Filter words like saw, felt and noticed distance readers from your character. Learn what filter words are, how to spot them and how to cut them.
Understanding Filter Words: My Personal Discovery
It all started for me when I was meticulously reviewing a manuscript I’d poured my heart and soul into. I thought I was being incredibly descriptive, adding nuances and layers to every sentence. But then my editor, a wise woman with an uncanny knack for spotting linguistic clutter, highlighted sentence after sentence, each one containing a seemingly innocuous word. "These are filter words, David," she wrote in the margin. "They create distance between your reader and the action. Cut them."
Initially, I was defensive. "Distance? But I'm trying to show the reader what's happening!" I argued in my head. I felt the words were adding depth. It took a while for her explanation to sink in, but once it did, it revolutionized my writing process. Filter words, I came to realize, are those little linguistic speed bumps that tell the reader that something is happening, rather than letting them experience it directly. They act as a lens through which the reader views the action, instead of immersing them in it.
I started seeing them everywhere: in my own writing, in articles I read, even in everyday conversations. Words like "I saw," "I heard," "I felt," "I thought," "I noticed," "I realized," "I believed," "I wondered," "I watched," "I knew," "I seemed," "I decided," "I began to," "I started to," "I tried to," "I looked at," "I touched," and "I heard" are prime examples.
They insert the narrator's perception or internal experience between the reader and the actual event. " The difference, though subtle, is profound. The first sentence directly conveys the sensation, while the second tells you that I felt it. It’s an extra step, an unnecessary mediator.
The Impact of Filter Words on Reader Immersion
My editor's main point about distance resonated deeply. When I began to consciously remove these words, I noticed an immediate improvement in the immediacy and power of my prose. The reader isn't being told about my experience; they are experiencing it alongside me. This shift is crucial for building a truly immersive narrative. It’s the difference between being told a story and being in the story.
Consider this: "I saw a red car speed past." Compared to "A red car sped past." The second sentence is more direct, more impactful. The reader still knows I, the narrator, saw it because I'm telling the story. The "I saw" is redundant. It’s like saying "I ate a delicious meal that I ingested." The act of eating implies ingestion. Similarly, the act of narrating implies observation.
Identifying Common Filter Words in My Own Writing
Over time, I developed a keen eye for these words in my own drafts. I found myself instinctively scanning for them during revisions. The most frequent offenders for me were "I felt," "I thought," and "I saw." I was particularly guilty of using "I began to" or "I started to" when a simple past tense verb would suffice. For instance, "I began to walk down the street" could simply be "I walked down the street." The shorter, more direct phrasing always had more punch. This conscious effort to identify and then eliminate them became a crucial part of my editing toolkit.
In exploring the concept of filter words and their impact on writing clarity, it's also valuable to consider how the choice of narrator can shape a story's perspective. A related article that delves into this topic is "The Power of Perspective: How the Narrator Shapes Your Story," which discusses the significance of narrative voice and its influence on reader engagement. You can read more about it here: The Power of Perspective: How the Narrator Shapes Your Story.
Why We Use Filter Words and Why We Should Reconsider
It’s easy to fall into the trap of using filter words. I know I did, and I still catch myself doing it sometimes, especially in a first draft when I'm just trying to get ideas down on paper. They often stem from a natural way of speaking. In conversation, we frequently preface our observations with "I think," "I feel," or "I saw." It's a way of signaling our perspective. However, written language has different conventions and expectations, especially in narrative.
One reason I think writers, myself included, rely on them is a subconscious attempt to soften a statement or make it sound more polite or less assertive. For example, instead of stating "The house was dilapidated," I might write "I thought the house was dilapidated." This subtly inserts doubt or personal opinion where a direct observation might be more powerful. Another common reason is a desire to explicitly connect actions to the narrator's senses. We want the reader to understand that the narrator is the one experiencing these things. But, as I learned, the narrator's presence is often implied, making these explicit connections redundant.
The Problem with Distancing the Reader
The core problem with filter words, for me, is their inherent ability to create distance. They place a barrier between the reader and the narrative world. Imagine looking at a beautiful landscape painting through a smudged pane of glass. You can still see the painting, but its vibrancy and detail are diminished. Filter words are those smudges. They prevent the reader from fully immersing themselves in the scene, from truly experiencing the sights, sounds, and emotions as if they were present.
When I write "She noticed the old woman crying," the reader is being told about her noticing. When I write "The old woman was crying," the reader is directly confronted with the image of a crying woman. The impact is far greater. The reader's imagination is engaged more deeply when they are invited to directly perceive the event, rather than being informed about a character's perception of it. This direct engagement fosters empathy and makes the story more vivid and memorable.
