Cut it out and paste it in a new document.  I have a fat folder I call “Darlings.” Ruthlessly, I bury them alive – and maybe I’ll let them out some day.

Here’s a challenge: Have someone read something you wrote that you ‘love.’ The person should be someone fairly objective, but someone who understands what you’re trying to accomplish. Every writer needs a mentor or an editor or, at the very least, a friend.

Try to be open to what your critiquer says. Don’t bristle; close your eyes and LISTEN. Then let the response you got rest quietly for a few days before reading your piece again, hopefully with just a bit more detachment and clarity.

In this way, you can learn how to become your own editor. Murder your darlings.

Be clear about what matters. Simplify your life, your home, your routine, your relationships. Keep the vital ones, empty the rest.

Spring is a great time to eliminate things you don’t need any more. Old sweaters, a pile of books you keep for sentimental reasons, a routine that’s become a bore, a knickknack, old letters, old habits, prejudices, thoughts. Throw them away – or give them away if they’re worthwhile – and leave room for something new to come your way. Empty your closets of things you haven’t used in a year – and allow space in your life. Don’t fill the drawer – leave it empty. Clear a shelf – and don’t put anything on it. Clear an hour – and don’t make plans. Choose not to buy, or plant, or prettify. Don’t purchase that new hat.

And this is true in your writing as well: When in doubt – throw it out. As you look at individual words in your story or article, ask yourself whether or not it’s vital for it to be there. You might be surprised how much more powerful and convincing your writing can become by eliminating clutter. By paring your piece to its essence, you are allowing the words to speak for themselves. They don’t need you, the author, to give them a crutch or that extra drink.

Right now, I’m in the process of revising a novel that’s 103,000 words. The task I’ve set myself is to bring it down to 999,999 words. I am not deleting any scenes or characters – just words, clichés, extra verbiage: words, words, words.

Here’s an example:

“She moaned again, burying her face in her hands. We waited for something—no one knew what—to happen next. Harry was taking a long time getting the glass of water.”

Do you see which word is purposeless and annoying? Yes, you got it! “Next.” What the heck is it doing there? Ugh! Completely unnecessary! See what I mean?

You don’t want words to get in the way of your writing – you want them to be the writing.

I’m reminded of my yoga teacher’s instruction: to let your breathing breathe itself.

Let your writing write itself.