On writing rules · 5:38pm Nov 28th, 2013
A few weeks ago I read two excellent books in succession: The Player of Games by Iain M. Banks and Northern Lights by Philip Pullman. And do you know what? Both were littered with what story mavens call POV errors. That is, the viewpoint character changes during scenes. No, these books weren't using 3rd Person Omni. Not all characters in a scene got a viewpoint – just the occasional two or three. And no, these aren't odd or obscure books. Both are modern (1988 and 1995 respectively), very popular, and critically acclaimed.
There's nothing surprising there. There are loads of great books that fly in the face of writing workshop rules[1]. China Miéville is cool with purple prose. Most of Iain Banks' books snub their nose at one rule at the very least. David Almond has books that are all character and no plot. I just picked up Stephen King's The Gunslinger, opened it at random, and found an adverb coupled with “said” on the first go. War and Peace? Huge tracts of description that go nowhere. Jane Eyre? Three strikes from EQD for “telly language”. Dickens? So. Many. Words.
Okay, I'll stop showing off now. Point is, great books that break the rules are everywhere. Anyone reading this should have trouble thinking of some.
It seems we have a problem. If these writing rules are any good at being, y'know, rules, why do we see so many successful violations?
A common response: These guys are at the top of their game. They get to break the rules because they're so damned good. But you, young writer? You're better off following our plan. Don't rock the boat, there's a good kid.
There are two problems with this. The first is that it's effectively a call to aspire to mediocrity and nothing more. Don't try to emulate the great stuff. Just settle for what's in fashion.
The second is much more important. Accepting that the greats can break the rules is an implicit admission that we don't know what makes stories good. Telling writers to, say, include lots of Chekhov's guns (hopefully) based on the assumption that lack of them is a surefire way to put readers off. But if there are greats books that do without any Chekhov's guns, then that assumption isn't a very steady one. The reasoning behind the rules becomes unsteady, and the rule itself becomes arbitrary.
Put another way: let's suppose a maven tells a writer that their work is bad because it lacks some quality. If there are good stories that also lack that quality, the maven ought to be able to explain the difference between the writer's work and the great work that makes the former bad and the latter great. If they can't, then their original claim (that the work is bad because it lacks that quality) is suspect.
There's another route the maven might take at this point. I want to quickly head that off before going any further. You could simply define good stories as those which follow your workshop rules. So all those great works that break the rules? Nah, they ain't all that good. They're just populist drivel.
Sure, it's a massive copout – just defining your terms so you win by default – but you can certainly do this. But if you do, so what? Who cares what good literature is if it's not related to either what the writer wants to write or the readers enjoy reading? Defining quality this way just puts it on the verge of vanishing up its own arse.
Now, I'll admit I've been a little unfair to writing teachers so far. Most are quite happy to admit that it's possible to break the rules, or that their rules are really suggestions. In my experience it's mostly the amateurs who are sticklers.
Not only that, but these writing workshop suggestions are actually pretty useful. They're neither necessary nor sufficient conditions for good writing, but they're certainly worth paying attention to.
How do we square this with the above observation that these rules seem arbitrary and lack a good justification? Well, for that we just need delve into a theory of stories in general..
Yes, really.
A story evokes a particular emotional or intellectual response (or series of responses) in a reader. Let's take this as axiomatic. Sure, not all writers will have that goal in mind when they write. Some do it for an internal artistic need or something like that. But so what? Every story, if read, will evoke a response. That's a functional description, not an intrinsic goal.
This statement is far more complex than it appears. There's not just strength of response here, there's type of response too – a story can be moving, cathartic, fun, awesome, arousing, and so forth. It can be more than one of these at once. And on top of that, it will be different things to different people. Not ever reader will have the same response, obviously. The responses will often be broadly similar, because we're all human beings.
On the basis of that similarity we have managed to identify a number of techniques or tools that can used to help evoke a particular response from the reader. These are the writing workshop rules which I have spend that last few hundred words undermining.[2]
So how does this fit with the idea that we can get away with breaking the rules?
