Imagine telling a friend this story:

"There was something I wanted to tell you about what happened yesterday."

Your friend would probably think: Just tell me what happened.

Readers feel the same way. One of the easiest ways to weaken your writing is to delay the information readers actually care about. Instead of presenting the subject or action immediately, many writers begin with unnecessary words that force readers to wait for the point. The result is writing that feels slower than it needs to be.

What Does It Mean to Delay the Point?

A sentence delays the point when it hides the subject or action behind unnecessary introductory words. Consider this example from Rapunzel:

There was a tall tower standing at the edge of the forest.

The important information is the tower, butg readers don't encounter it until the fifth word. Now compare it to this version:

A tall tower stood at the edge of the forest.

The subject appears immediately. The sentence reaches the point faster and creates a stronger mental image.

Readers Want the Important Information First

Readers naturally look for two things as they begin a sentence:

• Who or what is this about?
• What is happening?

When those answers appear quickly, reading feels effortless, but when writers postpone them, readers have to work harder. Now consider these two examples:

It became obvious that Rapunzel was trapped.

Rapunzel was trapped.

Readers don't need to be told that something "became obvious." Once they read the sentence, it's already obvious. So, once you remove it, the second example communicates the same idea with fewer words and greater impact.

Extra Words Create Extra Work

Writers often believe they're making a sentence smoother or adding variety by adding introductory phrases. In reality, they're asking readers to process information that contributes very little. Compare these examples:

There was a long braid hanging from the tower window.

Rapunzel's long braid hung from the tower window.

Or:

It was the witch who guarded the tower.

The witch guarded the tower.

Both revisions reach the important information sooner, and the meaning stays the same.

Readers Don't Need a Warm-Up

Many delayed sentences begin with phrases that contribute almost nothing. When you're writing, watch for openings such as:

• There was...
• There were...
• It was...
• It became...
• It turned out...
• There seemed to be...

These phrases often act like a long runway before the sentence finally takes off. Instead of easing readers into the idea, they simply postpone it.

Delay Can Hide the Action

Sometimes the subject isn't delayed, the action is, as shown in the example below:

Rapunzel made the decision to climb down the braid.

The real action is climbing, so here's a cleaner version:

Rapunzel climbed down the braid.

The sentence becomes more direct because the action is no longer buried beneath unnecessary wording.

A Quick Editing Exercise

Open one chapter of your manuscript and read only the first five words of each sentence. Ask yourself these questions:

• Do I already know what this sentence is about?
• Have I reached the subject yet?
• Could I move the important information closer to the beginning?

You may discover that many of your strongest revisions come from rearranging words rather than rewriting entire sentences.

When Delaying the Point Works

Like every writing guideline, there are exceptions. Sometimes delaying information creates suspense. For example:

Behind the tower stood something Rapunzel had never seen before.

The sentence intentionally withholds information because the mystery is part of the experience. If you're delaying the point for dramatic effect, readers benefit. If you're delaying it out of habit, readers simply wait longer than necessary to understand the sentence.

Strong Writing Gets There Sooner

Readers appreciate writing that respects their attention, but that doesn't mean every sentence must be short or abrupt. It means every sentence should deliver its most important information as efficiently as possible. The next time you revise, look at the beginning of your sentences. If readers have to wait to discover what the sentence is really about, consider moving the point closer to the front. Clear writing doesn't make readers hunt for meaning, it puts the meaning exactly where readers expect to find it.

When writers want to strengthen their prose, they often focus on adjectives and adverbs. They search for more vivid descriptions or more expressive ways to tell readers what's happening. But the biggest opportunity to improve a sentence is usually sitting in the middle of it. It's the verb.

Verbs carry the action. They create movement, establish pacing, and help readers visualize what's happening. When the verb is weak, the entire sentence loses energy. Strong verbs make writing feel alive, while weak verbs make it feel like it's standing still.

What Is a Weak Verb?

A weak verb is one that relies on additional words to do the heavy lifting instead of expressing the action directly. In the example below, nothing is grammatically wrong with the sentence, but the action feels indirect.

Snow White went over to the window to look outside.

Now compare it to this version:

Snow White peered through the window.

The revision is shorter, but that's not the real improvement. The verb peered paints a picture. Readers can better imagine Snow White leaning toward the glass and looking carefully through the window. Notice how just one strong verb replaces an entire phrase.

Weak Verbs Often Hide Behind Extra Words

Many weak verbs are paired with unnecessary helper words such as the following sentence:

The Queen began to walk across the room.

