Yup! I’ll do my level best to get your question answered by an agent as I attend the Pikes Peak Writers Conference next weekend (May 1-4) in Colorado Springs.
Either ask by commenting on this blog, or use the “Contact Me” form to ask me a question.*
Writing conferences, although pricey, are a fantastic way to get real-time, expert advice on specific questions pertaining to marketing, querying, synopses, market trends, first pages, and loglines. I have no affiliation with PPWC, although it’s my favorite. For advice for the PP conference and how to get the most out of writing conferences in general, click here. For more info on how to get an agent’s attention at writing conferences, click here.
If you don’t have an agent yet, you’re only likely to get tailored information from one in two ways: by checking out their agency websites to see if they’re answered your specific questions on wishlists, blogs, pubrants, etc– or by catching them when they hold open sessions, usually at a conference. They’re so dang busy reading queries and marketing their authors that it’s understandable, although frustrating, that they can’t give a specific reason why they rejected, or seemingly ignored, your query.
Here are two questions I’ve had answered from a variety of agents in the past few years at conferences.
What should I include on my query bio section if I’m unpublished?
Relevant education (briefly), participation in current critique groups (this shows understanding of the exhaustive need for revision before submission and the ability to take feedback), related skills or experience (editing, presenting on writing, teaching writing), and published writing besides the novel in question. Also, this is a good place to include your credentials for writing on this topic, especially if you’re writing non-fiction or fiction about a marginalized population in general. A link to your author platform if not already provided.
Yup! Every agent said something different, and really, you want to keep this part brief if you’re unpublished. Your goal is to seem knowledgeable and demonstrate people/social skills that won’t send them running from the idea of forming a business relationship with you. Don’t get too cutesy here, although you might demonstrate having something in common with the agent if you’ve researched them.
“Is my novel more marketable because it’s part of a series?”
Possibly, but not if you’ve only written one that’s dependent on sequels that you may never write (these agents can’t bank their income on the idea that a new author will write the rest of the series).
Best advice: say it’s a “standalone with series potential” (if that’s true) and then note if you have written the others already. If it’s not a standalone, it’s going to be really hard for an agent to take you on as a new author. I have heard agents might be happy to know you’ve already written a few sequels. In general, emerging authors will do best by querying novels that fall squarely within industry standards for word count. (Here’s my post on “How to Wallop Your Word Count” if you’re struggling with novel length).
Here are some questions I’ll be asking, so tune in for my post-conference blog! I’m attending with friends and students, so they can help me get the scoop.
How should I handle multiple POV in my query letter? And can my query be longer if I have multiple protagonists?
Where can I find good examples of successful novel synopses?
I have an ethnically diverse ensemble cast. Do I need to specify ethnicity in the novel when characters are introduced (which seems fake) or can I simply describe the characters’ appearances when it feels natural? Follow up: it seems annoying of me to highlight ethnicity of supporting characters in a query, but should I if they are major?
Do I need to include authors’ names in comps, or just the book titles? How old can a comp be before it’s irrelevant?
Is it okay to mention other current books or movies in my novel? For example, if someone has named their pet mouse “muggle” or if kids reference Dumbledore as part of their everyday pop culture experiences, is this an infringement or just an allusion (artistic license)?
If I write children’s novels, to whom should my author platform be aimed?
Where can I find good info on self-publishing vs. industry publishing?
Is the dystopian genre trending again with agents?
Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for as many answers as I can glean, and good luck with your writing until then!
*You knew there’d be an asterisk… Please keep questions reasonably simple and pertaining to novels (not other genres). I can’t read your novel for context. If you ask “How do I write a query letter” I’ll direct you to my favorite resources.
*If you send me your question, you’re agreeing that I can SHARE your question, and any answer, on my next blog. If you don’t want your name used, email me the question and tell me to omit the name. Please consider following my blog as a courtesy, so I can prove to agents that I exist in the land of zeroes and ones.
*In the spirit of supporting the conference, I won’t mention agents or anyone else by name, I’m not recording anything, and I’ll focus on only on questions asked by myself or a friend who gave permission. Depending on the question, I might answer with what I’ve gleaned from other conferences/prior experience.
So you want to be a member of a fantastic critique group. All your friends have one. Every writer you know offhandedly mentions their beloved circle of trust whose members can spot every plot hole, straighten every bent character arc, and untangle every mixed metaphor.
