Revising: Re-vision your writing

“Kill your darlings, kill your darlings, even when it breaks your egocentric little scribbler’s heart, kill your darlings.” – Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft

You’ve brainstormed ideas; you’ve decided which ones will work, and you’ve even drafted something. All of that work is certainly something to celebrate, but you are not done yet! Now that you have a draft, you need to revise it.  

What is revision?

Revision is exactly what is sounds like—looking at something again to re-envision it. In our case, we want to look at our writing again in order to make it better for our readers. That is the difference between a first draft and a second one: that first, messy draft is for you, the writer, and that second (or third or fourth) draft is for your readers.

Sound hard? It is. However, that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Here are five things you can do to revise your writing.  

Get feedback early and often

At the writing center, we stress that we work with students, faculty, or staff at any stage of the writing process. And we mean “any stage”—we’re not just there for writers who have everything on the page and need someone to walk them through comma placement. We’re there for writers who don’t know what their main point is, who can’t figure out how to address the counterargument, who don’t know how to maximize their engagement with sources, or who feel like they have a bunch of evidence but no points to make. I often have “regulars” who come work with me every week at the same time, bringing the next stage of their project for feedback.  

And as a writer, I need that too.

In addition to coaching, I also create resources for writing centers. I write blog posts; I create handouts and design workshops and training sessions. On all those projects, I seek feedback from my fellow coaches. When I was creating handouts specifically for music students, I got feedback on them from a coach who regularly worked with music students—not once, but three or four times! After those sessions, I completely restructured the handouts because they weren’t working for some members of my intended audience (in this case, other writing coaches).

I get feedback on my own writing too. I tell new student coaches during our yearly kickoff event that, over the past four years, I have made about forty writing center appointments for my own writing—journal articles, conference papers, abstracts, and grant applications. And you know what? I’ve learned so much about my own writing in the process. I’ve also experienced success in getting articles published, papers accepted, and grant money to continue my research—all because I implemented the feedback others gave me on my writing. 

Getting feedback is not a sign of weakness; it is a sign of wisdom.

Take some time to think about who can give you feedback on your writing. Maybe you’re applying to jobs and have a friend or colleague who works in human resources. Take them to coffee and ask them to look over your cover letters and resumes with you. Maybe you’re writing a work of fiction and need beta readers. Who in your acquaintance reads the kind of fiction you’re writing? Offer to look after their kids for an afternoon or go walk their dogs so they can sit and read your work uninterrupted. Maybe you’re writing something that is more intensive, like a journal article based on original research. Find a colleague who is doing the same and agree to swap drafts—you provide feedback on their work and they’ll provide feedback on yours. Setting a deadline for both of you helps in this arrangement.

You have readers out there. Find them, and get feedback from them early and often. 

Re-imagine your organization and structure

Drastic changes to the organization or overall structure of a work often happen during revision. What structure you use will depend on the kind of genre you are writing as well as what seems to work best for your message and material.

I am a very visual person, so when I’m revising for organization and structure, I will almost always print my writing, especially if it is a longer piece. When I print it, I don’t keep the document double-spaced at 12-point font. Instead, I single space it, and usually change the font to 11 point because I want to visually take in as much as I can (without straining my eyes, of course). I will then lay the paper end-to-end on the ground, number the paragraphs or major sections, and imagine new orders of sections or paragraphs. Sometimes I’ll even cut the printed pages into individual paragraphs and move them around to see if a different order works better.  

I suggested this method to one of the doctoral students with whom I frequently work. We were making lots of structural changes in her coaching sessions and identifying lots of redundancy. We were lucky to complete three double-spaced pages in her hour-long sessions. I finally asked her if she only worked on her computer. She answered the affirmative, which meant she was only seeing one double-spaced paragraph at a time. I suggested that she print out her paper—a literature review—so she could see the whole thing to identify redundancy and evaluate what order might work best. During our next session, we worked our way quickly through almost seven pages of her writing. She said she had printed her lit review out, cut out almost four pages of redundant writing, and re-arranged much of her work. 

When you revise your work, don’t get bogged down with the sentence-level details. Do what you can to evaluate the larger picture.

