The beach stretched endlessly before her, a golden ribbon of shimmering, sun-kissed eternity, unfurling with languid grace beneath a cerulean vault of infinite sky. Each grain of sand was a jewel. No, a whisper of ancient time, glinting like stardust spilled from the chalice of the gods themselves. The wind danced through the palm trees with the wistful sigh of forgotten lovers, rustling their emerald fronds in an ethereal ballet choreographed by the breath of the universe.

Waves, like foaming crescendos of liquid pearl, crashed upon the shore with a sigh that echoed the rhythm of the earth’s slumbering heart. Their frothy fingers caressed the sand with tender insistence, leaving behind lace-like trails of ephemeral longing that shimmered in the golden light. The sea itself was no mere body of water but a living, breathing entity, an azure goddess draped in sapphire silk, stretching her arms to the horizon in a pose of eternal yearning.

So that’s… uh… something.

Authors and editors, readers of all genres and writers of all abilities: you’ve just been struck by purple prose.

Yes, struck is the correct word. Purple prose can feel like a sharp smack upside the head- complete with the matching headache. Unfortunately, it’s very much a part of learning to write. Think about the moment you fell in love with writing.

Perhaps you were a fourth grader. A rainy day canceled your daily visit to the playground, so you spent recess inside your crowded classroom. Bored doodles on scrap paper turned into a story, and you decided it needed words to become a proper book.

Maybe you were older. You were in high school or college, and you were given an assignment that sparked a wildfire in your chest.

Some classes kill creativity, so perhaps you always assumed you hated writing. One day, decades after your last essay, you sat down on a whim and emptied your heart onto the page.

Everyone starts somewhere. Once a writer starts clacking away at their keyboard or scribbling down thoughts on their lunch break, it’s only a matter of time before they stumble across something that can only be described as literary herpes. I’m speaking, of course, of purple prose.

At its simplest, purple prose refers to excessively ornate, overly elaborate, and/or emotionally inflated writing. It’s extravagant in every sense of the word. It is the kind of prose that draws attention not to the story or characters but to itself. The term originates from the Roman poet Horace’s phrase purpureus pannus- a purple patch- meant to describe writing that is excessively showy and incongruent with the rest of the work. In contemporary usage, it refers to passages that are more concerned with aesthetic flourish than narrative utility.

You know it when you see it: adjectives crowding the page like overstuffed furniture, metaphors stacked like mismatched dishes, emotions laid on with a trowel. It’s a sunset described not simply as orange and fading, but as “a kaleidoscopic symphony of tangerine sorrow bleeding into an indigo eternity.” It’s a character weeping not with restraint but “collapsing into a vortex of infinite grief, her soul a shattered prism reflecting the cosmos of her agony.” Overwritten, overburdened, over-everything.

As any English professor forced to wade through baby’s first personal narrative in English 1301 knows, it’s also a natural stage. Purple prose happens because writers want the reader to feel something. It isn’t born out of a desire to show off, although stage 4 literary herpes is often fatal to the careers of arrogant blowhards. Writers reach for purple prose because they love the inherent music of language. Their weakness is caring too much about their readers, not too little.

If you or a loved one have been impacted by literary herpes, take a deep breath. It’s curable. Purple prose creeps into the writing of nearly every author. Don’t take it too hard if you notice a few violet cold sores. The first step of treatment is learning to recognize it in your own writing.

Pick a writing sample. It could be a single scene, a short story, a chapter of that novel you’ve been working on since Christmas, or really anything longer than a few hundred words. Whatever you pick, make sure you’re proud of it. Purple prose feeds on pride.

Next, pull out a highlighter and scour your writing for signs of purple prose. If a description of a single person, place, object, or weather phenomenon takes more than a paragraph to describe, mark it. Long descriptions aren’t inherently bad, but purple prose finds it easier to sneak into long descriptions than it does short ones.

Other symptoms of literary herpes include excessive adjectives, indulgent imagery, mixed metaphors, and all things melodramatic. Purple prose is lavish, overblown, and emotionally extravagant. With a critical eye, look at your work and highlight anything that fits that might fall into those categories.

Don’t worry. You’re not going to delete it all. Starving your writing of description is no better than succumbing to literary herpes. Remember that example from earlier? Let’s look at it again.

The beach stretched endlessly before her, a golden ribbon of shimmering, sun-kissed eternity, unfurling with languid grace beneath a cerulean vault of infinite sky. Each grain of sand was a jewel—no, a whisper of ancient time, glinting like stardust spilled from the chalice of the gods themselves. The wind danced through the palm trees with the wistful sigh of forgotten lovers, rustling their emerald fronds in an ethereal ballet choreographed by the breath of the universe.

Waves, like foaming crescendos of liquid pearl, crashed upon the shore with a sigh that echoed the rhythm of the earth’s slumbering heart. Their frothy fingers caressed the sand with tender insistence, leaving behind lace-like trails of ephemeral longing that shimmered in the golden light. The sea itself was no mere body of water but a living, breathing entity—an azure goddess draped in sapphire silk, stretching her arms to the horizon in a pose of eternal yearning.

Above, the sun poured its honeyed radiance with divine abandon, drenching the world in molten amber, gilding every shell, stone, and stray thought with its alchemical touch. The air was heavy with the scent of salt and sun-warmed desire, each inhalation a plunge into the ecstatic symphony of the natural world. Time unraveled, became meaningless—nothing existed but the now, the here, the incandescent perfection of this coastal reverie.