You’re jealous to the core. Heck, you’re even jealous of C.S. Lewis and Tolkien for having the Inklings, and they’re both dead. Meanwhile, all you have is a bunch of Meetup misfits who never remember to staple their single-spaced pages and whose go-to comments for your work are always either, “This really flows!” or “I don’t feel like this flows. Can you add more details?”
Well, not to rub it in, but I do currently have two excellent critique groups, though I’ve had many mishaps along the way.
I’m going to begin with some advice about how to recruit a good critique group. Disclaimer: Use common sense here. Do not take candy from strangers.
Take/audit a college class on creative writing. A community college course costs a few hundred dollars and will gain you feedback from students and a professor, as well as a review of craft. You’d easily spend twice that for one conference, professional writing series, or editor. Of course, each group of students is different. Most likely, you can drop within the first two weeks with a refund if you sense the group or curriculum won’t meet your needs.
A university-level or upper division class might be more rigorous, but enrollment requirements get trickier. Either way, you’ll make at least a few friends who will want to meet and workshop outside of class, and by then you’ll have a feel for their skill/experience level. Many community college students are non-trads, perhaps like you, with a good deal of life experience. One of my two awesome critique groups is comprised of former students. (I teach creative writing).
Most local libraries host occasional free author talks or editor/agent workshops. Writing professionals need to promote their books, expand their client base, and deduct tax write-offs. You’ll learn about craft and current industry and market trends; you can also join mailing lists or meet with other attendees afterward for coffee and networking. I frequent writing conference on the Front Range and can attest that often the library hosts the same quality workshops, sessions, and even presenters from the expensive, professional conference circuit. In addition, the library calendar of events will announce meetings such as critique groups.
Attend a conference, network there, and or/join a regional writing group. Some are free; some have affordable yearly membership fees ($20-40) for which you can also attend occasional quality workshops. My second awesome writing critique group stems from my joining the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers group (RMFW, based in Denver). Their website listed the email contact for critique groups in my town. This is likely the most effective option, as you’ll be able to get a feel for genre and experience level before you join.
Even if you don’t want to write 50,000 words in one month, Nanowrimo.org is a fantastic resource and platform. There, during November, you can attend “write-ins” hosted all over your local area and meet like-minded writers.
If these ideas don’t work for you, there’s always Meetup or other social platforms. (If anyone has any other suggestions, please contact me!) Whatever you do, plan to meet in a public area until you feel very sure that no one is going to end up sobbing if you don’t think their writing “flows” well enough. (Or worse, stalking you because you told them it does!)
Tips on making that new critique group successful:
You might not end up with the Algonquin Roundtable or have a barstool retired for you like Hemingway, but hopefully you’ll get the feedback you need to improve your novel. Keep in touch for my upcoming post on how to give, receive, and apply, useful feedback. What has worked for you in your own critique groups?
Sure, everyone has heard the basics: don’t overuse names; don’t rely on cutesy dialogue tags (“he chortled”); avoid clichés; use contractions; observe grammar and punctuation conventions, and of course—show don’t tell. If a guide to anything involving writing doesn’t throw that last bit of golden advice in, it’s not worth its weight in—gold? (That’s what I get for using a cliché.)
One of my pet peeves as an educator is that so often writing advice is framed in either very specific and suffocating “do not” statements or obnoxiously vague “do” statements.
In contrast, this post will offer some specific dialogue considerations I’ve gleaned by reading thousands of student essays, participating in numerous critique groups, and most of all, revising my own work. I’ll also attempt to frame my advice in the positive.
Tip 1. When writing dialogue, you are always balancing authenticity vs. readability.
Your job as an author is not to write “exactly how a character would speak.” It’s to represent, with a good degree of authenticity, the cadence, features, and timbre of realistic speech. To do this, imagine that your characters’ genuine spoken words are revised and improved before being offered for public consumption.
Here’s an example of a passage in need of revision:
“Huh. I guess.” Jake said, sipping his coffee. He thought for a while. “I never thought of it that way before. But now that you say it, I can see that I should probably have believed my sister when she told me that guy was stalking her. Wow. What a creep. I just thought she was a drama queen, as usual. Just looking for attention.”
