Editing Tips for Concise, Powerful Prose
- Eliminate redundancies: Remove repetitive or obvious phrasing (e.g., “walked forward into the room” → “entered the room”) (WriteAtlas, Sfyrb).
- Use strong verbs: Replace weak or longer phrases with vivid alternatives (“adjusting the pleats” → “smoothing pleats”) (Sfyrb, The Write Practice).
- Trim adjectives/adverbs: Be selective—keep only those that add weight (Rephrasely, TextCortex).
- Switch to active voice & cut filter verbs: Instead of “I was adjusting,” try “I adjusted.” Keep it direct (Melanie Kirk Editing, Writers Online).
- Remove filler words and transitions: Words like “that,” “just,” “really,” “meanwhile” often bloat sentences without adding meaning (Phrasly.AI, TextCortex).
- Start in media res: Begin close to the main conflict—skip or condense exposition (The Write Practice, Writers Online).
From Reddit writers:
“Separate every sentence into: key info, flavour text, fluff” and drop the fluff. (Reddit)
“Delete non‑essential scene‑setting; start where the action begins.” (Reddit)
A Tighter Version (Condensed)
The bedroom mirror showed me smoothing the pleats of a simple gray dress I’d owned for three years. Dmitry, fussing with his Italian cufflinks, didn’t look at me when he asked, “Ready?”
“Yes,” I replied, brushing my hair once more.
He finally glanced at me, disappointment clear.
“Don’t you have anything more decent?” he sneered.
Every corporate event he belittled me like that. I’d learned to smile it off.
“This fits just fine,” I said.
He sighed. “Let’s go—just try not to embarrass me.”
Five years ago, we married: me fresh out of university, him a junior manager. He climbed rapidly, splurging on Swiss watches and designer suits. To him, image was everything.
Meanwhile, I worked modestly in consulting. At events, he mocked me as his “little gray mouse,” and I laughed along.
Then a notary called: My father had died and left me everything—a fund, homes, cars. Among his holdings: TradeInvest—the company where Dmitry worked.
At the CEO’s office I learned that Dmitry’s deals were nearly worthless. Suspicions of misconduct led me to order an internal audit.
The investigator confirmed it: Dmitry was siphoning off profits. By then I’d updated my wardrobe subtly—with couture, not showy labels.
Last night he told me about tonight’s senior‑management dinner. “Not an event for you,” he said. “You’d lower my status.”
Tonight, I wore a sleek Dior dress. At the restaurant, the CEO greeted me: “You look wonderful.” I met heads of departments. They knew me as the company’s owner, though not publicly announced.
When Dmitry entered, his expression shifted from confidence to horror.
“I didn’t invite her,” he said quickly.
The CEO smiled: “Oh, but I did. She inherited the company.”
Dmitry turned ghostly. “Owner?” he whispered.
For two hours, he trembled beside me. Later, he begged for mercy: “I can explain.”
I offered him a chance to resign quietly. But he erupted, attracting security.
At home he raged again. I calmly explained the investigation and his theft—millions, backed by documents.
“You won’t… you can’t…?” he stammered as he collapsed in the armchair.
I told him the apartment and car could offset damages.
He panicked about living arrangements; I reminded him I owned a downtown flat, a country house, and even had a chauffeur.
“You were right,” I said gently. “We’re on different levels—just not the way you thought.”
I left without looking back. In the car, I declined his call. His text—“I love you, we can work this out”—went unanswered.
A new life begins. He is the past. I’m no longer a little gray mouse.