Here's a stronger version:

The Queen crossed the room.

Or consider this sentence with a weak verb:

The huntsman went into the forest.

Instead of telling readers that he went, use a verb that describes how he moved as in these examples:

The huntsman hurried into the forest.

The huntsman crept into the forest.

The huntsman marched into the forest.

Each verb creates a different image and reveals something about the character.

Strong Verbs Reduce the Need for Adverbs

Weak verbs often invite adverbs to compensate as is shown in the example below:

The Queen walked quickly toward the mirror.

There's nothing technically wrong with the sentence, but the verb is doing very little because there are many variations of walked. Here are some stronger versions that better describe how the queen moved.

The Queen hurried toward the mirror.

The Queen stormed toward the mirror.

The stronger verb eliminates the need for the adverb while creating a more vivid image.

Strong Verbs Create Better Pictures

Readers don't simply process words. They create mental images. Compare these examples:

Snow White looked at the apple.

Snow White studied the apple.

The second sentence encourages readers to imagine her examining the fruit carefully.

Now compare these sentences:

The dwarfs went into the mine.

The dwarfs descended into the mine.

One verb simply reports movement, while the other creates a visual scene. That's the difference a strong verb can make.

Don't Settle for "Was"

Another common weak verb is was. Consider this sentence:

The cottage was old and covered with vines.

The sentence provides information, but it feels static. A stronger version might read:

Vines covered the weathered cottage.

The emphasis shifts from describing the cottage to creating an image the reader can see.

Every Verb Should Earn Its Place

When you're editing, pay close attention to common verbs such as:

• Went
• Got
• Had
• Did
• Made
• Looked
• Walked
• Came
• Took
• Was

These verbs aren't wrong. In fact, they're some of the most common verbs in the English language for a reason. They communicate basic actions clearly, and there are plenty of situations where they're exactly the right choice. The problem arises when they become your default choice.

Imagine describing every movement in a story with went or every observation with looked. Readers still understand what's happening, but the writing begins to feel generic. Instead of creating vivid mental images, the verbs simply report events.

A Quick Editing Exercise

Open one chapter of your manuscript and search for words like the ones in the bullets above. Review each occurrence individually, and ask yourself these questions:

• Can I replace this verb with one that's more specific?
• Can one stronger verb replace both the verb and an adverb?
• Can I create a clearer mental image?

You don't need to replace every common verb. You simply want to replace the ones that are making the sentence work harder than it should. One carefully chosen verb can reveal emotion, pacing, setting, and character all at once. Characters don't simply walk, they stroll, limp, shuffle, charge, wander, march... Each choice tells readers something different. That's why strong verbs are one of the simplest ways to improve your writing.

Let the Verb Carry the Sentence

Many writing problems can be traced back to verbs that don't quite do enough. When the verb is weak, writers often compensate by adding adjectives, adverbs, or extra explanation. When the verb is strong, much of that extra wording disappears naturally.

The next time you revise, don't start with the adjectives. Start with the verb. You may discover that changing one word gives your entire sentence more clarity, energy, and impact.

One of the biggest offenders is the phrase in order to. Writers use it because it sounds like proper writing: formal and complete. Unfortunately, it often adds words without adding meaning. But in most cases, removing it makes the sentence stronger.

Why Writers Use It

The phrase in order to explains purpose. Consider this example from Jack and the Beanstalk:

Jack climbed the beanstalk in order to find the giant's castle.

Sure, the sentence makes perfect sense. Now read it with the phrase removed:

Jack climbed the beanstalk to find the giant's castle.

The meaning stays exactly the same, but the sentence becomes shorter, cleaner, and easier to read. This is what makes in order to such a common source of wordiness. Most of the time, the words are unnecessary.

The Hidden Problem with Extra Words

Many writers assume additional words create additional clarity. Usually, the opposite is true. When readers move through sentences looking for meaning, unnecessary words become a small obstacle between the reader and the point you're trying to make.

Consider these examples:

Jack traded the cow in order to obtain the magic beans.

Jack traded the cow to obtain the magic beans.

Now read the sentence without the added words:

Jack traded the cow for magic beans.

The fewer obstacles readers encounter, the smoother the reading experience becomes.

Formal Doesn't Mean Better

One reason writers, especially nonfiction writers, cling to phrases like in order to is that they sound more formal. Unfortunately, formal language often sounds less natural. You wouldn't say, "I entered the cottage in order to speak with the giant." Good writing tries to communicate clearly and doesn't try to sound impressive.