Undermining the "Show, Don't Tell" Principle
This entire discussion on filter words is, for me, inextricably linked to the fundamental writing principle of "show, don't tell." When I use a filter word, I'm often telling the reader that something is happening instead of showing them. "I felt afraid" is telling. "My heart hammered against my ribs, and my palms grew slick with sweat" is showing. The latter allows the reader to experience the fear through physical sensations, which is far more effective.
I used to think that "show, don't tell" was solely about imagery and action. But I've come to understand that it also applies to the very structure of our sentences. By removing filter words, I force myself to find more direct, sensory, and active ways to convey information. This push for directness inevitably leads to stronger, more engaging prose. It's a continuous learning process, but one that has undoubtedly elevated the quality of my writing.
Strategies for Identifying and Cutting Filter Words
After my initial revelation, I developed a systematic approach to identifying and eliminating filter words from my drafts. It's become a crucial step in my editing process, almost a ritual. I've found that simply being aware of them isn't enough; I need concrete strategies to effectively tackle them.
My Methodical Approach to Revision
My first pass at a draft is usually about getting the story down, letting the words flow. I don't obsess over filter words at this stage. It's during subsequent revisions that I specifically target them. My process usually involves a dedicated "filter word pass." I often use the search function in my word processor. I'll search for common offenders like "I saw," "I heard," "I felt," and "I thought." Each time I find one, I pause and critically examine the sentence.
The key question I ask myself is: "Does this filter word add anything essential, or can the meaning be conveyed more directly without it?" More often than not, the answer is the latter. If I can remove the filter word and the sentence still makes perfect sense, or even becomes stronger, then it goes. This systematic approach ensures that I don't miss too many, and it helps me retrain my brain to write more directly in future drafts.
Replacing Filter Words with Direct Sensory Details
This is where the magic truly happens. Simply cutting a filter word isn't always enough; sometimes, I need to rewrite the sentence entirely to convey the information more effectively. Instead of "I saw the sun glint on the ocean," I'll write "The sun glinted on the ocean." The "I saw" is implicit.
For sensory details, I push myself to be specific. Instead of "I felt the heat," I might describe "The air shimmered above the asphalt, radiating a suffocating warmth that prickled my skin." Instead of "I heard a dog barking," I might write "A sharp, insistent bark pierced the evening quiet." This forces me to engage all five senses and translate abstract feelings into concrete, observable details. It moves the reader from being told what I experienced to experiencing it themselves. This is where "show, don't tell" truly comes alive for me.
When to Keep a Filter Word (The Exceptions)
While my general rule is to cut, cut, cut, I've learned that there are rare occasions when a filter word actually serves a purpose. It’s not an absolute ban. I retain them when:
- To emphasize a character's perspective or limited knowledge: If the narrative is specifically exploring a character's subjective experience, their perceptions, or their internal monologue, a filter word can be crucial. For example, "He thought she was angry" implies doubt or a potential misinterpretation, which might be central to the plot. If I simply wrote "She was angry," it would state it as a fact, which might not be what I intend.
- To create a deliberate sense of distance or unreliability: Sometimes, I want to create a detached or unreliable narrator. In such cases, explicitly filtering information through their perception can reinforce that narrative choice. It's a stylistic decision that must be made consciously, not simply out of habit.
- To reflect natural speech in dialogue: In dialogue, people often use filter words. "I think you're right," sounds more natural than "You're right." Cutting them from dialogue can make conversations sound stilted and artificial. My goal is to make my characters sound like real people, and real people filter their thoughts and observations.
The key, I've discovered, is intentionality. If I'm using a filter word, it should be a conscious choice to achieve a specific effect, not just a default mode of expression.
The Broader Benefits of Eliminating Filter Words
Beyond the immediate improvements in clarity and immersion, I've noticed several broader benefits from my relentless pursuit of filter word eradication. This practice has become a fundamental pillar of my overall writing development.
Sharpening My Prose and Enhancing Clarity
The most immediate and undeniable benefit for me has been the sharpening of my prose. When I cut filter words, my sentences become more concise, more direct, and more impactful. The fat is trimmed, and the muscle of the narrative shines through. Each word earns its place. This isn't just about brevity; it's about precision. By removing the intermediaries, I'm forced to choose the most exact and evocative language to convey my meaning.
