Looking for giraffes
On reducing word count and looking at the horizon
After four months in my editor's hands, my manuscript came back to me with comments and suggestions. A few questions, some grammar corrections and the changing to and from semicolons, those tiny marks I will never understand the essence of. And oh, a request to cut my word count from my 89197 to the 60000 I had suggested in my book proposal. Fully expected and reasonable. It just hadn't occurred to me that 89000 is 50 per cent more than 60000. I got two weeks to do it, also expected and reasonable. I was grateful for those four months of pause from the manuscript, I had read it so many times I couldn't make sense of the words any longer. With a fresh perspective I was certain I would be up to the task.
I sliced out the 20 chapter summaries, which decreased the word count by no more than a fraction. I read the whole manuscript several times from start to finish and dropped a few ifs and buts. I placed chapters side by side in pairs and deleted repetitions.
Every day I went to the lake for my dip, always with my gaze a couple of meters in front of me as if searching for words to delete in the gravel, instead of at the horizon for giraffes. That's what our vision if for, says my optician, to look for danger on the savannah rather than into a screen all day for the meaning of life. My mind was entangled the jumble of words, unaware of the nature and the fresh air around me. At least the dip provided a well needed reboot of body and mind with its 1 °C water.
When I thought I had been brutal I looked at the new word count and found to my honest surprise that I had cleared out only 7000 words. I wanted to get at least below 80000, and I needed a new strategy. The evening before my last session I walked across the bridge to the gym to teach my weekly functional movement class, gaze still on the ground while listening to the playlist and going through the class in my mind. Once in the gym hall I looked at my participants and guided them with voice, expression and movement through the program. It was up to me to serve them the class in digestible bites, gently at first, then deeper and more challenging, providing them with ways to move through the poses in strength and joy, giving them an experience rather than just a class. I ended the session the way I always do, by thanking the body for all it does and is capable of. I walked back home with a decluttered mind, ease in my body, a spring in my step and my gaze on the horizon. If I squinted, the cranes in the skyline looked like giraffes.
I knew what to do now. I needed to detach myself from the words and the stories behind them and focus on how to guide the reader through the text. I needed to place myself in the seat of the reader: Where would they zone out? Where would they lose the thread or get bored? Where would they break and go for another cup of coffee? Where could I make space for beauty? Aware of my fondness for examples and stories, I highlighted these in two different colours throughout the manuscript and pasted them in a separate document. This way I could see where I had repeated myself and where I could condense, replace and rip out. I found a rhythm in my task out and the mindset of an intended reader and their experience. I took breaks, danced wildly in the living room (thank you
and ) and cut some more. I did good.When I sent the email back to my editor on the due date (thank you 6-hour time difference), I had reached 79720 words. Still not 60000, but closer than before, and tidier, tighter. For the next few weeks I will take my mind off the manuscript and look at the horizon.
Listen to the wool—a why-to guide for joyful spinning will be published in the second half of 2025.
wonderful!!! tack!