it all together. Think about the book you imagine when it’s all finished. What do you need to fix to get there?
You made it!!!!
You’ve finished your first draft and jumped into revisions. Need more direction on how to make edits, or curious about publishing? Try these resources for a good place to start.