Honestly, I was bored just writing that. But that’s what first drafts are for—discovering our story and thinking through what our character would authentically say in a certain situation. Upon revision, we want to make speech less realistic but more interesting and succinct. As writers, we’re fascinated by wading through our characters’ streams of consciousness. Our reader probably wants to keep their socks and shoes on with the condensed, polished version. After removing redundancies and qualifiers, the result is:
Jake nodded before sipping his coffee. “I should’ve believed my sister when she told me that creep was stalking her. I just thought she was being a drama queen, as usual.”
Many beginning writers, and even those popular writers whose publishers greenlight in a hurry, use repetitive dialogue. But if your characters are essentially saying the same thing twice, choose the most effectively phrased version and nix the rest.
Ex: “I don’t know,” he said. “I really haven’t had much of a chance to suss it out.”
The second statement contains the idea presented in the first statement. There’s no need for both. And “really” already qualifies the verb, so you don’t need “much of” also.
“I really haven’t had a chance to suss it out,” he said.
Tip 2. Make sure your characters speak distinctly from each other.
Here’s a scenario I’m faced with often since I write mostly YA and MG: three or more teens in the same age range, in a café. Our speech patterns often vary based on education level, age, and region, but in this case, likely these demographics are similar. Now let’s move away from YA—what if you have several characters all from the same region of your fantasy world? In either case, how do we make sure their speech is not interchangeable?
Quicker strategies for distinct dialogue: diction, accents, easily identifiable vernacular, slang. Remember, if you choose these options you need to be consistent for 80,000 plus words. You also need to avoid lapsing into stereotypes and clichés. If your character has an actual speech impediment, you’ll need to work hard to balance readability vs. authenticity.
More in-depth strategies: characterization, motivation/situation (these of course overlap)
Who asks questions? Who gives orders? Who tries to lighten the mood with jokes? Who demonstrates confidence, insecurity, irritability, joy, sarcasm, or hopefulness? Who would be interrupted, and who would do the interrupting? Who usually controls the conversation/situation? Who is quick to apologize or qualify? Who needs to show off their knowledge? Who sits back to listen in a group conversation? Who likes to give advice? In short, does their speech accurately represent the elaborate characterization you’ve developed for them?
Who wants the subject changed? Who might be hiding something, glossing over something, fooling herself, or rationalizing? Who’s stressed out by conflict, and who dives headlong into it? Who is preoccupied? Who is having an emotion specific to this scene’s conversation—exhaustion, exultation, despondence, blind faith, boundless optimism? In short, does their speech accurately represent each characters’ motivation and backstory?
Who just got caught having an affair and is likely really defensive? Who hates weddings and is surlier than usual inside the tent? Who got stung by a bee and is trying to pretend he doesn’t need his epi pen? Who needs to take charge during this kind of crisis? Who falls to pieces when they see the furry spider? Who has been waiting to say, “I told you so” about her mother’s kitten-kicking addiction for ten years?
I recommend a mix of both speech pattern and characterization strategies, but as you can see, dialogue inspired by characterization reflects a deeper understanding of your characters’ complexities, and thus inevitably results in a better story.
Tip 3. Find your patterns and break them. (I’m probably going to tout this rule in every post on craft). Do you always use speech tags at the end, beginning, or middle of a sentence? Do you constantly follow speech with action, instead of the other way around? Is your dialogue frequently interrupted by action? Do you often use speech tags and action tags for the same dialogue? No one strategy is better than another, but mix them up so the writing doesn’t feel repetitive. Worse yet, it might even look repetitive, and if the reader stops to notice a pattern of text vs. white space, you’ve lost their attention.
Tip 4. Some things are less interesting when told through dialogue (I’m trying really hard to frame this in the positive!)
It’s uninteresting when characters think out loud for too long to work their way through a problem or examine their thoughts. Avoid monologues and speeches in fiction. I’ll let the brevity of this entry speak for itself.
It’s also uninteresting when characters too frequently stammer, hedge, stall, or say, “um,” “er” or “well.” Sure, you want to use those occasionally, but don’t aim for realism here. If you use these common expressions repeatedly, they’ll carry little weight. When your confident British detective protagonist is truly stumped and says, “Erm. I don’t know yet,” we want that “erm” to mean something.
And for the love of god, avoid “like,” and “you know.” Although they’re realistic, they’re flat out annoying in real life! Just like the neighbor’s dog barking as I write this …. Use “like” and “you know” very sparingly, if at all. We all say it, but we don’t want to be reminded.
