This is all sound advice. It also neatly illustrates why I find most 19th century literature absolutely unreadable. Blokes like Dickens constantly sinned on virtually every one of these points: long, rambling sentences stretching over pages, that you have to read over and over to work out what he means, every one of which contains three or four words that I have to go look up in a dictionary. Hundreds of pages of these walls of densely written text, and in the end, the whole thing solved by a series of ridiculously improbable coincidences.
And then they wonder why I kind of prefer Harry Potter… :-)