This focus on directness naturally leads to enhanced clarity. There's less ambiguity when the reader is experiencing the action directly, rather than being told about someone else's experience of the action. This clarity ensures that my message, my scene, or my character's emotion comes across exactly as I intend, without unnecessary layers of interpretation. My stories feel tighter, more focused, and ultimately, more professional.
Cultivating a Stronger Narrative Voice
Surprisingly, cutting out filter words has also helped me cultivate a stronger and more confident narrative voice. When I stop pre-filtering information through my character's or narrator's perception, the voice that emerges is bolder, more assertive. It speaks directly to the reader, establishing an immediate connection.
Instead of saying "I thought he looked suspicious," a stronger voice might simply present the suspicious details: "His eyes darted nervously, and he clutched the briefcase tighter." This allows the reader to draw their own conclusions, but the voice guiding them through those observations is unwavering and confident. It's about trusting the reader to interpret the evidence I present, rather than spoon-feeding them my character's internal assessment. This trust, in turn, makes the narrative voice more authoritative and engaging.
Improving My Overall Writing Habits
The discipline required to identify and eliminate filter words has spilled over into other areas of my writing. It's taught me to be more critical of every word choice, to question every sentence structure, and to constantly seek the most effective way to communicate. I've become more attuned to passive voice, to clichés, and to wordiness in general. It's like developing a muscle; the more I practice spotting and fixing filter words, the better I become at identifying and resolving other common writing weaknesses.
This constant self-correction has made me a more efficient writer in the long run. While initial drafts might still contain filter words, the amount has decreased significantly. My internal editor has become much sharper, catching these redundancies even as I write. This means less time spent on extensive revisions later, and more time focused on the bigger picture of storytelling. It’s an ongoing journey, but one that has profoundly shaped my approach to writing.
In the quest for clearer and more impactful writing, understanding filter words is essential. These words can often dilute the strength of your prose, making it less engaging for readers. To explore this concept further, you might find it helpful to read about the importance of theme in storytelling, as discussed in the article on the power of theme revealed. This resource can provide additional insights into how clarity in writing can enhance the overall message of your work. For more information, check out the article here.
My Continued Journey with Filter Words
Even after years of conscious effort, I still find myself on a journey with filter words. It’s not a battle I’ve won conclusively, but rather a constant vigilance I maintain. Every new project brings its own challenges, and every first draft presents fresh opportunities to refine my approach.
The Ongoing Practice of Self-Correction
I've come to accept that filter words are a natural byproduct of the drafting process. When I'm in the flow, prioritizing ideas and plot over perfect prose, they will inevitably creep in. The key for me is not to despair, but to recognize that they are simply indicators of where I can make my writing stronger during revision. My self-correction process is now deeply ingrained. I can often hear the "filter word alarm" in my head even as I type, prompting me to rephrase sentences on the fly. This doesn't mean I always succeed, but the awareness is always there.
I often read my work aloud during the editing phase, and filter words become glaringly obvious when spoken. They create a slight drag, a momentary stumble in the rhythm of the sentence. This auditory feedback is incredibly powerful for catching those I might have missed during silent reading. It’s a constant refinement, a polishing of the narrative surface until it gleams.
Encouraging Other Writers to Embrace the Challenge
I genuinely believe that grappling with filter words is one of the most impactful exercises a writer can undertake. I often share my experiences and strategies with fellow writers, encouraging them to embark on their own "filter word hunt." It’s not about perfection; it’s about making your writing as direct, immersive, and powerful as possible.
The initial discomfort of cutting words can be significant. It feels like removing parts of yourself from the text. But once you see the transformative effect on your prose – how much stronger, clearer, and more engaging it becomes – the effort is undeniably worth it. It’s a challenge that, once embraced, profoundly elevates the quality of one's storytelling.
My Evolving Perspective on Writing Efficiency
My perspective on writing efficiency has also shifted significantly. I used to think efficiency meant writing faster. Now, I understand it means writing smarter. By spending time in the editing phase specifically targeting filter words and other common redundancies, I’m not just fixing sentences; I’m training myself to write more effectively from the outset. This pre-emptive self-editing reduces the workload in later stages and ensures that the core of my story is always delivered with maximum impact.
This continuous refinement is what makes writing a craft, an art form that demands constant learning and improvement. The journey of a writer is never truly over, and for me, the ongoing dance with filter words is a testament to that enduring pursuit of excellence. Each filter word I cut is not a loss, but a gain – a gain in clarity, immersion, and the sheer power of my narrative voice.
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Related reading: Book Title 101: Novel Ideas for Naming Your Masterpiece · How Long is a Novel? Novel Word Count by Genre
Written by Enda Storrie, writer and creator of Story Bible.
