Editing, the Work Beneath the Words

How To Reveal What the Marble Hides

A widely held misconception about writing is that it emerges in a seamless flow: an uninterrupted, articulate stream of thought arriving fully formed on the page. No revisions, no second thoughts. Just sheer brilliance put on the page. This is of course a fantasy. What distinguishes the skilled writer isn’t inspiration or some special gift, but the willingness to revise. Editing is the most undervalued skill in the craft, and often the most neglected. Why? Because it demands what many of us instinctively resist: the courage to question our own choices.

1. Let Go of What Doesn’t Serve Us

When we write, we’re making a series of decisions: about tone, structure, rhythm, and emphasis. Some of those decisions work, many don’t. But once they’re on the page, it’s surprisingly hard to see the difference. We become attached to our phrasing, our analogies, our clever transitions. We start to treat early choices as final ones. The result? Clutter. Confusion. A structure that leans but doesn’t stand. The challenge of editing is not technical. It’s psychological. We have to be willing to let go of what doesn’t serve our message or idea, even if it once felt right, especially if it once felt right. Editing isn’t about tidying up. It’s about thinking harder. Asking: what is this sentence doing? Does it move the reader forward? Or is it just hanging on because I’m reluctant to delete it?

Learning to edit is learning to fall out of love with our own words. Not because they’re not worthy. But because our readers deserve better. The moment we decide we’re writing for someone, not just from ourselves, but for others, we begin to see editing not as an insult to our genius but as our gift to our audience.

2. The Sculptor’s Eye

This is why I keep coming back to the metaphor of the sculptor when thinking about the craft of (academic) writing. Michelangelo reportedly said that the sculpture was already inside the block of marble, the artist’s job was merely to chip away the excess. Writing is the same. A draft holds the shape of our argument, our narrative, our idea. But it’s only through carving, often deliberate and brutal, that the final form emerges. And Michelangelo was brutal. He apparently once spent four months just chipping away at a single block of marble for the statue of David, not because he was uncertain; but because he was obsessed with revealing what he believed was already living inside the stone. He didn't rush the process. He studied the material from every angle, felt it, circled it, tested it. He once claimed he could "see" the figure trapped within the stone before he began and that his job was simply to set it free.

The David wasn’t shaped in a flash of inspiration. It was shaped through revision. Michelangelo even used wax models and sketches to test angles and proportions before committing to the stone. He wasn’t improvising. He was refining. Editing is no different. It is not a bureaucratic step in the creative process. It is the creative process. It’s where we stop expressing ourselves and start communicating with and for others. It’s where the reader becomes part of the equation.

3. Flow is a Reader’s Experience, Not a Writer’s Feeling

In my mind, writers too often confuse flow with ease. “I wrote a section in one sitting,” someone may boast, but is this really evidence of quality? Flow is not about how we feel when writing. It’s what our reader experiences while reading. The reader doesn’t care how it felt to write. They care how it feels to read. And here’s the hard truth: most of the time, our first draft flows for us, but not for them (the same applies to writing slides for presentations or teaching by the way!). It reflects our thoughts in motion, which, let’s be honest, are often tangled, recursive, half-formed. We jump. We backtrack. We digress.

Editing is what makes the writing flow for the reader. It imposes clarity. It traces a path. It makes the argument walk upright, with intention. If the reader can’t follow our thought, they won’t marvel at our insight or explanation. They will just feel indifferent, or put our writing down. Editing isn’t about perfection. It’s about connection.

4. Skill Power over Will Power

We live in a culture that glorifies effort. In a scientific community that often celebrates output-oriented effort: the determination to push through cognitive blocks, the commitment to producing volume, the ability to produce top publications. There is, of course, merit in persistence and output. But what ultimately distinguishes impactful writing is not willpower, but skill power. There’s a certain pride in pushing through a tough writing session. In hitting a word count. In producing a draft on a deadline. And yes, will power matters. Writing is labor. But will power isn’t what transforms good intentions into good writing. Skill power is.

Skill power is the practiced ability to notice what’s unclear. To feel where the reader might get lost. To know when a section needs tightening, or when a paragraph needs to be restructured, or deleted. The writing that endures is rarely the product of momentum alone; it is the result of sustained, deliberate refinement. The more useful question, then, is not “How much did I write today?” but rather, “Did I improve what I wrote?” Skill power comes from editing.

5. Some Tips for Practicing Your Editing Skills

So, how do we harness this skill power? How do we train ourselves to be sculptors, not just marble-makers?

Here are three simple, albeit not always easy, ways to start:

• Wait Before You Edit
  Give your draft time to cool. You need distance to see clearly. What feels profound at midnight often looks overwrought at noon. Let it breathe.

• Read Like a Stranger
  Approach your draft like someone who doesn’t know your topic, your references, or your questions. Would it make sense to them? Would they care? Would they keep reading?

• Cut With Purpose
  Every sentence should either move the idea forward or deepen the reader’s understanding. If it doesn’t, it’s marble, not sculpture. Remove it.

And remember: cutting a sentence doesn’t kill your message. It actually reveals it.

6. Respect the Reader. Respect the Marble.

Strong editing is more than humility, it's a form of respect. Respect for our readers, our ideas, and the full potential of our words. We’re not defined by our first draft. We’re defined by how we refine it. Real skill isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to show off. But when it's there, it resonates. The words move. The ideas connect. The message hits home. So yes, write with dedication and determination. But edit with care. The sculpture is waiting.

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Whether you’ve found a rhythm that sustains your work or are still in search of one, I’d value hearing your perspective. Even in the solitude of quiet rooms and long hours, we are part of a broader conversation. You’re not alone in it.