Writing, for me, is like giving birth.

A ruthless edit is akin to killing an offspring.

At times, putting an article or story together is a painful process. The words do not flow, the story does not knit well and it takes real work to create something worth reading at the end.

When the end finally comes, I feel satisfied with what I’ve done. I preen when I read certain words and phrases. I think how nicely they fit together. I think ‘good job!’

Inevitably, I start editing and find words and phrases that can be eliminated to make the writing tighter. I sit hemming and hawing about taking out this word or that phrase. Inspiration hits as well, and I find a better sequence of words to express myself.

When I think I’ve been brilliant and some words or, god forbid, a whole paragraph has to be excised, all that is I can do is heave a mighty sigh, reluctantly highlight the segment and even more reluctantly, hit the delete key.

The good thing is, I can’t point to a single instance where cutting excess words has been a bad thing. As painful as it is to kill my words, my writing becomes better and better with each edit.

I guess killing, in this instance, is not a crime after all.