Small Changes Add Up

One occurrence of in order to isn't a problem. Twenty occurrences across a manuscript create a pattern. Worse, any writers unknowingly stack wordy phrases on top of one another:

Jack climbed the beanstalk in order to attempt to find a way to reach the castle.

The sentence technically works, but it's carrying several unnecessary passengers. A cleaner version might read:

Jack climbed the beanstalk to reach the castle.

By removing eight words from the first sentence, the action becomes immediate and the purpose clearer.

When the Phrase Actually Helps

Like most writing advice, this isn't an absolute rule. Occasionally, in order to provides emphasis or helps avoid confusion.

The villagers left early in order to avoid the storm.

Even here, the shorter version works, however, the added emphasis feels intentional.

The goal is not to eliminate every occurrence automatically. The goal is to examine whether the phrase is contributing something useful.

Look for Other Wordy Purpose Phrases

Once you start noticing in order to, you'll often discover related phrases nearby that create the same problem. Watch for constructions such as:

• for the purpose of
• with the intention of
• in an effort to
• for the reason that
• in the process of trying to

Remove any of these phrases to reach the point faster.

A Quick Editing Exercise

Open a chapter of your manuscript and search for in order to or any of the phrases in the last section. Review every occurrence individually and ask yourself:

• Does removing the phrase change the meaning?
• Does the sentence remain clear?
• Can I replace the entire phrase with a single simple preposition?

Most of the time, the answer will be yes. You may be surprised by how much tighter your writing becomes after only a few minutes of editing.

Every Word Should Earn Its Place

Strong writing isn't about using the fewest possible words. It's about using the right words. Every word should contribute meaning, clarity, or emphasis. When a phrase performs no useful function, it's simply taking up space. That's the problem with in order to. It often asks readers to process three words when one will do. And in writing, those extra words add up faster than most writers realize. The next time you encounter in order to, try removing it. Your sentence will probably thank you.

Most writers focus on word choice, grammar, and punctuation when they revise. Those things matter, but they're not the only factors that determine whether writing feels smooth and engaging. Sentence rhythm plays a role too.

Readers may not consciously notice rhythm while they're reading, but they definitely feel it. When every sentence follows the same pattern, the writing starts to sound repetitive. When sentence lengths vary naturally, the prose becomes easier to read and more enjoyable to follow.

Good rhythm keeps readers moving forward.
Poor rhythm makes even strong content feel monotonous.

What Is Sentence Rhythm?

Sentence rhythm is the pattern created by the length and structure of your sentences. Consider this example from Goldilocks and the Three Bears:

Goldilocks entered the cottage. She looked around the room. She saw three bowls of porridge. She walked to the table. She picked up a spoon.

Nothing is technically wrong with these sentences. The grammar is correct and the actions are clear. The problem is that every sentence follows the same pattern and length. Now consider this version:

Goldilocks entered the cottage and looked around. Three bowls of porridge sat on the table. Curious, she picked up a spoon and leaned closer.

The information is nearly identical, but the rhythm feels more natural because the sentence structures vary.

Readers Hear Your Writing

Even when people read silently, they hear language internally. That's why repetitive sentence patterns become noticeable. Imagine reading an entire paragraph that sounds like this:

The bears left the cottage. They walked into the woods. They looked for berries. They searched near the stream. They enjoyed the morning.

The repetition creates a steady beat. Sentence. Sentence. Sentence. Sentence. Sentence. After a while, the writing begins to feel mechanical.

The Danger of Predictable Patterns

Many writers fall into favorite sentence structures without realizing it. Some writers begin every sentence with a character's name.

Goldilocks opened the door. Goldilocks stepped inside. Goldilocks looked around. Goldilocks sat down.

Others rely heavily on subject-verb construction.

• The wolf waited.
• The woods darkened.
• The wind blew.
• The branches swayed.

Again, none of these sentences are incorrect. The issue is repetition. Readers enjoy variety.

Short Sentences Have Power

One reason sentence rhythm matters is that shorter sentences naturally attract attention and create emphasis. Longer sentences establish information, provide description, and develop ideas. Consider this example:

Goldilocks sampled the first bowl of porridge. It was too hot. She tried the second bowl and quickly discovered it was too cold. Then she tasted the third.

