I like this whole starting-a-blog-post-with-an-Instagram-photo thing, and I think I'm going to keep doing it if no one minds. This means that I'll be shoehorning a lot of shots of the sky over Dublin into blog posts where the sky over Dublin is not referenced, just so you're all warned. Today's photo is of a shattered off-licence window.
The writing advice to kill your darlings is so common and attributed to so many authors that The Slate ran an article about where it originated. It was Arthur Quiller-Couch, apparently.
But what does killing your darlings mean in real life?
For me, it has meant:
1. Getting rid of an entire character even though she has some vital lines.
Someone else can say them. She adds nothing. She is an extra name for my poor readers to remember. Lady, get out.
2. Moving a scene from one place to another for pacing reasons, which then means. . .
- Re-reading everything that used to be before the scene
- Removing everything from the scene itself that doesn't make sense without the bits before the scene that are now after the scene
- Figure out how many of the pre-scene bits I can get rid of
- Find somewhere later in the book for all of the vital pre-scene bits to go
- Go over everything that used to be pre-scene and make sure there is no reference to the upcoming scene in there
If moving the scene was killing my darling, then everything that followed was disposing of the body.
3. Removing a lovely paragraph I was proud of, full of themes I loved, because the character in that paragraph now needs to be in hospital while that scene is happening and no one else can take his place.
I could have had him recover miraculously, but that's not what I'm going for.
Essentially, the crux of this whole post is that what I am going for is more important than any of the tools I used to get me there the first, second and third times around.
Killing your darlings means that the book as a whole takes precedence over every individual part of it.