Word Count Woes: Why Your Bloated Book Might Be a Problem
A brutally honest and slightly sarcastic guide to slashing your word count without crying (much)
The Length of Your Novel Isn't a Personality Trait
In fiction writing, word count isn't just a number—it's a red flag or green light for agents and publishers. Before you write a single scene, know your target. Word count gives you a rough idea of the novel's scope, helping you avoid an accidental five-book epic disguised as a debut.
Contrary to popular belief, longer doesn't mean better. A sprawling manuscript crammed with five-syllable words and overstuffed sentences won't impress anyone (especially not Shania Twain). A literary agent's eyes will glaze over before they reach page ten.
For debut authors especially, keeping your word count under 100,000 is essential. Go over that? You're basically daring a publisher to bin it.
Why You Should Care (and Stop Sobbing Into Your Draft)
Yes, I know. You love your book-baby and every word it's wearing. But here's why trimming the fat is necessary:
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It's pacier. A leaner manuscript means a snappier read. Readers stay hooked. Pages keep turning.
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Agents are brutal. If your word count overshoots the genre expectation, many won't even read the pitch.
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Readers expect structure. Even self-published novels must align with genre norms—or risk being skipped entirely.
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Printing costs are real. Longer books cost more to produce and buy. Do you really want your masterpiece priced like a hardback dictionary?
Snip, Snip: How to Butcher Your Manuscript (Lovingly)
First Things First: Zoom Out – The Bird's-Eye View
Before you hack away at every “that” and “very”, take a breath. Editing should always begin at the macro level. No point polishing a scene that'll end up on the cutting-room floor. Start big, then zoom in.
Here's how to spot the fat from a mile away:
The Ruthless Editor Within
Look at your manuscript like a surgeon, not a proud parent. There is always fat to trim—redundant scenes, overwritten metaphors, backstory no one asked for.
Trust me: if a chapter doesn't move the story forward, your reader will feel it dragging like a soggy dog. And when readers get bored? They leave.
You must be willing to 'kill your darlings'. Yes, even that gorgeously-written sunset paragraph that does nothing for the plot. File it elsewhere. Maybe use it in your next novel about sunsets.
“Subplot or Sub-plop? Cut the Dead Weight”
Subplots are like seasoning. Too little, and your story's bland. Too much, and no one knows what flavour you're going for. Subplots should:
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Add insight into your protagonist's actions or motivations
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Deepen the theme
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Feed into the main plot
If you can remove a subplot and your story still makes perfect sense (or better sense), it probably needs to go. Snip snip.
The Rambling Writer's Curse
Ever read a sentence so long you forgot how it started?
Overwriting happens when you're desperate to sound clever or when you've researched something and now insist on including every fact, even if your plot doesn't need it. That's not storytelling—that's a TED Talk in disguise.
Be concise. Simple language isn't lazy—it's effective. Readers want clarity, not a thesaurus thumping.
Plot or Not: Is This Scene Earning Its Keep?
Every scene should hustle the plot along—not lounge about reminiscing or sipping metaphorical tea.
Ask yourself:
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Does this scene raise stakes or deepen conflict?
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Could I cut this and lose nothing but word count?
If your characters are sitting around rehashing things the reader already knows or engaging in charming-but-pointless banter, it's time to wield the axe. Save the cute but irrelevant ones for flash fiction later (we all have that one beloved scene).
Backstory Begone: Start Where It Hurts (in a Good Way)
Writers often begin too early—backstory, world-building, your character brushing their teeth for four pages.
Instead, start in medias res—in the action. Look at your first five scenes. What happens if you ditch your current opener and begin at Scene 2? Or 3? Is it punchier, more emotional, less boring?
If so, trim the excess and thread the necessary backstory into later scenes. Don't front-load your reader with a biography—they didn't sign up for a textbook.
The 'Fluff'Epidemic
If it doesn't add to character, setting, or plot, cut it.
One major culprit: scenes full of filler. You might have written an entire tea-drinking sequence to show mood, but ask yourself—could this be shown in two lines?
Fluffing happens when a paragraph can be distilled into a sentence. If you're meandering for the sake of being “literary”, readers will see through it—and roll their eyes as they skim.
Don't Be a Shakespeare Unless You're Actually Shakespeare
Writers sometimes compensate for weak storylines with flowery prose. Don't. Long-winded sentences stuffed with posh vocabulary are a chore to read. Unless your book is literally set in a 17th-century parlour, nobody wants to decode your dictionary.
If a sentence doesn't land clearly on the first go, it's too complicated. Break it up, simplify it, or ditch it. Don't make your reader work harder than necessary.