The second sentence stands out because it emphasizes the heat. The final short sentence stands out because it follows longer sentences. Why? Because readers notice contrast. When several sentences contain additional details and longer structures, a brief sentence interrupts the pattern. It creates a pause. It slows the reader for a moment and draws attention to the information being presented.

Think of it like a drumbeat. If every beat is identical, the rhythm becomes predictable. Introduce a pause or a different beat, and suddenly listeners pay attention. Writing works much the same way. Now imagine the paragraph rewritten like this:

Goldilocks sampled the first bowl of porridge. It was too hot. She tried the second bowl. It was too cold. She tasted the third. It was perfect.

Every sentence is short. Every sentence receives equal emphasis. As a result, none of the important moments stand out. The rhythm becomes flat because there is no variation. Readers move through the paragraph at the same pace from beginning to end.

Short sentences are most effective when they are used intentionally. A well-placed short sentence can highlight an important detail, increase tension, or deliver a dramatic reveal. Their power comes from contrast. Without longer sentences around them, they lose much of their impact.

Long Sentences Have a Purpose Too

Many writers hear advice about cutting words and assume shorter is always better. Not true. Longer sentences can create flow, build atmosphere, and connect related ideas. For example:

Goldilocks wandered through the quiet cottage, examining the furniture, peeking into corners, and wondering where the owners had gone.

The sentence carries multiple connected actions without feeling cluttered. The problem isn't length. The problem is using the same length repeatedly.

A Simple Rhythm Test

One of the easiest ways to evaluate rhythm is to read your work aloud. Your ears will often catch problems that your eyes miss. Pay attention to places where:

• Every sentence sounds similar
• The paragraph feels repetitive
• The pacing drags
• The prose feels mechanical

These are often signs that sentence rhythm needs adjustment.

Rhythm Is About Balance

Good rhythm doesn't mean constantly changing sentence length just for the sake of variety. It means creating a balance that serves the reader. Sometimes a fast-paced scene benefits from shorter sentences. Sometimes a reflective moment needs longer ones. The goal is not randomness. The goal is control.

Readers Feel Rhythm Even When They Don't Notice It

Most readers will never say, "This chapter has excellent sentence rhythm." What they'll say is that the writing felt smooth, engaging, and easy to read. When it's working, readers stay immersed in the story or message. When it isn't, something feels off even if they can't explain why.

The next time you revise, don't just look at the words you're using. Listen to how your sentences sound together because strong writing isn't only about choosing the right words. It's also about giving those words the right rhythm.

Most writers don't intentionally weaken their sentences. They do it by adding small words that soften what they really mean. Phrases such as "kind of" and "sort of" often slip into a manuscript because they sound natural in everyday conversation. In writing, however, they frequently create hesitation, reduce clarity, and weaken the impact of a sentence.

The Issue

"Kind of" and "sort of" are forms of hedging language. Instead of stating something directly, they soften the statement and create uncertainty. Consider these examples:

• The witch looked kind of angry.
• Hansel was sort of nervous as he approached the candy house.
• Gretel felt kind of trapped inside the cage.

The reader understands the meaning, but the sentences feel hesitant. Is the witch angry or not? Is Hansel nervous or not? Is Gretel trapped or not? Now compare them to these revisions that communicate the same ideas with greater confidence and clarity.

• The witch glared at them.
• Hansel hesitated as he approached the candy house.
• Gretel gripped the bars of the cage.

Why This Weakens Writing

Words such as "kind of" and "sort of" create distance between the reader and the information being presented. Instead of making a clear statement, the writer appears uncertain about what is happening. This weakens descriptions, emotions, and actions. When these phrases appear repeatedly, the writing begins to feel tentative and less authoritative. The reader may not consciously notice the pattern, but they will feel the lack of confidence in the prose. This is especially problematic in fiction, where readers want to experience the story directly rather than receive vague descriptions of events and emotions.

How to Find It

Fortunately, this is one of the easiest editing problems to identify. Use your word processor's search feature and look for:

• kind of
• sort of
• kinda
• sorta

You can also listen for hesitation while reading aloud. If a sentence sounds uncertain or indirect, there is a good chance hedging language is involved. Phrases like these signal a need to strengthen the sentence:

• The candy house looked kind of strange.
• The forest seemed sort of darker than before.
• The witch was kind of smiling.

How to Fix It

The simplest solution is to remove the phrase and determine what you actually mean. Instead of writing a sentence like the one below:

The candy house looked kind of strange.

Ask yourself what is strange and rewrite the sentence with the actual meaning.

The candy house was covered in gumdrops, frosting, and candy canes.

