Writing Tips

Why Does Editing Feel Like Betraying My Past Self?

/ RG Newhouse / Leave a comment

You ever open an old draft, read the first paragraph, and immediately want to apologize to everyone you’ve ever loved?

Welcome to the emotional rollercoaster that is editing your own writing. It’s a journey full of secondhand embarrassment, self-reflection, and occasional breakthroughs… but hey, that’s the life.

Whimsical storybook illustration of a frustrated blonde writer sitting at a desk surrounded by flying manuscript pages, with a rollercoaster twisting behind her.
Editing your own writing: part progress, part panic, all emotional whiplash.

I recently got hit by the ‘I must reorganize my desk’ bug and unearthed a relic from my writing past. An old fanfic, fairly well received on fanfiction.net back in the day (and no, I will not tell you what fandom). On re-read? Absolutely horrible. The kind of cringe that triggers an instant existential crisis. I promptly stuffed the notes into the back of the drawer, where they will remain untouched until the heat death of the universe.

On paper (no pun intended), editing is a noble process. It’s about refining, polishing, and getting your book baby ready to face the world. But in practice? It feels like breaking up with a version of yourself who really, really thought they nailed it.

The First Draft Delusion

The first draft you? Starry-eyed. Passionate. Convinced you’re writing the next literary masterpiece. You didn’t need structure, you had vibes. Your dialogue was “quirky,” your metaphors were “bold,” and your pacing was… somewhere.

I once used the descriptor “he purred” five times in a single chapter. Five. A friend kindly asked if the love interest had transformed into a cat mid-conversation. At the time, I thought it was swoon worthy. In hindsight? Less purr, more yikes.

And then you, Version 2.0, show up with your red pen and your iced coffee and your “why is this chapter 3,000 words too long?” energy. Suddenly it’s not a love story. It’s a crime scene.

Storybook-style image of a dreamy blonde writer gazing at her laptop with sparkly thought bubbles of two attractive men, a smug black cat by her side.
Ah yes, the first draft… when everything felt romantic, sparkly, and only mildly unhinged.

Editing Is Time Travel

Editing isn’t just fixing commas, it’s reading the ghost of writer past and wondering who handed them a keyboard. It’s seeing that one emotional scene you poured your soul into… and realizing it reads like a melodramatic soap opera scripted by a sleep-deprived raccoon.

I used to have a serious issue with alliteration, either there was way too much or absolutely none at all. I’d start a paragraph with plain old ‘he said’ and ‘she said’ and by the end, it read like Dickens and Dostoyevsky got into a bar fight with a thesaurus. I’d also somehow end up completely off-topic from where the story was supposed to be going. Editing those sections felt less like trimming fat and more like untangling a ball of yarn made of metaphors and misfires.

Even when it’s bad, and oh, it’s bad, you have to respect the effort. Because here’s the thing: that raccoon tried. That version of you did the hard part, getting words on the page. You can’t fix what doesn’t exist, and even the cringe bits got you here.

Betrayal or Evolution?

So, is editing betrayal? Maybe it feels like it at first. You’re slicing out characters, rewriting whole arcs, and killing darlings with ruthless precision.

But really? It’s growth. You’re not betraying your past self, you’re honoring them by making the story better than they could alone.

It took me three drafts, two breakdowns, and a playlist called ‘editing rage’ before I realized the side character was actually the main character. My past self thought she was just quirky comic relief. Turns out, she was dragging the whole story behind her like a glittering emotional freight train. You’re tag-teaming with your past self. They wrote the mess. You make it art.

A flustered writer sits at a cluttered desk with wild eyes, surrounded by flying paper, a loaf of bread, a taxidermy owl, and a broken chandelier.
When you find that scene and instantly question all your life choices.

There’s no shame in the facepalms. Every writer has a graveyard of terrible scenes and plot threads that went nowhere. Self-editing often reveals the most ridiculous choices we’ve made and how far we’ve come. I once found a note to myself in the middle of a chapter that just said, “FIX THIS TRASH FIRE BEFORE ANYONE SEES IT.” And I had, in fact, left it exactly as is. The scene was a romantic moment that somehow involved a taxidermied owl, a broken chandelier, and a monologue about bread.

If you can laugh at it now, that means you’ve leveled up.

Editing your own writing hurts because it matters… it’s the ultimate test of writer growth. Because you care. Because you’ve improved.

So pick up that pen, sharpen your delete key, and keep going. Your past self got you this far and now it’s your turn to carry the torch (and maybe burn a few adverbs along the way).

Have you ever reread your early work and wanted to both high-five and strangle yourself? Tell me about your funniest or most painful editing moment in the comments!

The Writer’s Vault: Where Story Ideas Go to Nap (and Plot Revenge)

/ RG Newhouse / Leave a comment

Somewhere in the shadows of every writer’s brain, there’s a vault. Not a shiny, secure one like a bank has. No, this one’s a bit chaotic. Mine’s filled with story ideas in the shape of fuzzy plot bunnies wearing sunglasses, half-baked villains muttering about screen time, and wistful protagonists who never made it past chapter three.

A fluffy white bunny with round glasses sits on top of a pink vintage typewriter. The desk is cluttered with handwritten pages and stacks of books, surrounded by soft candlelight and floating feathers in a cozy, whimsical library setting.
Barnabas, my plot bunny extraordinaire, hard at work writing the next great novel—one fluffy keystroke at a time.


Why? Because I had to make the brutal decision to focus.

