1: Do you follow the rules when you write?
2: What Rules?
1: The rules of writing.
2: What rules are those?
1: You know, the ones you learn in books about how to, and how “not to”, write? The stuff college professors preach as if from the pulpit, and fellow critique members reciting as if they are trying just as hard to convince themselves of these mythic “laws” as they are you.
2: You mean like, always use a question mark at the end of a question?
1: No. I’m referring more to things like, “show, don’t tell”, and “never break point of view”, “use short paragraphs”, and “get rid of those speaker attributions, and stick with ‘he said/she said’.”
2: Oh, and don’t forget, “adverbs are for hacks.”
1: Yea. Exactly…um…so are they?
2: Well, 1, in my humble opinion—which in truth is not so humble as I would lead you to believe—rules are useless, and in some cases can even become a hindrance, because in truth, they don’t exist. However, we could also hypothesize that, if we as writers were to shift our perspective, only slightly (just a smidge to the left or right, or up or down…oh, all right, or forward or backwards), and we were able to see these so called “RULES” less as divine commandments—etched upon stone tablets that are then ground into fine power and spoon fed to the great writers of the world—and they could be seen more as guidelines, or signposts left behind by those who have traveled before us, then these so called “RULES” might possibly be transmuted into something of real value. Something that is our own.
1: That was a very long sentence.
2: That is beside the point.
1: So you are saying that rules are not something that I should spend much time worrying about…like whether or not it’s “ok” to use footnotes in a novel.
2: First of all, if you’re worrying about them, these RULES, then you aren’t writing. You’re worrying. That helps exactly no one. The question you might want to ask yourself is this: Am I telling my story well? Does what I’m doing work? It’s often difficult to know for yourself, but the more you find your personal “groove,” your style, the more you’ll know for yourself what works and what doesn’t; when the RULES apply, and when they stink like the men’s locker room in my local gym. You may give your story to a fellow writer, and they might say (very much with conviction…and possibly some heart-felt concern): “Hey man, you know, you should never use footnotes in a novel! It jerks people out of the immediacy of the story if they feel they have to read that side-crap. Once that happens, you’re dead, man! I’m tellin’ you as your friend, you’re frickin’ dead!” And then you give the same manuscript to someone else; someone who knows nothing about the mechanics of writing, and they exclaim: “I loved the footnotes! They gave me the feeling that what I was reading was something that actually happened.”
1: What about “show don’t tell”? That’s all I seem to hear from my fellow writers these days. They may even say something like: “I really liked the part where you explained in detail how the murderous, Purple-Veined Alien-Space Weed devours its victims by way of slowly turning them inside-out over a period of seventy years, and that most people don’t know the weed is even inside of them until they are too old to care. It’s really well written, but I think you should have a character deliver the information, like they would in a movie.”
2: That’s always a choice. Just have Hermione Granger pull out a book and rattle off the information. It worked for J.K. Rowling. She’s fabulous, no question here. But what works for YOU? For your story? In the end, it might have more to do with the “voice” of your work than anything else. I know that I can read John Irving with a grin on my face, or a lump in my throat (and yes, sometimes tears in my eyes) till the cows come home. John loves to “tell” us about the lives of peculiar characters, just as much as he “shows” us…and I can’t get enough. Both of these authors have very strong voices. They are like close friends. I’ll listen to them ramble on for hours without tiring…whatever they have to say.
1: Well, that’s enough for now, 2. Let’s see what somebody else has to say on the subject.
2: What Rules?
1: The rules of writing.
2: What rules are those?
1: You know, the ones you learn in books about how to, and how “not to”, write? The stuff college professors preach as if from the pulpit, and fellow critique members reciting as if they are trying just as hard to convince themselves of these mythic “laws” as they are you.
2: You mean like, always use a question mark at the end of a question?
1: No. I’m referring more to things like, “show, don’t tell”, and “never break point of view”, “use short paragraphs”, and “get rid of those speaker attributions, and stick with ‘he said/she said’.”
2: Oh, and don’t forget, “adverbs are for hacks.”
1: Yea. Exactly…um…so are they?
2: Well, 1, in my humble opinion—which in truth is not so humble as I would lead you to believe—rules are useless, and in some cases can even become a hindrance, because in truth, they don’t exist. However, we could also hypothesize that, if we as writers were to shift our perspective, only slightly (just a smidge to the left or right, or up or down…oh, all right, or forward or backwards), and we were able to see these so called “RULES” less as divine commandments—etched upon stone tablets that are then ground into fine power and spoon fed to the great writers of the world—and they could be seen more as guidelines, or signposts left behind by those who have traveled before us, then these so called “RULES” might possibly be transmuted into something of real value. Something that is our own.
1: That was a very long sentence.
2: That is beside the point.
1: So you are saying that rules are not something that I should spend much time worrying about…like whether or not it’s “ok” to use footnotes in a novel.
2: First of all, if you’re worrying about them, these RULES, then you aren’t writing. You’re worrying. That helps exactly no one. The question you might want to ask yourself is this: Am I telling my story well? Does what I’m doing work? It’s often difficult to know for yourself, but the more you find your personal “groove,” your style, the more you’ll know for yourself what works and what doesn’t; when the RULES apply, and when they stink like the men’s locker room in my local gym. You may give your story to a fellow writer, and they might say (very much with conviction…and possibly some heart-felt concern): “Hey man, you know, you should never use footnotes in a novel! It jerks people out of the immediacy of the story if they feel they have to read that side-crap. Once that happens, you’re dead, man! I’m tellin’ you as your friend, you’re frickin’ dead!” And then you give the same manuscript to someone else; someone who knows nothing about the mechanics of writing, and they exclaim: “I loved the footnotes! They gave me the feeling that what I was reading was something that actually happened.”
1: What about “show don’t tell”? That’s all I seem to hear from my fellow writers these days. They may even say something like: “I really liked the part where you explained in detail how the murderous, Purple-Veined Alien-Space Weed devours its victims by way of slowly turning them inside-out over a period of seventy years, and that most people don’t know the weed is even inside of them until they are too old to care. It’s really well written, but I think you should have a character deliver the information, like they would in a movie.”
2: That’s always a choice. Just have Hermione Granger pull out a book and rattle off the information. It worked for J.K. Rowling. She’s fabulous, no question here. But what works for YOU? For your story? In the end, it might have more to do with the “voice” of your work than anything else. I know that I can read John Irving with a grin on my face, or a lump in my throat (and yes, sometimes tears in my eyes) till the cows come home. John loves to “tell” us about the lives of peculiar characters, just as much as he “shows” us…and I can’t get enough. Both of these authors have very strong voices. They are like close friends. I’ll listen to them ramble on for hours without tiring…whatever they have to say.
1: Well, that’s enough for now, 2. Let’s see what somebody else has to say on the subject.
... You've had this conversation before, haven't you Neurofizz? You're a lot nicer than I am. I keep my mouth shut and let them get buried under a pile of rejection letters. 
In cases such as these, natural consequences is a much better teacher. 