Instead of writing:

The witch was kind of smiling.

Describe the smile.

The witch's crooked smile stretched from ear to ear.

Strong writing replaces vague impressions with clear observations.

When It's Okay to Break the Rule

Like most writing rules, this one has exceptions. Characters may naturally use phrases such as "kind of" and "sort of" in dialogue because people speak that way in real life. For example:

"I'm kind of worried about going into that forest," Hansel said.

The phrase sounds natural because it reflects how a character speaks. These constructions can also be used intentionally when uncertainty is the point.

Gretel was sort of expecting the witch to return.

The problem occurs when "kind of" and "sort of" become default writing habits rather than intentional choices.

Say What You Mean

Strong sentences make clear statements. They do not hide behind unnecessary qualifiers or soften ideas that should be direct. The next time you find yourself writing "kind of" or "sort of," stop and ask what you really mean. The answer is usually stronger, clearer, and more engaging than the phrase you're about to write.

Most writers assume that adding words adds clarity. It feels logical. If one sentence explains something, then two sentences should explain it even better. If a phrase is good, a longer phrase should be even more precise. Unfortunately, writing rarely works that way.

In fact, extra words often have the opposite effect. They slow readers down, bury important information, and dilute the impact of what you're trying to say. The more unnecessary words a sentence contains, the harder readers must work to find the point. Consider this example from Little Red Riding Hood:

Little Red Riding Hood began to slowly walk down the path through the forest in order to visit her grandmother.

Nothing is technically wrong with the sentence. The reader understands what is happening. However, several words are doing very little work. A tighter version might read:

Little Red Riding Hood walked down the forest path toward her grandmother's cottage.

The second sentence contains fewer words but creates a clearer image. The action is immediate, and the destination is obvious.

Why Writers Add Extra Words

Most wordiness comes from habit rather than intention. Writers often add phrases that feel natural while drafting but contribute little meaning. Some common offenders include:

• began to
• started to
• in order to
• due to the fact that
• at this point in time
• in the process of
• was able to

These phrases are not always wrong. The problem is that they are frequently unnecessary. Consider another example:

Little Red Riding Hood was able to see the wolf standing near the path.

A stronger version is simply:

The wolf stood beside the path.

Readers understand that if Little Red Riding Hood notices the wolf, she can see him. The extra phrase adds words without adding value.

Every Word Should Earn Its Place

One useful editing question is: "If I remove this word, does the meaning change?" If the answer is no, the word may not be needed. Take these two examples:

• The wolf nodded his head.
• The Wolf nodded.

What else would the wolf nod?

Which of these two examples is easier to read:

• The cottage was completely surrounded on all sides by trees.
• The cottage was surrounded by trees.

Surrounded already implies all sides, so why tell readers what they already know.

Wordiness Often Hides the Action

Many wordy sentences bury the most important information beneath layers of extra language. Consider these versions:

• Little Red Riding Hood made the decision to open the cottage door.
• Little Red Riding Hood opened the cottage door.

The action is opening the door, and the second sentence reaches the action immediately and eliminates unnecessary wording.

Readers naturally fill in gaps. They understand basic cause and effect. They don't need every step explained. If Little Red Riding Hood walks to her grandmother's house, readers assume she traveled there. If she opens the door, readers assume she reached for the handle. If she screams, readers assume she is frightened. Writing becomes stronger when readers are allowed to participate instead of receiving a detailed report of every tiny action.

A Quick Editing Exercise

Open a chapter of your manuscript and search for phrases such as:

• began to
• started to
• in order to
• was able to
• made the decision to
• due to the fact that

Review each occurrence individually. Ask yourself whether the phrase adds meaning or simply adds words. You will often discover that removing a few unnecessary words makes the sentence stronger, clearer, and easier to read.

Strong writing is not about using fewer words at all costs. Sometimes a longer sentence is exactly what a scene needs. The goal is not brevity, it's precision. Every word should contribute something useful. When words stop carrying meaning, they become clutter. And clutter makes readers work harder than they should. The next time you edit, remember that readers are looking for your message, not your word count. Sometimes the clearest sentence is also the shortest one.

Most writers use the word realized far more often than they think. It's one of those invisible words that slips into manuscripts unnoticed because it isn't technically wrong. In fact, it's often accurate. The problem is that accurate writing isn't always the strongest writing. Every time you tell readers a character realized something, you're placing a layer between the reader and the experience. Instead of letting readers discover information alongside the character, you're announcing the discovery from a distance. Once you start noticing realized in your writing, you'll see it everywhere.