Tip 5: Avoid small talk. Small talk is boring and unnecessary unless you’re constructing it in such a way as to further plot or characterization, in which case, it’s probably not small anymore. Sure, it works in “Hills Like White Elephants,” but that’s a short story predicated on the idea that small talk hides a big secret, and if we had to listen to the couple bicker for more than three pages, we’d put down the book. Trust the reader that you don’t have to give every conversational exchange or blow by blow. It’s understood that if a character orders food at a drive through, a verbal exchange ensued.
Tip 6: Too much sarcasm or skepticism is a turn off. Save the dry comments for when they’re really funny, and don’t assume that making your character constantly irritable translates to a real personality. Not only is sarcasm cliché, especially in YA, but it’s boring to read after a while. A sarcastic voice is funny when the sarcasm stands out and is surprising, not when it’s the norm and we’ve become clinically depressed by reading it. A good friend pointed out this error in one of my own works, which is why I’m coming down so hard on it!
Exercise: Pick at least three characters for whom you have a good understanding of their personality and motivations. Write them into a scene, or take a scene you’ve already written, and try to remove all the speech tags. I’m not saying you need to keep your scene this way, but the exercise will force you to develop new strategies and apply the techniques above. Make sure to share it with a friend. Can that person tell who’s speaking?
(Thanks for being my audience! Writing this post—thinking this through—is bound to make me a better teacher and writer.) I’d love to hear your feedback on how the exercise went for you!
Spring is here, and that means the season of creative writing conferences is upon us. If you’ve splurged on an upcoming conference, you’re probably equally excited to improve your craft and anxious about pitching your novel. Most creative writing conferences have agents present—possibly even a chance to pitch to one—so here’s some advice on getting your novel noticed.
Before the conference
Apply early. Agent pitch sessions, critique sessions, and other special add-ons such as editor/agent-led workshops fill quickly.
Research the agents involved for genre acceptance. Go beyond the blurbs posted on conference pages—visit their publishing websites and get a feel for their personalities. Check their blogs for wish lists. Does your dream agent say they long for an edgy murder mystery set in multiple locations but rejects all manuscripts that don’t pass the Bechdel and/or Mako Mori tests?
Absolutely plan to attend sessions hosted by your preferred agents, before you pitch, if possible.
Choose all sessions ahead of time to save precious conference minutes. You’ll use the short breaks between sessions for networking, giving the dreaded elevator pitch, doing some inspired writing, or most likely—making friends in the lobby or bar. (Writing conferences are very easy to navigate socially. Who doesn’t want to answer the friendly question: “What’s your book about?”)
Have a first, second, and third plan for every session block. Sometimes room fill up, or you’ll watch a presenter close down the hotel bar with “Danny Boy” the night before and realize you’re no longer so keen on seeing their session on time management. Also, if you’ve also researched the presenters (agents, authors, editors), you’ll get a feel for if they can actually teach as well as they do their day job.
Prepare multiple copies of your query, pitch, and first pages. You never know when you’ll get a chance to ask questions or get feedback on phrasing. Don’t count on being able to do too much last-minute printing in the business center.
During the conference
During a pitch session, bring a query letter in case your panicked, blank mind can’t retrieve your carefully crafted longline. If you’re doing a ten-minute query pitch, agents will simply read your letter and give you feedback or ask follow-up questions. During first page critiques, you’ll share your entire page and get feedback and advice. Query, pages, and synopsis critiques led by an agent are a fantastic way to introduce your work to them. Take every opportunity to partake in these, and always keep your most recent files accessible. I once received a request for pages because I quickly emailed my first page for critique during a revision session in which an agent/editor spontaneously asked for a volunteer whose work she could dissect on the main screen.
Many, many sessions on craft will look good, but attend at least a few agent-led sessions, not just the one you signed up for. You’ll feel more relaxed and be better able to process agents’ comments when your leg isn’t shaking so much that you’re spilling coffee from that tiny, impractical, lidless hotel coffee mug. (Side advice—consider bringing a travel mug!) The agent critique sessions, often billed as “first-page critiques,” “query critiques,” or “round-table reviews,” can benefit the spectators as much as the participants. My fellow conference-attending friends agree: watching an agent explain why another writer’s pages work or don’t work has been immensely helpful. Also, if you have extra copies of queries or pages in your hand when you attend these extra sessions, you might get to fill a slot if there are any no-shows.