Even the gulls, those winged minstrels of the shore, called out not with squawks but with arias of aching freedom, their cries soaring like sonatas into the boundless expanse. Somewhere, a distant sail pierced the horizon like a whispered promise, a lone sentinel upon the edge of the world’s breath.

She stood motionless, a fragile silhouette against the grandeur of the sea’s eternal monologue, her soul unraveling like seaweed in the tide, helpless beneath the weight of such rapturous beauty.

That passage is… a lot. There are a few gems in there, but the mixed metaphors and long, rambling descriptions ruin what could be a nice scene. The writer wanted readers to feel awed, peaceful, and possibly a little wistful. Instead, most readers will feel bored, irritated, or amused. Some might even skip over the description entirely.

This is the point where some writers screw up. Instead of addressing the root cause of purple prose, they purge their writing of anything that might resemble it.

A woman stared at the beach and marveled at the sea’s beauty.

It’s fine. Not great. Not terrible. It’s just fine.

Authors, you can do better. If an editor suggests you make changes like that, find a new editor. This revision does nothing to preserve the intent of the scene. No reader ever marveled at a beach because someone told them to. This revision has clarified the purple prose, but removed all impact, emotional resonance, and sensory richness.

If an editor or agent told you to cut 10,000 words and this scene has no real impact on the plot, by all means, cut it down to a single, dull sentence.

Most authors wouldn’t spend this much time writing about a beach if it ultimately meant nothing. This scene might take place right before a tragedy, thus encapsulating the last moment this woman felt peace. Perhaps she’s already faced tragedy, and for the first time in years, she’s able to get out of her own head while she’s looking at this beach. Maybe the beach itself is doomed to environmental catastrophe, or perhaps this woman is an astronaut taking her last look at earth before she leaves on a dangerous, interstellar journey.

Always revise with a purpose in mind. For whatever reason, this beach matters. Give it the description it deserves.

The beach stretched out before her, a long curve of pale sand beneath a wide, cloudless sky. Sunlight warmed the ground underfoot and glittered across the water while the tide moved in slow, steady rhythm. A breeze passed through the palms at her back, stirring the leaves with a soft, rhythmic rustle.

Waves rolled in and broke along the shore, leaving behind thin lines of foam that faded into the sand. The sea was a deep, endless blue, shifting with light and movement. It seemed to breathe, rising and falling in time with something vast and ancient.

The air smelled of salt and sun-warmed earth. Each breath she took was clean and sharp, the kind that clears the mind. Gulls wheeled overhead, their calls sharp and sudden against the steady hush of the surf.

Near the horizon, a sailboat drifted slowly across the water, its white sail bright against the blue. The sight of it made her feel tranquil, like everything she needed to know was already here. She stood for a long moment, watching the waves, the light, the slow drift of the world. It was simple. It was enough.

From 304 words to 192. That’s a 37% reduction in fluff. Is it perfect? No. Some of the sentences could be further refined, and the order of the descriptions could be changed to provide a more immersive experience. All the same, this is a solid, interesting description. Bestsellers have been published with lesser quality.

Let’s break down the changes.

Tone

In the original, the tone was overly dramatic and poetic. It was revised to be more calm, grounded, and reflective. This matches the quiet power of the scene.

Grade: A-

Imagery

The imagery in the original was completely overloaded with metaphors. Most writers love a good metaphor, but it’s important not to mix too many together. In one single sentence, a grain of sand was a jewel, a whisper of ancient time, and stardust pulled from the chalice of the gods themselves. Yikes.

In the revised version, the imagery is simple. This makes it feel more real and emotionally resonant. Metaphors were used sparingly to invoke specific feelings.

Grade: B

Emotion

The original description demanded emotion through the use of many, many grand metaphors. While a metaphor can invoke emotion, no one likes a demand. Quiet, evocative language and reflection does a much better job of coaxing emotion from the reader. Remember, simple imagery often feels more real and emotionally resonant. Subtle suggestion is sometimes much better than a flashing, neon sign.

Grade: B

Language

Again, simpler is usually better. Clean, direct descriptions beat dense metaphors and excessive modifiers. Simple language can be subtle and powerful.

Grade: A

Rhythm

Rhythm is the secret to beautiful prose. The original was filled with long, breathless sentences. In the revision, the sentence lengths are varied. This improves readability and emotional pacing. While the revised version has much better rhythm, it still needs improvement. The sentences feel stilted and abrupt. Rhythm is the biggest weakness of this revision, but it’s also the hardest to fix.

Grade: C

The easiest way to deal with purple prose is to send your manuscript off to an editor. A developmental editor will usually mark areas with gratuitous purple prose, along with other concerns like pacing, plot holes, character development, etc. A line editor will scour your manuscript for problems and opportunities in your prose. Many excel at turning purple prose into clear, impactful descriptions.

Unfortunately, literary herpes will keep plaguing your writing until you attack the root cause. Fixing your own purple prose, or at least a large portion of it, will teach you to do better.

Do you slip into purple prose every time you talk about a new environment, or do you mainly overdo character descriptions?

Do you often use too many metaphors?

Is your language too flowery for your audience or scene goal?

Are you prone to melodrama?

Every author has flaws. By regularly finding and fixing purple prose yourself, you can train yourself out of bad habits and sharpen your skills.

Purple prose is usually a sign of a novice writer, but like the other kind of herpes, it’s never something that completely vanishes. Outbreaks happen, so stay vigilant. If yourself slipping into purple prose again, don’t worry. Grab your highlighter and get to work.