Why Writers Love "Realized"

The word feels useful because it helps transition a character from not knowing something to knowing it. For example:

• She realized the door was unlocked.
• He realized nobody had followed him.
• I realized I had left my keys at home.

The sentences make sense, and he reader understands what happened. But the word realized is doing something you may not intend. It's acting as a filter.

What Is a Filter?

A filter is a word that reminds readers they are being told about an experience rather than experiencing it directly. Common filtering words include:

• Saw
• Heard
• Noticed
• Felt
• Wondered
• Thought
• Realized

Instead of placing readers inside the moment, these words place readers one step outside of it. Consider this sentence:

She realized the door was unlocked.

Now compare it to:

The door was unlocked.

The second version delivers the same information with fewer words and greater immediacy. The reader experiences the discovery directly.

Realized Often States the Obvious

Many times, readers don't need to be told that a realization occurred. For example:

Tom realized the restaurant was closed.

Stronger:

The restaurant's lights were off. A CLOSED sign hung in the window.

Readers naturally reach the same conclusion Tom does. No explanation required.

Let Readers Make the Discovery

One of the most powerful ways to engage readers is to allow them to participate. When writers explain every realization, readers become passive observers. When writers present clues and details, readers become active participants. For example:

Sarah realized her husband was lying.

Stronger:

Sarah glanced at the receipt in his pocket. The date didn't match his story.

The second example invites readers to connect the dots. That creates a stronger reading experience.

Sometimes "Realized" Creates Emotional Distance

The sentence below tells us what happened emotionally. But it doesn't make us feel it.

He realized he was afraid.

Stronger:

His stomach tightened. Sweat dampened his palms.

Now readers experience the fear rather than being informed about it. The emotional impact becomes stronger because the feeling is shown through evidence.

Not Every Realization Needs to Be Removed

Like most editing advice, this isn't an absolute rule. Sometimes realization itself is the point. For example:

Only then did she realize the photograph had been taken inside her own house.

In this case, the moment of recognition is important. The word helps control timing and emphasis. The goal isn't to eliminate every instance of realized. The goal is to examine whether it's earning its place.

A Simple Editing Test

Whenever you find realized in your manuscript, ask yourself three questions:

• Can I delete the word entirely?
• Can I show the evidence instead of stating the realization?
• Can readers figure this out on their own?

For example:

Original: He realized the meeting had already started.
Revision: Voices drifted through the conference room door.

Original: She realized she was lost.
Revision: None of the street names looked familiar.

Original: I realized I had made a mistake.
Revision: The numbers didn't add up.

In each example, the reader experiences the conclusion rather than being told about it.

The Real Problem Isn't the Word

The word realized isn't the enemy. The real issue is the habit behind it. Writers often use realized when they don't fully trust readers to connect information for themselves. Readers are smarter than we sometimes give them credit for. If the evidence is on the page, they'll usually reach the conclusion. And when they do, the writing feels more immersive, more immediate, and more engaging.

The next time you edit, search your manuscript for realized. You may discover that many of those realizations don't need to be announced at all. Sometimes the strongest realization is the one readers experience for themselves.

What Are Crutch Words?

Crutch words are words and phrases that show up repeatedly in your writing out of habit rather than necessity. They aren't always bad words. In fact, many of them are perfectly useful. The problem is frequency. A word that works well once can become distracting when it appears twenty times in a chapter. Some common examples include:

• Just
• Really
• Very
• Quite
• Actually
• Suddenly
• Somehow
• Seemed
• Began
• Started
• Perhaps
• Maybe
• Literally
• Then
• That
• Even
• Still

Every writer develops their own list. Some writers overuse intensifiers. Some rely on filler words. Others repeat the same descriptive language over and over.

Why You Don't Notice Them

Your brain is focused on meaning. When you read your own work, you're concentrating on the story, the characters, and the ideas you're trying to communicate. Because you already know what you're trying to say, your brain tends to skip right over repetitive wording. Readers don't have that advantage. They see every "just." Every "really." Every "suddenly." And once they notice it, they start seeing it everywhere.

The Real Problem Isn't the Word

Most crutch words create one of two problems. They either weaken the sentence. Or they repeat so often that they become distracting. Consider these examples:

She was very angry.

The word "very" isn't helping much.

Stronger:

She was furious.

Even better:

She slammed the door hard enough to rattle the windows.

