My dad was a residential designer. He had a client once building an incredibly large and extravagant home in an exclusive neighborhood. He often told stories of this client who was opinionated and funny and ostentatious. Perfect fodder for the “you’ll never believe what Mr. K asked for today…” stories at the dinner table.
And there were many.
One night, my father began another such story.
Mr. K had called that day and wanted more—either the rooms to be larger or a new wing—but his construction costs were growing with each new ask. He brought his new list of wants to my dad with these instructions:
“Make it bigger, but no more square feet.”
Builders create estimates based on square footage—after all, that’s additional materials, labor, you name it. And Mr. K didn’t want his construction budget to go up a penny more.
“Make it bigger, but no more square feet.”
I don’t remember the specifics of the solution, but I do remember walking through the house while it was under construction and my dad pointing out a few things he’d done to give the illusion of more space. Moving the placement of the island in the kitchen, window size to let in more light and add drama, more open space in the grand hall.
In the end, my dad achieved it. He made it bigger, without adding square feet.
At the end of January, I sent off my revisions to my agent. In order to satisfy some of the problems in the book, I added words.
A lot of words.
But words I was happy with. They were the added rooms and wings my story needed to breathe.
When my agent sent her feedback on my changes, she loved them.
And she also wanted me to try and cut 10,000 words.
I’d made my story bigger, but now needed to subtract some square feet.
Like my father, I puzzled over the problem for a bit. The easiest solution would be to cut all the stuff I just wrote.
But that would weaken the story. There was a reason the book needed what I added.
Instead, I decided to adjust the window size, open up a wall, adjust the placement of the island. I needed to tighten the word count by getting rid of anything unnecessary.
I went to my writer posse and asked for some advice on how to do that.
Most of their suggestions were not a surprise: check for passive voice and edit out filter words and adverbs.
But one suggestion did take my by surprise:
Cut 10 words per page.
It’s the tightening by inches that keeps the structure unchanged.
Not only is it an effective strategy, it’s a fun challenge when I sit down to work.
Some pages I cut fewer than 10 words, but others, I lose several lines.
I’m cinching the corset on the story–everything is still there, just tightened up a little to show off its strongest assets.
Just like my dad needed to make some slight adjustments to meet his client’s underlying needs and show off the house’s strongest assets.
The challenge of writing is often to “make it bigger, but no more words.”
Writers can do this with word choice and ensuring every line of dialogue and description and action moves the story—both the physical and emotional layers—forward.
It’s no easy feat, but with a little creativity and a critical eye, we can make our writing bigger and tighter at the same time.
“Make it bigger, but no more square feet.”
Maybe Mr. K was on to something.