One Simple Question To Ask When Self-editing

Reducing your self-critiquing to this single question can simplify your writing process and open new creative doors.

Early in my writing career, I often bombarded myself with complex self-critiquing questions.

• Does this sentence strike the right tone for my readers?
• Do these words sound pretentious or confusing?
• What will my editor/publisher/readers think?
• Do I need to include more or less detail?

The list goes on.

Looking back, I can see why such an approach may have seemed appropriate, but from where I sit now, it feels exhausting and unnecessary. These days, I mostly stick to a single question as I evaluate and refine what I write:

Does it work?

In other words, I boil down my self-review process to a single, repeated, bare-bones, yes-or-no equation. Either something I wrote communicates powerfully and effectively or it doesn’t. Either my words create the movement, mood, and impact I need, or they don’t.

Reducing your entire writing self-critique strategy to such a basic binary may seem overly simplistic, but I’ve found this streamlined approach to be freeing.

Put less pressure on yourself

When I first began writing professionally, I felt that my work didn’t just have to be good — it had to be remarkable. That’s a lot of pressure. And often, the times I shot hardest for some sort of literary transcendence were the times I fell short the most.

I’ve discovered comfort and efficiency in realizing that my writing doesn’t have to be perfect, because “perfect writing” doesn’t actually exist. My words just need to do what I need them to do.

In your own practice, release the pressure and just focus on crafting text that works for you. Don’t worry about shooting for some imagined ideal. If you feel your writing does the job from start to finish, chances are it’s going to be pretty outstanding in the end.

Keep it simple

I’ve found that the less noise and fewer questions I have in my head when I’m writing, the more space there is for creative wordplay, nuanced storytelling, vivid descriptions, and so on. When I ask, “does it work?” — as opposed to a litany of other self-examining questions — I make the matter as simple as can be. Either what I’ve written does the job and I can move on, or it doesn’t and needs revision until it does. Getting something to a point where it works isn’t always easy, but the process doesn’t have to be over-cluttered either.

In your own writing, try asking “does it work?” instead of other self-critiquing questions you regularly pose to yourself and see how it feels. If you experience any sense of relief, openness, or clarity, it’s a strategy worth pursuing.

Less mystical, more practical

Before I started writing my first novel, I imagined that great fiction writers sat alone in tower studios, drinking absinthe, petting unicorns, absorbing inspiration from invisible muses, and pouring their deep suffering into diamond-crusted text.

Okay, I knew there weren’t unicorns, but the act of creating a massive narrative certainly did seem mystical, unobtainable, and daunting.

As an antidote, asking “does it work?” of my own writing helped me bring an intimidating process out of the stratosphere and under my control.

The more I’ve worked on my novel, the more I’ve felt that the art of crafting such a work is not some divine experience, but the result of repeatedly trying new things, building on what I like, reworking the rest, and asking, at every stage, “does it work?” It’s been amazing to see how quickly a small stack of sentences that passed the “does it work?” test can become a compelling paragraph, then a section, then an entire story.

There are many ways to get there

“Does it work?” is a simple question, and there are many ways to get the answer to “yes.” I’ve found exploring this dynamic to be freeing and inspiring.

When I revise sections of my novel-in-progress, for example, I sometimes hit spots where a transition between paragraphs doesn’t sit comfortably. Instead of hammering the last sentence of the first paragraph and the opening sentence of the second, asking “does it work?” makes me look at the situation more holistically. On a global level, what can I do to make this transition, these paragraphs, this entire chapter work?

Most often, there are many ways to get there. Maybe one of the paragraphs is actually extraneous and can be cut for a more streamlined overall read. Perhaps a sentence or entire section from elsewhere could smoothly bridge my two jagged ends. Maybe I need to trash and rewrite the whole section. Or maybe an extra line break is all that’s needed.

Regardless of the specific fix, by reducing the situation to the simplicity of a single, simple question, I remove creative restraints and open a new basket of possibilities.

In your own writing, see if asking “does it work?” allows you to step back and see problems not as constrictive choke points that breed frustration and swallow time, but openings to even greater creative possibilities.