Another example:

He just wanted to go home.

The word "just" rarely adds meaningful information.

Stronger:

He wanted to go home.

The sentence says exactly the same thing. One less word. One less distraction.

Repetition Happens at the Sentence Level Too

Writers often focus on repeated individual words and overlook repeated sentence patterns. For example:

• She looked at the door.
• She looked at the clock.
• She looked at her phone.
• She looked at the floor.

Nothing is technically wrong. But the repetition becomes noticeable. A reader begins hearing the same rhythm over and over. Instead:

• She glanced at the door.
• The clock read nearly midnight.
• Her phone remained silent.
• The patterns in the wood floor were far more interesting than the conversation.

The information stays the same, but the repetition disappears.

How to Find Your Personal Favorites

The easiest way to find your personal favorite words is with a search function. Open a chapter you've written and search for words at the beginning of this post. You may be surprised by the results. Better yet, look for words you know you personally use a lot. Most writers already have suspects. I regularly see writers using these words, and I catch myself using the quite often in a first draft:

• Nodded
• Smiled
• Shrugged
• Looked
• Turned
• Realized
• Felt
• Actually
• Simply
• Quite
• Completely
• Totally

Your favorite word may be completely different. That's what makes this exercise so valuable. So keep an eye out for them and write them down for future reference. It's also helpful to examine each use individually and ask yourself these questions:

• Does this word add meaning?
• Would the sentence work without it?
• Is there a stronger, more specific alternative?

You don't need to eliminate every occurrence. You simply want each occurrence to earn its place.

Patterns Reveal Writing Habits

One of the most useful things about identifying crutch words is that they reveal larger writing habits. Writers who overuse "very" often need stronger word choices. Writers who overuse "seemed" may be distancing readers from the action. Writers who overuse "just" are often adding unnecessary filler. Writers who overuse "suddenly" may be telling readers something is surprising instead of making it surprising. The word itself is rarely the real issue. The habit behind it is.

Great Editing Starts with Self-Awareness

Every writer has favorite words, and professional writers are not immune. The difference is that experienced writers learn to identify their patterns and manage them. Because once you know your favorite weak words, you'll start seeing them everywhere. And that's when your editing becomes significantly more effective. Your manuscript probably doesn't need more words. It probably needs fewer of the ones you've been leaning on without realizing it.

Most sentences don’t fall apart because of grammar. They fall apart because they try to do too much at once. When a sentence carries multiple ideas, actions, and emotions all piled together, nothing stands out. The meaning gets buried, the pacing slows down, and the reader has to work harder than they should to comprehend the meaning.

The Issue

Overloaded sentences try to pack too many thoughts into a single line. You’ll often see this when a writer keeps adding details with commas, “and,” “while,” or “because,” thinking they’re building a richer sentence. In reality, they’re stacking competing ideas that weaken each other.

Little Red Riding Hood walked through the forest, thinking about her sick grandmother and the basket she carried, while noticing how quiet it was, which made her nervous because she felt like something was watching her.

That sentence is trying to handle movement, memory, description, emotion, and tension all at once. None of those ideas get the attention they deserve.

Now compare it to this:

Little Red Riding Hood walked through the quiet forest. Her grip tightened on the basket as a strange unease settled in her chest. Something felt wrong. Something was watching her.

The same moment is there, but now each idea has room to land. The writing is clearer, more controlled, and far more engaging.

Why Overloaded Sentences Hurt Your Writing

When sentences try to do everything at once, they weaken everything inside them. The main action gets buried under extra details. Important moments lose their impact because they’re competing for attention. Emotional beats don’t land because they’re rushed past instead of given space. The pacing slows down, and the reader has to untangle the sentence just to understand what’s happening.

Readers don’t stop and analyze why the writing feels off. They just feel the drag. And once that pattern repeats across a paragraph or page, the writing becomes exhausting to read.

How to Find It

Overloaded sentences are easier to spot than most writers think. They usually feel long, tangled, or slightly confusing when you read them back. If you have to slow down or reread a sentence to follow it, that’s a problem.

Look for sentences that rely heavily on commas and connecting words like “and,” “while,” or “because.” Pay attention to places where the focus shifts midway through the sentence or where multiple ideas are introduced without a clear hierarchy.

For example:

Cinderella rushed down the stairs, trying not to lose her shoe, while thinking about the prince and whether he would recognize her, and she felt her heart racing as the clock continued to strike midnight.

