We always concentrate on what we read instead of what we don’t read.
I hope you’re able to look past the absurdity of that comment for a second and read on so I can explain what I mean.
For my day job, I edit film and video. I’ve been lucky enough to be involved with some large productions and work under incredibly talented and experienced professionals. One of the most important lessons I’ve learned is: Use restraint in all things.
A long time ago, a director said to me, “What you don’t show is just as important as what you do show.” He was referring to a scene I’d edited. In my edit, Character 1 said something harsh, then I showed Character 2’s reaction, then Character 3’s, then Character 4’s, then cut back to Character 1.
“Too much cutting. Scale it way back.”
I did, and the scene was ten times more watchable. When a storyteller holds back on showing you something, your brain automatically fills in the blanks. This creates a more immersive and engaging watching/reading experience.
Nowadays, I try to make as few edits as possible, and I’m a better storyteller for it. So, how can we use restraint in our writing to make it more readable?
🍜 Word Soup
Read this, if you can stomach it:
In the enchanting embrace of a wintry wonderland, amidst a frigid expanse of crystalline ice, a courageous young lad, brimming with curiosity and anticipation, embarked upon an intrepid expedition onto the frozen lake, clutching tightly his trusty fishing rod, a loyal companion in his quest for piscine treasures. With utmost care and meticulous precision, he deftly wielded a sharp implement, piercing through the formidable barrier of the ice’s icy facade, opening a portal to the mysterious depths below, where hidden secrets lay in wait, yearning to be discovered. With bated breath, he delicately cast his line into the unyielding embrace of the icy abyss, a testament to his unwavering determination and unrelenting patience, as he embraced the silent serenity of the wintry wilderness. The celestial orb above gracefully descended towards the horizon, its golden rays casting an ethereal glow upon the shimmering landscape, as if nature herself conspired to unveil a breathtaking spectacle. In a symphony of anticipation, the young angler’s heart danced with fervor, as he felt a faint tremor reverberate through the slender thread connecting him to the aquatic realm below. A moment suspended in time, fraught with anticipation and tinged with hope, unfolded before him, as he summoned every ounce of his strength and skill to secure his ethereal quarry. And lo, as he hoisted his prize towards the ethereal plane, a spectacle of awe and wonder unfurled before his eyes, for nestled within the confines of his trembling hands was a resplendent jewel of the ice, a fish adorned in a tapestry of iridescent hues, its scales shimmering like the frozen constellations of a celestial symphony, a testament to the captivating beauty that lurked beneath the icy surface.
Okay, you caught me. I got ChatGPT to write that for us. Chances are, you didn’t get past the first two sentences and instead skipped to the end, right? If you did, I forgive you … because that’s what I did. The unnecessary adjectives and general faff make the prose bloated and exhausting.
If we keep the setting, character and action as a starting point and exercise greater restraint, we might get this:
In the midst of a frozen winter, a young boy ventured onto the icy lake with his fishing rod in hand. He carefully cut a hole through the thick ice and cast his line, patiently waiting for a bite. As the sun began to set, he felt a tug on his line and excitement filled his heart, pulling up a dazzling fish, shimmering like a frozen gem.
Okay, sure. That’s a bit better. It’s readable, at least. But the hose of our creative genius is still too untrammelled for my liking. Let’s squeeze the rubber, dial it back even further and consider what the reader needs to know, and only show them that.
It took all day, but the young boy finally felt the bite on his fishing line as the sun tucked itself down into the horizon. He pulled up a flapping, dazzling fish.
Or, if we want Hemingway to like us:
The sun painted the icy lake sunset-orange. He felt a pull. A fish!
Much better (in my opinion — and that’s because I like my stories thick on plot and thin on navel-gazing).
You can trust your reader to infer all the important context from what you’ve given them. However, you could go even further. Restraint can often create intrigue, and you might want your reader to be curious about who the boy is.
It took all day, but a fish finally tugged at his fishing line as the sun tucked itself down into the horizon.
By taking only ‘the young boy’ out of the sentence, you’ve created some slight intrigue that helps pull your reader along.
Ken Follett, one of my favourite authors to read, often talks about his desire to make his prose as easy to read as possible.
My aim in constructing sentences is to make the sentence utterly easy to understand, writing what I call transparent prose. I’ve failed dreadfully if you have to read a sentence twice to figure out what I meant.
I love that outlook. Reading my first book, A Rockstar Has Exploded back, there are some words I put in there because subconsciously I wanted to show the reader how clever I am. I used ‘pilaster’ on page 1 when I should have used ‘column’, or ‘post’.
My goal will now always be to draw my reader into my world as efficiently as possible, hit play on the movie in their head, and show them the story with as little trumpery as possible. Restraint in my prose will help me reach that goal.
How can we take this learning to the next step?
🏝️ Scale Up the Restraint
Show restraint in your structure.
When I’m writing a mystery plot, I get too excited. I put in clue after clue after clue, buried in set piece after set piece. Locations, characters, suspects, victims… I get carried away and add twice as many elements as I need to.
This creates a messy, convoluted story. The adage ‘less is more’ can be our compass here.
Remember Lost? Man, people loved that show. It came outta the gates with a fierce premise and bold intrigue. Then, after the addition of a dozen extra characters and meandering plotlines that went nowhere, people lost interest.
The same thing happened when Ron Howard and Tom Hanks brought the uber-popular book The Da Vinci Code to the screen. Critics and audiences agreed that the magic just … wasn’t there. The cast was amazing, the locations and art department were top shelf, yet the mystery became so dense and complicated that it bored everybody.
🏎️ Simplify
Once you’ve finished your first draft, it’s time to get brutal. You’re ready to kill your darlings in terms of prose, I’m sure. Editors can be deliciously harsh with this, and we need them to be. Slice all the superfluous, pointless, repetitive, extraneous words.
Quietly creeping < Sneaking
Dark blue < Navy
Silly man < Moron
While you’re doing this, ask yourself deeper questions: What happens if I remove this character entirely? What happens if I take out this scene? Would any of my readers notice if this entire subplot were dissolved? Does it strengthen the main plot, or does it breathe life into my main thematic argument?
Realising you’ve wasted hours of writing time with superfluous characters or subplots is painful. But it’s the process. You can’t see the true core of your story until you’ve written a bloated, flabby first draft. Don’t beat yourself up about it — move on and recognise that by being brutal and simplifying your story, you’re giving your reader the best possible experience.
They deserve that.