Store Your Darlings (Don't Kill Them Forever)
Before you panic, know this: cutting doesn't mean deleting forever. Create a folder of deleted content. Scenes, characters, subplots—store them for future inspiration or another book. Maybe your tea-drinking scene will thrive elsewhere.
Consider using them as exclusive content in that weekly newsletter you promised your readers after hounding them to hit that subscribe button.
This approach makes it less painful to hit the delete key and encourages detachment when editing.
Too Many Names, Not Enough Knife Fights: Cut the Cast
You've trimmed subplots. Now ask: are there any characters who only exist for those now-gone threads? If they're not scheming, dying, or betraying someone, why are they here?
If a character isn't moving the story forward or adding something vital (conflict, humour, plot twists), they're just literary clutter.
Fewer characters = less name-juggling for your readers. Marie Kondo their arses.
Next: Zoom In – The Frog's-Eye View
Now for the line-by-line bloodbath. Time to trim, tighten, and untangle your prose. Yes, it's painful. But do it anyway. Here's what to watch for:
Filler Words: The Fluff of Doom
These little demons add nothing but bloat. Watch out for:
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that – Often totally unnecessary
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very, quite, really, just – Weak intensifiers. Cut or replace.
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began to / started to – Usually better as direct action
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dialogue clutter – “Yes,” “Well,” “Ah,” and “I know” rarely add value
Example:
“She was very worried that her mother would hear them.”
Fix: “She worried her mother would hear them.”
Your main character has enough problems without dragging 'very' around like a cursed heirloom.
Adverbs & Adjectives: Overdressed Sentences
If your verb is strong, you don't need an adverb.
“He whispered quietly” → “He whispered.”
Don't double up on adjectives.
“A cruel, merciless sorceress stood before him.”
“A merciless sorceress stood before him.”
Your writing isn't a GCSE essay. Less is sharper.
Passive Voice: The Literary Yawn
Passive voice kills momentum like a dull sword in battle.
“The curse was broken by the chosen one.”
“The chosen one broke the curse.”
More punch. Less parchment.
Filter Words: You're Not Watching Netflix
Words like saw, felt, thought, heard make your reader a spectator, not a participant.
“He felt the cold steel against his neck and thought he might die.”
“Cold steel pressed against his neck.” I might die.
Now we're in the moment—with him, terrified.
Redundancies: Saying the Same Thing Twice
“He nodded his head” → “He nodded.”
“He grabbed the hilt of his sword and drew it” → “He drew his sword”
“She glanced up at the moonlit sky” → “She glanced at the moonlit sky.”
Trim the obvious. Trust your reader's brain.
Your Personal Tic Words: Find Them and Fight Them
Every writer has their favourites—shrugging, sighing, nodding, smirking, holding on to a breath they didn't know they were holding, etc. Use your software's word frequency tool (Scrivener makes this easy) and hunt them down like clichés at a writer's retreat.
Dialogue That Doesn't Sound Human
Use contractions—don't, won't, can't, etc—unless you've got a Victorian butler narrating. Dialogue without contractions sounds stiff and robotic. Let them sound normal.
Too Much Stage Direction
Your characters are not in a play. Don't describe every physical movement unless it matters.
“He marched to the door, put his hand on the handle, flung it open, walked out and slammed the door.”
Fix: “He marched to the door, flung it open, and slammed it behind him.”
Let the reader fill in the gaps.
Repeating Info the Reader Already Knows
You don't need a recap scene just because a character missed what happened. Readers were there.
“Kate filled Sam in on the situation” is fine. Use that moment to push the plot forward, not hit rewind.
Take a Breather (Then Edit Like a Maniac)
Once you've finished your draft, walk away. Seriously. Give it space. A few days, a few weeks even. Then come back with fresh eyes and a sharper knife.
You'll be amazed at what you spot with distance. And after your ruthless self-edit, consider hiring a professional editor. They'll spot what you missed and suggest what you couldn't bear to admit.
Even editors need editors. I wouldn't dream of publishing a novel without one, and neither should you.
Final Thoughts: Trimmed Is Terrific (and Professional)
Editing a novel is an emotional bloodbath. It's a ruthless, necessary, slightly soul-crushing process. But it's also what separates amateur drafts from finished work.
Start with the big stuff: subplots, scenes, structure, characters. Then zoom in and slice the fluff, filter, filler, and fancy faffery.
The result? A cleaner, tighter, more compelling story. One agents will actually finish, readers will love, and you'll be proud of.
Cut with confidence. Polish with pride. And remember: your reader doesn't care how many words you wrote. They care about how many made them feel something.