Every writer has heard of the ‘rules,’ and I’m not talking of your basic grammar rules, either. I mean the dos and don’ts of writing: adverbs are to be avoided upon pain of death, what POV is the ‘right’ one, head swapping is bad, prologues are out, etc. Look at any social media writing group and some of the core themes that are discussed are the rules. And yet there are also posts about writing what you love, who cares what everyone else says, be yourself, be unique. It’s enough to make your head spin.
Which is correct? Should you write what you know, what you want, and break the rules in the process? Should you follow the rule book exactly? Both viewpoints are correct. And neither is 100% correct. Just like in life, moderation is key. Going off the rails can be fun, but you have to know what you’re doing first.
This is where the rules come into play. Writers are obsessed by rules and also actively look to break them. That dichotomy left me wondering: why are writers so obsessed with the rules? And should we be?
Rules & me
When I sat down to write my first novel, I had a story idea and I poured it on the page with no thought to story beats, obligatory scenes, or arcs. When my editor recommended a few craft books to help the structure of my story (I had chapters where nothing happened), I leaped at them with highlighters & tabs to make sure I was following the rules. I wanted my book to be successful and isn’t that how it’s done, by following the rules for what makes a “good” book?
The problem for me was that I followed the rules so hard I boxed myself in. I was so concerned with making sure I had all the elements of a story, the right balance of act 1 vs act 2 or act 3, that I took it down to the math and science level. I was a theater major in college; math and science were the furthest from my wheelhouse. But I went there — analyzing my scenes, my chapters, each beat, each moment — to make sure my book fit the mold.
Afterward, though, I wondered if I was too uptight with my need to follow the book structure rules, if I needed to be that obsessed by story beats and signposts. And I wondered if the rules hampered my creativity because I was so focused on fitting in that box.
The answer was yes.
However, I wasn’t as hampered as it appeared, since I also broke the rules. At least two chapters had head-swapping happening in the middle of the conversation between two characters. And it worked. Two editors saw it, commented on it, and said they didn’t understand how it worked, but it did. Countless readers haven’t even noticed it happening (or at least haven’t mentioned it in their reviews). I broke that rule intentionally because it fit my story.
I agonized over it, though. I threw it out there on Twitter and decided the responses, while helpful, didn’t get me any closer to deciding whether it was a good thing or not. It came down to the wire, or rather my copyediting deadline, when I was forced to make a decision.
Ultimately, I changed some of the book to remove it and left it in only in Act three. I could’ve left it in everywhere, but the rules were beating against my impostor syndrome and I couldn’t stand up to it. The part I did leave in was my little rebellion against the cage I put myself in, a gilded cage with other writers gleefully holding the door closed (not really, it just felt that way at the time).
It left a sour taste in my mouth, one that is still there as I draft book two and exclude any head swapping in chapters. Intentionally. Because I’m still worried about the breaking the rules.
This led me to wonder: why am I so afraid to break the rules?
Rule followers & rule breakers
If you’ve ever tried to cross Grand Central Station during rush hour, you’ll notice that there are unspoken rules in place. These rules cover where to move, how to move, and most of all, how to not bump into any of the millions of others milling around you. They are the conditioned responses of a thousand harried commuters trying to catch their trains home with as little physical contact as possible. Have one off day and you end up stuck in a corner by the trash can like a sad contestant in Frogger who never made it past the first car.
Those unspoken rules are social norms: rules we create that establish appropriate and acceptable ways of interacting in the world. When there are no rules, chaos exists. And we don’t like chaos, especially if we’re all doing the “right” thing at the time someone else breaks the rules. If you’ve ever gotten enraged at a line jumper after standing in line at the airport for an hour, then you know when someone has broken a social norm.
The potential for chaos drives the complacency that keeps everyone else shuffling along in that line behind me. No one wants to be the guy getting screamed at by a bunch of tetchy strangers not afraid to take their impatience out on the rule breaker.
This is the punishment part of social norms. We are schooled from a very young age that punishment is bad and good behavior gets you a reward. In Grand Central station, it gets you to your train in the most direct route without bouncing off your fellow traveler. Most people keep to the social norms unless they either don’t care about the punishment or have figured out a way around it.
