On the danger of over-rewriting

We all know the first draft is only a starting point. Rewriting isn’t just inevitable, it’s essential. (That said, if the first draft is too flimsy, it’ll collapse under the weight of revisions, and all that’ll be left is a shapeless heap of bits and pieces. And no rewrite will ever save it.)

Among the tools of rewriting: the scissors.

We cut what sticks out, what weighs things down, what repeats or doesn’t belong ("kill your darlings").

We make space so the story can breathe, find its path, its rhythm, its inevitability and its clarity.

But beware: scissors are a double-edged sword.

The danger is cutting so much that only the writer still understands what’s left. Drunk on minimalism, they fail to notice they’re the only one who still sees a story where too little remains.

There’s nothing left for the other person, the one we’re trying to reach: the viewer, the reader.

The author still sees the story, because they know it inside out. But what they now offer, after too many cuts, is a dried-out narrative, stripped to the bone, flesh gone.

The space for feeling, for being moved, has vanished. Nothing happens anymore.

The writer is back in a one-on-one with their text. There’s no more room for the other, no space to project or feel. The story has closed in on itself, emptied of its breath.

What remains is just a shadow, one the writer alone can still decipher.

So once the door is open, be careful not to close it again if you want your story to live anywhere beyond your own mind.

“Write with the door closed, rewrite with the door open.” Stephen King

...and keep it open.

PS: This goes for both the writing and the editing phase

rewriting scissors