If you read that out loud, you can feel the strain. The sentence keeps going, but the clarity doesn’t.

How to Fix It

The fix is simple, but it works best as a two-step process. First, break the sentence into smaller pieces so you can clearly see each action, detail, and emotional beat. Then, rebuild it by grouping related ideas together.

Start by pulling everything apart:

Cinderella rushed down the stairs. One slipper slipped loose. The clock struck again. Panic surged through her chest. Would the prince remember her?

Now you can actually see what’s happening instead of trying to untangle it mid-sentence. Each idea is clear, and that makes it much easier to decide what belongs together. Next, combine related ideas so the writing flows naturally without becoming overloaded again:

Cinderella rushed down the stairs, one slipper slipping from her foot. The clock struck again, sending panic through her chest. Would the prince remember her?

Now the sentence group has structure. The action and the lost slipper work together because they happen at the same time. The clock striking and the panic are connected because one causes the other. The final question stands on its own because it carries emotional weight and deserves emphasis.

Nothing important was removed. The ideas were simply reorganized so each one supports the others instead of competing with them. The pacing improves, the meaning is clearer, and the tension builds instead of getting buried.

When It’s Okay to Break the Rule

Longer sentences are not automatically bad. A longer sentence can work when it has a clear main action and the additional details support that action instead of competing with it. The structure should feel controlled, not chaotic.

For example:

Snow White stepped into the cottage, her fingers brushing the dusty table as she took in the quiet, abandoned room.

This works because the sentence has a clear focus. The added detail enhances the moment instead of overwhelming it. The problem is not sentence length. The problem is lack of control.

One Thought at a Time

Strong sentences do one job well. When you give each idea its own space, your writing becomes clearer, sharper, and easier to read. The pacing improves, the emotion lands, and the reader stays with you. This is one of the fastest fixes you can make in your writing. Once you start noticing overloaded sentences, you’ll see them everywhere. And when you clean them up, the improvement is immediate.

Most weak sentences don’t fall apart in the middle. They fall apart at the beginning. The first few words of your sentence carry more weight than you think. They set direction, establish clarity, and determine how quickly the reader understands what’s happening. When those opening words are weak, everything that follows has to work harder. And most writers don’t even notice they’re doing it.

The Issue

Weak sentence openings usually rely on placeholder words instead of getting straight to the point.

• There was a loud noise in the hallway.
• It was a strange feeling.
• This is when everything changed.
• That was the moment she knew.

These openings delay the subject. They push the real meaning deeper into the sentence instead of leading with it. Compare those to:

• A loud crash echoed through the hallway.
• A strange feeling settled in her chest.
• Everything changed in that moment.
• She knew.

The second version gets to the point faster, uses stronger structure, and pulls the reader in immediately.

Why Weak Openings Hurt Your Writing

When sentences consistently start with words like there, it, this, or that, the writing begins to feel indirect and repetitive. Even if each sentence is technically correct, the overall effect is flat. Readers don’t analyze this consciously. They just feel it. And once that pattern shows up across multiple sentences, the writing starts to drag.

How to Find It

This is one of the easiest patterns to spot. Search your document for:

• there
• it
• this
• that

You don’t need to eliminate every instance. Some are fine. The problem is overuse. Another way to catch it is by reading a paragraph out loud. If multiple sentences start the same way, you’ll hear the repetition immediately. That rhythm is a red flag as shown in the example below.

There was a girl walking through the woods with a basket on her arm. There was a wolf watching her from behind the trees, waiting for the right moment to step out. There was a narrow path leading to her grandmother’s cottage, winding deeper into the forest with every step.

How to Fix It

The fix is almost always the same: move the real subject to the front of the sentence and remove the delay, as shown in the examples below.

• A girl walked through the woods with a basket on her arm.
• A wolf watched her from behind the trees, waiting for the right moment to step out.
• A narrow path led to her grandmother’s cottage, winding deeper into the forest with every step.

When It’s Okay to Break the Rule

Not every “there” or “it” is bad. Sometimes you want a softer opening or a slower pace. These structures can work when used intentionally. The problem is when they become your default. If most of your sentences start this way, your writing will feel distant and repetitive without you realizing why.

Lead With What Matters

Strong sentences don’t hide the subject. They lead with it. When you start your sentences with clarity and purpose, the meaning is clearer, the pacing improves, and
the writing feels more confident. This is one of those fixes that seems small, but once you start catching it, you’ll see it everywhere. And when you clean it up, your writing will feel sharper almost immediately.