The Just Want To Be Done Effect
The Sneaky Energy Vampire in Your Writing: “WAS”
When I work with writers or with my own writing, one of the biggest things that keeps their stories from being amazing is what I call the Just Want To Be Done Effect.
What’s that?
It’s basically in the rush for the dopamine hit of having your story done, you fail to really immerse yourself into the story you’re writing on a sentence by sentence level to make sure it’s the level of awesome that you would want it to be.
That’s a high level of awesome if you’re wondering.
I would also argue that this immersion is what keeps us humans from being AI. When AI writes your scene right now (who knows for the future), it becomes a place where cause and effect doesn’t exist. The linkages between moments—all those delightful concepts so beautifully expressed by Dwight Swain—don’t exist.
When you revise, you want to get the dopamine hits of getting into each sentence and paragraph and scene and making it sing.
There are some really essential ways to do that:
Look for distancing words. Just do a Alt-F and find them.
Make sure there is setting and your characters interact with that setting.
Deal with WAS verbs.
Let’s talk again about those “was” verbs because they are a big problem in a lot of our early drafts.
Let’s talk about a tiny word with big implications: was.
On the surface, “was” seems innocent. It's just hanging out, doing its job. But stack up a bunch of sentences built on “was” and suddenly your writing has all the excitement of a soggy Saltine. That sounded mean, didn’t it?
But it’s pretty true. Here, look:
“The sky was dark. The house was quiet. She was afraid.”
Mood? Kind of. But it’s flat, right? It’s all telling, no showing, like someone describing a scary movie after they’ve fallen asleep halfway through.
Now watch what happens with just a little revision magic:
“Clouds strangled the moonlight. Silence clung to the house like cobwebs. Her fear scratched at the inside of her chest.”
Boom. You’ve turned a passive summary into a vivid, immersive scene. No “was” in sight—and your reader’s brain just lit up like a pinball machine. Hopefully. In a good way.
You might be wondering: Why does this feel so good?
It feels good because when you revise out “was,” you're not just polishing your sentences—you’re giving them a heartbeat. You’re making your story feel real and alive. That clarity? That oomph? That’s your brain getting a tiny dopamine reward for solving a puzzle and leveling up your prose. It’s like brushing lint off a painting and suddenly seeing the color.
Exercise: The WAS Hunt
Take a paragraph or page from your draft.
Highlight every sentence that uses “was” as a main verb (not helping verbs like “was walking”—we’ll get to those next).
For each one, ask:
Can I use a stronger verb instead?
Can I rework this into action or imagery?
Can I rearrange the sentence to show instead of tell?
It’s super easy really and kind of addictive (thus, the dopamine hit) once you get going, I promise.
Here’s a quick example.
Before:
“The room was messy. Her hair was tangled. There was a sandwich on the floor.”
The whole sandwich on the floor thing is terrifying me even up there, honestly. Who would waste a good sandwich? I hope that floor is clean!
After:
“Socks and paperbacks exploded across the floor. Tangled curls shadowed her face. A half-eaten sandwich lolled beside an overdue library book.”
Congratulations, you’ve banished three “was” goblins and made your scene ten times more delicious. That’s not true. It’s ten times grosser. Plus, there’s an overdue library book! Is there pesto on it now? I’m so worried!
And that is kind of the point.
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