Be willing to let go

Sometimes, things just might not be working. I will often end up with example or sections of a text that worked when I originally drafted the paper, but once I start revising, some material may no longer be as relevant. But more often than not, external constraints limit what can be included in one piece.

I have that problem with conference papers. I have to limit my conference papers to only eight double-spaced pages of text—a total of 18 minutes of reading aloud—because I know that I will need a least a minute or two for audio/visual clips (my clips are between 15 seconds and 30 seconds long and I usually have a least two in a presentation), and some extra breathing room for when the AV equipment goes haywire or I have a coughing fit in the middle of my presentation (both have happened!). I usually spend several hours close to the deadline reluctantly cutting precious text and prioritizing what I want to say because there’s just not enough room for all my material, no matter how relevant.

In academia, word counts are there—for grants, journal articles, abstracts, everything. If I really want my submission to be competitive, then I have to be willing to stay well within those limits, otherwise, my submission will end up in the reject pile, for the easiest way to trim down a pile of submissions is to ignore the ones that didn’t follow the directions. While a cover letter might not have a written “word limit,” the unwritten rule is that a cover letter needs to fit on one page. In doing so, you show respect for a potential employer’s time by getting straight to the point and making relevant connections between your experience and the vacancy so they don’t have to make those connections themselves.

Just because you have to cut something for one work doesn’t mean you can’t repurpose it for another work. I keep files of material that I’ve cut from projects (usually conference papers) that I have gone on to use in other projects (like journal articles). This takes organization and discipline, but if you’re reluctant to completely delete your darlings, you can save them for retrieval later.

Be willing to write more

Too often, when I introduce the five stages of writing (prewrite, draft, revise, edit, proofread), people think that its five sequential steps. In once sense, they are—you must have a draft in order to revise, and proofreading something that needs revising can be a waste of time (more on that later!)—but in another sense, writers often cycle between these stages as often as necessary. Let me show you what I mean.

I was working with a master’s of science in nursing student who was writing a policy paper: she had to take a state bill related to healthcare, analyze it, and talk about the implications of the bill if it were passed, especially for her nursing specialization. I don’t remember what the bill was on, but this bill had apparently been through several iterations and on and off the state assembly floor over the years. Parts of it had ended up in other legislation. Thus, talking about the bill itself was complicated. After talking to her, I encouraged her to draft the convoluted history of this bill for herself. She could write whatever she felt she needed. I told her that most of this information probably would not make it into her paper, but it sounded like she needed to straighten things out in her mind if her actual paper was going to be the way she wanted it. She made another appointment with me the following week and reported that she had done what I suggested. It had cleared up so much for her—in fact, she was taking her paper in a different direction as a result of that exercise, a direction she was much happier with. So while very little of that writing made it into her paper, she came to a better understanding of that bill as a result and was able to write a paper she was happy with.

Sometimes, you must write in order to understand instead of write to demonstrate your understanding. We often recognize this need during the revision process. Taking the time to do so is not a waste of your time.

Take time to think about your writing

As an academic writer, I must answer the why question. It is not enough just to describe, analyze, or interpret a phenomenon; I must also discuss its significance. Why should anyone care about it?

I must admit, sometimes, I don’t even know the significance.

I have always struggled with the question of significance. So often I thought that something was wrong with me because I couldn’t answer those questions immediately. Was I daft? Maybe I didn’t belong in academia at all. I knew the question had to be answered—I was always asking that question of others’ research. Why was answering this question so hard for me?

It took some time, but I realized that questions about significance are hard to answer by nature. If I don’t know the answer immediately, that is ok. I can take time to think about it. However, worrying about not having an answer just adds to my anxiety, making coming up with an answer in the first place almost impossible. More often than not, specific, thoughtful feedback from others helps me answer the question of significance.

When you work on a written project, build in time for you to get feedback from others to help you think about your writing. Don’t expect to complete the work in one sitting; instead, leave space between your writing sessions to allow yourself to think about your writing.

Conclusion

Revision is the key stage of the writing process where your understanding of the topic often happens. As you gain a better understanding of the topic, you discover how to structure that topic for your reader in a way that best conveys your message. Of all the writing stages, you will spend the most time on revising.