Reflections by Daniel E. Dercksen
Sometimes we forget that we are writing our story for someone else to read. Our words become so precious to us that we overlook the possibility that even a single paragraph we dismissed might hold meaning for another.
Polishing the umpteenth draft of my novel, The Beauty of Incomplete Things – a story that has lived inside me since 1996, first surfacing as a stage play before transforming into a novelisation – I have ruthlessly followed the mantra Kill Your Darlings. Two chapters, once dear to me, I cut away as pretentious intrusions on the story I was truly writing.
The mantra “kill your darlings” means cutting out parts of your writing you love—even beautifully written lines, scenes, or characters—if they don’t serve the story. It stems from British critic Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, who in 1916 advised writers to “murder your darlings” in his book On the Art of Writing. Later, authors like William Faulkner and Stephen King popularised the phrase.
It dawned on me that I was not writing for myself. Those chapters had been written to underscore the emotional journey of my main character and to create a backstory that revealed vital insight into their motivations and goals.
Every word you write carries a reason, sometimes born of imagination, sometimes drawn from the insights of lived experience.
Remain true to the story you are writing. Do not be too hard on yourself, and never silence the imaginative, provocative, or challenging ideas that rise from within.
Always remember: when you write a story, you ignite a fire that will live inside you for a long time.
Your task is to keep the flames alive, not smother them with judgment or self‑criticism.