Case in point, line jumpers at the airport typically do not respond to the people yelling at them or feel that they are justified in whatever reason they have to do so. I have done it when trying to catch an international flight with very little time to change planes in Heathrow. I did not feel bad that day for line jumping, because it wasn’t my fault my flight was delayed. And I made my connection, which made the fellow travelers’ anger irrelevant as there was no punishment.
To sum up, rules exist to avoid chaos and people follow them to avoid punishment. But how does this pertain to the rules of writing?
Rules & writers
Like any other social group, and in this case, even more so than some others, writers write for someone else to read their content. (Most writers, anyway). This desire to write something worthwhile for others to read causes an almost insane attachment to writing rules.
Some of the rules are good ones to follow; others seem to be fads and are cultural tastes of the moment. And all of them can and may be shoved down your throat by other writers should you ask the question on social media. Everyone has an opinion; writers have a plethora of them. And some writers are more particular about the rules and why we must follow them than others.
Writers also love to feel included in that amorphous group of writers and authors who congregate online. They don’t want to break the rules for fear of ostracization or even worse, especially in today’s social media society, public beat downs of what rule they broke and why their behavior was so bad.
Ultimately, they fear being told they are a bad writer. Being called a bad writer is like giving your impostor syndrome a megaphone to deafen you with. And so writers, especially new writers who are still figuring it out, stick to the rules. Or only break them once they have a firm handle on them. After all, you’re allowed to break the rules if you do it well enough. Or so we’re told by other writers. It’s a bit of a circle jerk and the perfect example of social norms in play.
But what happens when you break the rules and do it badly? You may not have as many people reading your books; you may get negative reviews or some Twitter trolling. These are major consequences for some authors and minor ones for others. But it can still hurt and be discouraging, especially if your impostor syndrome is close to the surface. Having other writers tell you you’re doing it wrong when you’re not sure how to do it right brings that old frenemy out swinging.
I should know; mine swung for the fence like it was the last game in the playoffs.
Rules & others
After my book was published, I had a conversation with my husband about the rules of writing and what he thought. He thinks very differently from me, which made talking to him about these things fascinating.
For him, the rules are necessary. He needs to know the boundaries so that he can determine how far to push them. Left unchecked, he’d end up with a stream of consciousness book that made little sense, but had a potentially amazing story the reader couldn’t find if you drew them a map. For him, the rules are good.
Other authors felt the same way; still others scoffed at the rules and did what they wanted. Many of those same authors, however, have wondered why they didn’t have as many readers as they’d like.
And here is the kicker: the rules don’t just apply to the writers, but to the readers’ expectations as well.
If you read any “how to write x type of book” blog, craft book, or article, you’ll find that readers look for and expect necessary signposts in a book. While you can write a book that doesn’t feature any of the conventions readers of that genre come to expect, and it could be successful, nine times out of ten it won’t be.
Why? Because people read those genres for those signposts. They’re looking for the MacGuffin or the red herring in a mystery; they want the meet-cute in a romance; they crave darkness and terror in horror. They read to escape their daily lives and giving them a mystery without any clues may leave them bored, frustrated, or annoyed. None of these are good things if you want them to read more of your books or recommend your books to others.
In the end
Only you can decide if you want to break the rules of writing and if your craft is good enough to do so without any potential punishment. Or that you don’t care if you get punished.
If you are a newbie writer, follow the rules as best you can and break those that just don’t work for your story. You can include adverbs, no matter what Stephen King says, but you don’t want to go crazy with them. They are a seasoning best used sparingly, in my opinion. (See? We writers can’t help it.)
Make sure, however, that you either have an editor look at it (if you can afford to) or some really good beta readers (if you can’t). You don’t want to spend all that time putting your book out into the world and then only hear that it is bad because you broke a rule in a way that didn’t work.
As for me, I’m not intentionally looking to break the rules. I am intentionally telling the story I want to tell and if that breaks the rules, so be it.
But you can bet that I’ll agonize over whether or not the rule I’m breaking is worth it. It probably will be. Or my impostor syndrome will be sitting on the sidelines like some rabid cheerleader just waiting for the opportunity to tell me its not and I suck.
I really hate that guy.
Originally appeared on The Writing Cooperative.