The Discard Pile
Last month, a student confessed to me – and I use that word deliberately because their hushed tone, rushed speech, and quavering voice told me what was happening – that they hate editing. According to them, editing is “erasing good work and starting over.”
They are partly right.
Editing is erasing good work. But, editing is not starting over. Let me introduce you to the joys of the discard pile. Specifically, by the end of this newsletter, I’d like to make you love discarding your writing, killing your darlings.
Imagine you’ve cooked a good idea up in your head. But, when you sit to write it, it is kind of crappy. The characters feel wooden. The descriptions feel stale. The analyses feels like paraphrase. This is a typical first draft. But, you’re frustrated because the vision in your head hasn’t made it to the page.
Yet.
You’ve completed the first hurdle though: you’ve gotten the raw material down on paper. So, you’ve performed two tasks, one of which is the writing and the other is making space for new ideas. You now know the characters are wooden. You now know the analysis isn’t as robust as you’d like it to be. However, now you’ve made room in your brain to ask questions like: What brings the characters to this point? What have they been through that shapes their reactions, their expressions? What is pertinent to know about this scene? What does this moment do for the rest of the story?
Now, you have the privilege of discarding the earlier work because it is the stepping stone you need to get to the other scenes or analyses you have to write. Take your cue from Ariana Grande and say “Thank you. Next.” Or, if you like, Marie Kondo: say thank you as you drop the older writing in a folder labeled “Discard Pile” and move onto joy.
Another scenario.
Let’s say you’ve written something that gives you some measure of pride. You’re happy about the words and you think it does exactly what it is supposed to do. However, you receive feedback that the writing feels off. Maybe your beta reader hints that certain sections don’t work. Or perhaps reader #2 – always reader #2 – suggests that you specifically cut your favorite bits. Either way, you’re angry and upset and tired. You worked really hard to get to those ideas, to construct those specific sentences. You ask for a second opinion and receive similar suggestions. You know you have to either cut or correct the section.
Here's where it can be fun. I promise. This section can boomerang back to you in the form of an essay, a talk, a keynote, a poem, an interview, et cetera. This section is the leg work you needed to better the whole project. You won’t want to discard this permanently (likewise with the other example) but you’ll want to save it in a place or file you can return to. This way, you can check in with yourself once the manuscript is complete as to whether you still need the section or whether you’ve moved on.
There’s a pattern.
The discard pile – whether temporary or permanent – provides you with an opportunity to get rid of perfectly good work that has served its purpose. When that happens, you can move on to even better work that will serve your purpose.
Embrace the discard pile!