By attending extra agent sessions, you’ll also get a much clearer sense of what your own preferred agents are tired of seeing. And, since you don’t have to spend those precious minutes in between sessions choosing your next workshop, you can quickly revise that favorite darling line/opening/gimmick which you now know your agent would rather fly coach than ever read again.
I can’t stress it enough: attend agent sessions and panels. This is the best way to learn current market trends and avoid pitfalls. For example: “diversity is a buzzword lately and we’re glutted with dystopian” (this is from last year—things change quickly). That doesn’t mean you give up on your six-novel dystopian series, but you will certainly revise your query and synopsis to highlight your protagonist’s marginalized status and downplay your novel’s “dystopian” elements to instead champion its speculative science-fantasy genre aspects.
It’s really okay to spontaneously pitch! Agents are there to gain clients and encourage attendees. Elevators, hallways, even the lobby or bar are all fair game. Agents will let you know if they’re too busy to talk. Keep in mind, they are often booked solid, so walking with them from one session to another might be the only chance you get. Use common sense—don’t follow them into the bathroom or push another writer out of the way to tout your soon-to-be-bestseller.
Meals are another great opportunity to pitch or get advice. If you line up early, you can usually head toward the table reserved for your agent. However, since agents are often bombarded during this time, my preferred method is to just sit wherever I please and enjoy meeting my table-mates. I’d rather converse with an agent during lunch or breakfast on the last day after the crowds have thinned. Do keep in mind that agents often rush to the airport right after the last keynote.
Volunteering can also be a good way to network or meet an agent unexpectedly or casually. However, you’ll have less time for yourself and your creative process.
After the conference
The good news is that most agents, even those whose websites say, “closed to unsolicited queries,” will take queries from conference attendees for a reasonable period of time. So even if you didn’t get to pitch to Agent Schmoe, you can query them later with QUERY FROM BLAH BLAH CONFERENCE ATTENDEE in the subject line. Either way, you’ve got a solid foot in the door instead of a few likely-to-be-slammed fingers. After I return home and have had time to decompress and apply my newly-gleaned conference info, I tend to query any agent who takes my genre. Except of course, if it was the agent who was closing down the bar with “Danny Boy” so loudly that first night.
And then, let’s face it–I might even query them anyway.
Thanks for reading! Look for my upcoming posts on how to get the most out of conference sessions and tips on querying!
Okay, so you’ve glanced at the more credible websites on proposed novel lengths. Or maybe you’ve even gone so far as to research your dream agents to find they expect a novel in your genre to be shorter. (Find some handy links re genre word count expectations below)
If right now you’re panicking over cutting 10,000, maybe even 20,000 words, I’m here to tell that if you truly need to do it, you can.
This post is mainly to newer authors seeking an agent. If you’re publishing regularly, you’re probably not as worried about word count. But if you’re a new writer, you should be concerned with industry standards on the topic.
My first novel was 145,000 words. Was it published? No way! Of course, I’ve never queried it. I finished it, started my second novel the next day, and soon realized how wordy my first one was. It’s now down to 105,000, and it wasn’t hard to accomplish once I recognized my patterns. I haven’t looked at it in two years, but with the kind of clarity such a hiatus from it will bring, I hope to lop off another 15,000 soon without hyperventilating.
Of course, this was after I shared that novel with two friends. Both said it was wordy.
“I know!” I wailed in my sporadically italicized YA teen-protagonist voice. “But which words are the wordy ones? If I could tell that on my own, I wouldn’t have written them!”
Luckily for me, those friends were both college professors and were able to articulate a few spots where I was specifically wordy. This helped me see my patterns, and I’m forever grateful.
Tip 1: Before you begin whittling down those pages, assess where you are in the process and react accordingly. Don’t start cutting haphazardly. Think holistically about the needs of the project.
a. Are you still writing the first draft, but you’ve realized it’s shaping up to be way too long? My advice—don’t even consider shortening it. Just keep writing. Don’t do anything to slow the process! You’ll revise later—(spoiler)—many, many times.
b. Have you completed the manuscript? You can think about reducing the wordiness, but your first main edit should be on the macro level, related to overall content, plot, and continuity. Cut out unnecessary scenes, snip extra plot threads you never wove into the story, and attend to any glaring wordiness that doesn’t gum up the revision momentum. (Remember, we don’t want to waste time micro-editing or perfecting one line if that line may never appear in the final draft!)
c. Have you revised a few times, but you’re still plagued by a high word count? This is the time to look for patterns, purple prose, and needless backstory or exposition. Now you can start the micro-editing.
