Poetry vs Purple Prose, Writing Career Plans, & Revision Process | Writing Q&A

Revision starts with diagnosing what the draft actually needs, not with chasing a universal checklist. The first step is to ask, “What do I feel my draft needs with editing?” If the problems are already known, fix those first. If the issues aren’t clear, letting the manuscript sit for a couple of weeks and returning with fresh eyes can surface structural and craft problems that were invisible during the exhausting push to finish. When uncertainty persists, a critique partner can provide the missing map—ideally after some self-editing, though sharing early drafts can work if the relationship is trusted and collaborative. The guiding principle is to identify the problems already on the radar and address them one at a time, starting with what the writer knows the book needs.

A second throughline is reframing “critical reading” as a skill that includes appreciation, not just fault-finding. With craft knowledge, it becomes easier to articulate why something works—so the reader can enjoy strengths while still noticing where potential isn’t fully used. That mindset also changes how writers handle their own drafts: rereading and picking at the work can be productive editing rather than a sign of failure, especially when it’s part of a deliberate process. For writers who can’t stop revisiting, setting a hard deadline and sending the draft to critique partners can force closure; once feedback is requested, the urge to keep “randomly” editing tends to fade.

Starting a new novel, meanwhile, is treated as an action problem rather than an inspiration problem. There’s no reliable sign or perfect time; the practical answer is to begin anyway—often with external pressure like nanowrimo to break the loop of brainstorming limbo. Similarly, when revision happens “as you go,” the balance depends on the writer’s psychology. Editing during drafting can be healthy for some people, but it becomes a trap for others who tinker with sentences instead of moving forward. A workable compromise described here is to draft in chunks, then do larger editing passes (including line edits where needed) while reserving attention for bigger issues rather than getting stuck perfecting individual lines.

Career goals and creative identity show up as another major theme. Full-time authorship is appealing, but the longer-term aim is to become a writing professor—valuing mentorship, teaching, and helping others figure out how to make their work “the best it can possibly be.” Even questions about character goals in literary fiction are answered through reading habits: internal yearning drives the external goal, so the “why” behind the goal matters more than the goal itself. The advice is to study the genre by reading widely, because writing literary fiction without that foundation can leave writers feeling stumped.

Finally, style debates are handled with nuance. Poetic prose isn’t automatically “purple prose”; the real danger is when poetic language blocks clarity and stops communicating. Vivid, surprising imagery can be valuable, but melodramatic clichés and overwrought complexity that don’t reveal character or advance meaning cross the line. The overall message is consistent: embrace a personal style, but prioritize clarity and purpose—then revise with targeted, time-bound decisions rather than endless hovering.