Picture the story landscape: The space of all possible stories along with responses they evoke. What you want to do as a writer is navigate this, find the location with the right response.
Some parts of the story landscape have been visited repeatedly. They've been mapped out. They're pretty safe. Not totally – there's still the occasional pothole that you can stumble into even if you're following the rules, and there's still the occasional rich vein of super-profitable resource you want to use for this metaphor that won't be indicated on the map. But on the whole, these places are safe. If you keep your map-cum-rulebook handy, you're unlikely to go wrong. These safe zones are traditional storytelling, and their map is composed of workshop writing rules.
Suppose you want to stray outside of these zones. Some places are partially mapped. We have some idea of how to get around in them – but for the most part, you're on your own, buddy. You'll need your own instincts to guide you – which is iffy, but not a total lost cause. Out here, the further you stray from the safe zone, the more likely it is you're going to cock it up. But also that you're going to find something awesome.
What about these rule-breaking greats, then? Well, they're usually not far from the safe zone. For the most part they keep close to traditional storytelling. But in some aspect, they abandon it, go out into the wilds, do something else. They've taken a risk, and the author's had enough nouse to pull it off.
Here's another way to look at it: We have our set of storytelling tools. These can create audience reactions pretty reliably. Workshop writing rules come about when people that just because a tool works means that you should always use it. But this is false. You can drop a tool if it's not going to have the effect you want, if you can create the effect by some other means, if it interferes with what you're trying to write. All these are legitimate reasons for dropping the tool, breaking the rule. It's prudent to know what you're doing, of course. If you know what the tool does, you're better equipped to work effectively in its absence.
(Looking back, this is probably a better way of thinking about it than story landscape. But I still like that metaphor, so I'm not going to go back and cut it.)
I think it's about time to wrap up. The lesson here? There's no one way of doing things in this game. Even successful authors aren't well equipped to tell you what not to do, because they are familiar with their path and no others.
Writing rules are often well worth paying attention to, but if someone tries to tell you that doing something is bad writing just because, they're probably full of shit. Even if they're wildly successful.
And, of course, that old chestnut applies: It's best to know the rules before you break them. Make your decisions consciously, not just because you're to ignorant or stubborn to do otherwise.
(Oh, and keep in mind that on top of all that, some rules are just bullshit. They're self-fulfilling prophecies that keep going because their adherents are on the lookout and stand ready to attack a story solely on the basis that it transgresses.)
[1] I'm using the term workshop writing rules because as John Rechy notes in this article, these rules are pretty the sacred cows of writing workshops.
[2]It was only around this point that I realised I was pretty much constructing a dialectic. The Hegelian is strong in this one …
I'm not really happy with how this turned out, but if I tried to edit it to my satisfaction, it would have taken forever to get posted.
1550175
It still made for quite an interesting read. Don't stress.
I thought this was very well put.
There's another reason that classic writers often break the rules that modern writers don't, which is simply style. Right now, "show, don't tell" is in style in writing, and a lot of writing advice is designed to keep you in line with that. That wasn't the case among 19th century writers and readers, they expected much more telling, even the narrator breaking the fourth wall at times.
As with any style, there's nothing inherently "good" or "bad" about the modern one versus previous styles, but you will look old fashioned if you address the "Dear Reader." Some people can make that work, just like some people can rock a top hat while wearing jeans, and some people look like they got lost on the way to a costume party. (And some people, like 'Lemony Snicket,' look like they got lost on the way to a really awesome costume party you want to go to with them.)
Like clothing (not letting go of this metaphor!) it really comes down to what you're comfortable with. If you're comfortable with whatever 'rules' you break, chances are you will find an audience who will be too, and who might find you even more interesting because of it.
This post doesn't just apply to writing either. Visual art comes very readily to mind. Especially high school art teachers.
But pretty much any creative medium has conventions and guidelines that some will insist are ironclad rules.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, you get people who defy conventions for the sake of it, and get praised as "rebels", regardless of the actual quality of their work.