How to Kill Your Darlings

& your demons while we’re here.

In celebration of closing out the two-week stretch where the only socially acceptable topic at happy hour is what you’re adding to your plate in the new year… let’s talk about killing your darlings.

Writers have mastered the art of a fresh start. They’ve been turning a new page for centuries (literally). Every work a compilation of drafts chopped away at until they resemble a story.

As a writer with my own lengthy list of resolutions, my new personal favorite is starting this Substack. A happy place to ramble about love, lust, and everything in between. The corner booth of your favorite bar after 2.5 glasses of wine, where the conscious thoughts dwindle away to leave subconscious musings. Where conversations about love sound less like a checklist and more like a novella. a poem. a comedy special.

But, admittedly, I’ll need to release some things to prioritize it.

So I ask… How do we come to terms with what we need to edit out?

A Pre-Meditated Crime

In writing, killing your darlings means removing what you love when it no longer serves the story. Not because it’s without purpose entirely, but because it distracts from what matters most.

Tonight, I write this at an hour that’s edging toward bedtime; lukewarm tea and a fake fireplace flickering on the TV. It’s a great night. But it’d be a lie to say I’m having more fun than I did last Monday.

Last Monday, I poured myself a celebratory glass of wine (for surviving Monday), ordered takeout sushi (for surviving Monday), and scrolled through social media (for surviving Monday). The holy trinity of modern coping mechanisms.

That version of my routine wasn’t particularly fulfilling or productive, but it was comfortable. To be comfortable is to run in neutral rather than drive. You save gas, but you get nowhere. And that, I’m learning, is my most beloved darling.

I’m not writing this from a space of confidence but rather a growing weakness. An addict whose vice is contentment writing a note to their accountability partner. A last ditch effort to keep the future in focus rather than feed into the past, grasping through the soil of their grave. Which brings me to the crime scene…

The Yellow Tape

Cutting isn’t typically the hardest part. The gut-based removal of what doesn’t fit in the big picture feels refreshing. A salad after a fast food binge. A workout after rotting for days.

But maintenance never feels as rewarding. Because once the monotony of the routine slips in, you’ll remember why you liked the darlings in the first place. Because the darlings didn’t fit into your new story, but they felt so much less forced.

That’s when the level of difficulty rises. The real challenge is keeping the crumbled up sticky notes in the trash despite all temptation to review for notes of gold. But my experience is that you rarely find progress nestled in a trash heap of bygone thoughts.

I don’t think that adding to our lives isn’t about finding more. On the contrary, most of my effort has gone to intentionally doing less for those moments when something great falls into your lap. A moment you might not have even noticed if you were so busy seeking it in short-term gains.

In Memoriam

Personally, illing darlings became easier when I realized they never truly died… they simply live on in our hearts. Or something cheesy like that.

Creating a bigger life feels a lot like exercise. Everyone agrees it’s good for you. Almost no one wants to start. Mostly because it can be uncomfortable. Awkward. Revealing. There are mirrors. Metaphorically, of course.

To grow our capacity for love in all its forms, I find it’s easier to create safe spaces to explore our curiosity rather than jump to conclusions. Spaces where the why and how are always prioritized over the what and when.

Romanticizing life doesn’t mean keeping everything. It means choosing what’s sacred. And having the self-respect to let the rest die quietly, without a dramatic farewell post.