✍️Writing Struggles and What I Learned

Hey friends,

I’ll be honest with you, I overwrite. Like, a lot. My first drafts are full of paragraphs so long they could double as endurance tests. Half the time, I look back and realize I could’ve said the same thing in three sentences instead of three pages. But in the moment? Every detail feels absolutely necessary.

Here’s a good example from an early draft of 15-Love:

“Another day, another class. Oddly enough, the gym teacher, Mr. Konnor, was also the coach for many of the school’s sports teams. He insisted that all students call him ‘Coach,’ whether or not they were on one of his teams. As the class waited on the uncomfortable gymnasium floor, I wondered, had this floor ever been cleaned? How did the basketball team even play here?”

Not terrible, but it’s… a lot. Here’s how that same section ended up in the final draft:

“Another day, another class. Oddly enough, the gym teacher, Mr. Konnor, also coached half the school’s sports teams. He made everyone call him ‘Coach’—whether they played for him or not.”

Way cleaner. Version one overexplains and drifts into side thoughts, while the final version is sharper and gets right to the point. Readers don’t need the extra filler to understand who Coach Konnor is.

Honestly, I think I do this because I want readers to see the scene exactly the way I do in my head. I’ll start thinking, “What if they don’t picture the gym the right way? What if they don’t get how annoying this teacher is?” So instead of letting the words breathe, I start piling on detail after detail. Of course, that usually makes it worse.

For the longest time, I thought editing meant polishing every sentence until it sparkled. Now I’ve learned it’s more about trimming. These days, I’ll write the messy, overstuffed draft, walk away, then come back and ask myself: Do I really need this sentence? Most of the time, the answer is no.

Reading my drafts out loud has been a game-changer, too. If I can’t get through a sentence without tripping or sighing, it’s a sign it needs to be cut down.
Overwriting was my biggest crutch, but cutting back showed me that simple doesn’t mean boring. The clean version of a scene often hits harder because the rhythm is tighter and the emotion has room to land.

Turns out the fix to my writing struggles wasn’t writing more, it was learning to trust less. Less words, less fluff, less trying to force every single detail.

And hey, if I ever do get the urge to write a ten-sentence description of a doorknob, I’ll just throw it in the “deleted scenes” folder and call it a bonus feature. At least then it’ll feel intentional.

PS. It also helps when your husband is a professional copywriter!

More soon,
Vincent
#VincentRussoWrites