Tip 2. So now you’re ready to revise for wordiness. Begin by outlining, if you haven’t yet. This doesn’t need to be an extensive outline. What’s the major point of each chapter, how does it move the plot along, etc.? Once you know this, you can cut or reduce scenes that don’t further the plot. Ask yourself—does this backstory slow down the pacing?
But I get it. I really do. That scene with the stolen harpsichord really shows the character’s quirkiness! And it’s your favorite passage! Great. Can you take the few best turns of phrase and work them into a scene that is critical? And your prologue— has it become unnecessary because everything contained in it has also been covered in the novel?
Tip 3. Donate, don’t delete, what you cut on the macro level. Cut those extra scenes or bits of backstory, but give yourself the permission to write a sequel, prequel, or supplemental content for your author platform with that content. You’ll find yourself much less traumatized by cutting something if you know it’s not actually being deleted. It’s like when you realize you simply have to let go of dear old deceased Aunt Ester’s bowling shoe collection, but you can’t bear to see those colorful shoes on the curb. It’s easier to let them go if you’re donating them, because then you know they’ll have a new chance to be appreciated.
Now you’re not abandoning those extra scenes, storylines, or subplots. You’re repurposing them in a new, cheerful, file labelled “sequel/website ideas.” When your fans come clamoring for content, barely able to wait for your next novel, you’ll be able to blog about the unknown backstory of your fascinating characters! Also, when you’ve revised again and forgotten those passages even existed, you’ll realize how much lighter you feel without them. (Sorry, Ester. But I needed my closet back!)
Tip 4. Spot your wordiness patterns. To do this, read a few pages aloud. What words do you hear repeated? Jot them down, then start doing document searches. Remove or replace with better synonyms. (Some of my go-tos are “actually,” “just,” and “really.” I’d like to blame the YA voice, but really, it’s actually just my own problem.)
Do you have long passages where your characters simply discuss and/or figure things out? Try just relating the realization without wading through every possibility. Of course, this is genre specific. You might need some extended sleuthing or deduction scenes in a mystery, or some fun, guessing-game banter in a chapter book that engages kids with puzzles or poems.
Can you remove needless prepositional phrases?
Did you make the same point at the beginning and ending of your paragraph? We really don’t need topic sentences in fiction, not even in the narrative.
Did you qualify things that don’t need to be qualified? “It felt a little spooky” is stronger when you say, “It felt spooky.”
Do you have clunky or repetitive dialogue patterns? How about extra speech tags and unnecessary rejoinders? I cut a thousand words from Novel # 1 just by fixing these:
“Sure I do,” said Kevin, reaching for the chips. “Of course I love you. I love you beyond all space and time.”
Kevin reached for the chips. “Of course I love you. Beyond all space and time.”
Tip 5. Yup. Lastly, I’m going to say it—trust your reader. If you do, you can cut out the unnecessary blow by blows such as she opened the drawer, removed the knife, and began cutting up the pie. Just say she cut the dang pie! The first two phrases add nothing. Unless, of course, instead of opening a drawer, she lifted up one foot to remove a switchblade from the heel of an old bowling shoe she found at Goodwill before cutting that pie. Now that, you might want to keep.
You will also, if you trust the reader, avoid wordy transitions from one scene to the next, avoid the need to explain why characters didn’t make alternative choices or deductions, and avoid constant repetitions of the characters’ motivations.
You can reduce your word count. Really. But before you start hyphenating every possible compound noun or replacing your catchy chapter titles with numerals, just breathe. If you’ve edited a great deal, and your book is simply much longer than industry standards, it may be that you won’t sell this one first. Edit and tighten, but don’t amputate a novel if it truly needs to be in the body it’s in. Treasure it for now as you write the next, and keep moving forward.
Thanks for reading my far-too-wordy post on reducing wordiness! If this was helpful, check out my more detailed posts on writing distinct dialogue and tightening prose.