There is a Samuel Johnson story I have always loved, though I have no idea where I read it, or how true it is. I recall it as something like this. His friend Boswell said to him, “Mr. Johnson, I have a friend who has written a fine book with many splendid passages, but no publisher will take it. What shall he do?” To which Johnson is said to have replied, “Tell your friend to remove all his splendid passages, and he will have a book he can sell.”
When writing a book, particularly a long one, it’s quite common to write such “splendid passages,” fine-honed paragraphs you, well, love. But if you do revise your book thoroughly—as you should—and yet those passages remain utterly untouched, you might consider taking Johnson’s advice. Such passages are often, in fact, road bumps on an otherwise smooth path.
I’ve learned—perhaps to soothe my own vanity—to cut those passages, and (working with a computer) park them at the end of the manuscript, telling myself they are not gone, just held in reserve. More often than not, I forget about them. Then, when I come upon them, I find myself asking, “Why did I ever save this?” Away goes that splendid passage—and I have a better book.