You see, chasing every story idea that prances through your imagination is fun, until it isn’t. Until your hard drive looks like a fanfic forum had a caffeine bender. Until you realize you’re six beginnings deep and haven’t finished a single book.

Oof. Guilty.

So, I made a choice. One idea, the idea, got louder. It stopped being “that cool twist on enemies-to-lovers” and started whispering actual scenes while I was trying to sleep. Characters argued in my head. Locations got Pinterest boards. A folder got color-coded. It grew teeth. It demanded love.
So the rest? Into the Vault. With a fond pat and a promise: “Not now, sweetlings. But one day, maybe.”

A fluffy white plot bunny with glasses sits contentedly on a box in a cozy underground library vault, surrounded by stacks of books and scattered pages glowing softly.
Barnabas in the plot vault, keeping all my story ideas warm and whispering encouragement to future novels-in-waiting.

If more ideas arrive after that, they’re added to those threads. No pressure, no rabbit holes, no full worldbuilding spirals, just breadcrumbs for future-me to follow when it’s time to start plotting that novel properly.

It’s a little ritual of hope, really. A way of saying, “Not now, but I see you. I’ll come back when I can give you the attention you deserve.”

Because that one idea, the one with claws and conviction, is getting all of me right now.
And here’s the wild part. It feels like commitment. It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating. Because now, this isn’t just a scribble in a notebook. It’s the beginning of a real story, with real characters, and a future on the page.

A fluffy white plot bunny wearing round glasses types on a pink vintage typewriter at a cluttered writing desk, surrounded by glowing lanterns and piles of story drafts.
Meet Barnabas, my plot bunny extraordinaire, hard at work and buried in story drafts. He’s got vision, fluff, and more commitment than I’ve had to my outline this week.

The others? They’re not gone. They’re just resting in the writer’s vault, waiting for the right moment. Dreaming. Plotting. Growing teeth of their own.

But for now, I’m staying focused.

And I think that’s worth everything.

Excuse Me, Who Gave This Character Free Will?

/ RG Newhouse / Leave a comment

I’d like to file a complaint with the character department. You know, the one responsible when your fictional characters suddenly develop minds of their own and hijack your carefully plotted outline?

Back view of a blonde haired female writer with her hair in a messy bun, seated at a chaotic desk with coffee mugs, candles, sketches, and scattered notes. Glowing, semi transparent fantasy characters float in midair around her as she writes. A small black cat peers from the corner, adding a hint of whimsy.
POV: You’re trying to write one calm scene and your characters keep staging a dramatic group intervention. Also, yes… there is a cat judging you. Generated by Midjourney

They were supposed to behave. I had charts. I had outlines. I had a playlist that was vibes only. Everything was going great until they started developing opinions. And back stories. And trauma. And suddenly I’m standing in the middle of chapter fourteen yelling, “Excuse me, who gave this character free will?!”

Writers, you know the ones I’m talking about. You start with a nice, manageable story and one delightfully quirky character who’s supposed to fill a very specific supporting role. And then… they go rogue. They hijack emotional arcs. They rewrite their own dialogue. They bring snacks to the plot and refuse to leave.

Take Ailis Larsen and her Ganlani partner, Vaelios. Originally? Vaelios was meant to be the softhearted sidekick, all light and laughter and naive enthusiasm. But then I started writing his scenes. Digging deeper. What started as simple character development quickly turned into something deeper, more layered, more real, more “excuse me, sir, who hurt you?” than I ever planned. And boom! There he was, sharp as obsidian, wittier than I had any right to make him, and carrying a quiet, bone deep grief that made me double take in my own draft. He is still sweet. But now he’s also the type of character who’ll gut you emotionally in one line and then offer you a handkerchief like a gentleman.

Or that short story I thought was going to be a fun little magic meets mystery romp. Surprise! The goddess showed up, uninvited, kicked the narrative off its hinges, and delivered a monologue that hit so hard I just sat there blinking like, “…Oh. So we’re doing depth now? Okay.”

And look, I knew I had a problem when I ran a Myers-Briggs Type Indicator test on one of my characters. And it changed everything. Suddenly I wasn’t writing a plot, I was navigating someone’s entire psychological profile like a therapist with deadlines. And yes, I am now slightly obsessed with that character. And no, I will not be taking questions at this time.

Also, to the character who was supposed to be a throwaway NPC but is now demanding their own trilogy: calm down. We’ve talked about this.

Honestly, I think I lost control back in the day when I may or may not have dabbled in fanfiction inspired by a certain velvet wearing, crystal spinning Goblin King. (You know the one.) Ever since, I’ve known deep down that I’m not always the one in charge here.

But let’s be real: that’s the magic of it, isn’t it? Characters come alive when you least expect them to. They surprise you. They talk back. And if you’re really lucky, they change your story into something so much better than what you planned.

Even if no one asked Jared to be hot and emotionally complex.

A cozy illustration of a blonde haired writer slumped asleep at her desk, viewed from behind. Neatly stacked papers and books surround her workspace, lit by soft morning light. A small black cat curls on top of an open book nearby, watching over her.
Sometimes the words win and the writer naps. Don’t worry, the cat’s got this shift. Generated by Midjourney

So, to all the writers out there wrestling your characters back into the box they busted out of three chapters ago… solidarity. May your character arcs be messy, your writing surprises delightful, your plot armor strong, your time lines elastic, and your characters just unhinged enough to be brilliant.

Tell me in the comments: who was your character that went rogue and refused to go back on the shelf?