My sister-in-law sent me a cool link to the Guardian newspaper, which was running a series in which authors submitted their Rules for Writing. There’s some good stuff in there, such as:
“Read it aloud to yourself because that’s the only way to be sure the rhythms of the sentences are OK (prose rhythms are too complex and subtle to be thought out – they can be got right only by ear)” — Diana Athill
“Finish the day’s writing when you still want to continue.” — Helen Dunmore
There’s tons more, too.
As an interesting contrast, here’s Mandy Hubbard’s take on Nine Rules to Break. It’s a super cool list, and is very freeing (unlike the Guardian’s line-up of literary heavyweights, which is likely to have you throwing up your arms in surrender).
So what do I think? Well, it’s like this . . .
In a former life, I taught undergraduate music theory, including the really hardcore stuff that has its own terminology, set of symbols, and looks suspiciously like it wants to be quantum physics, only it’s not. So anyway, one day, I had everyone in my class analyze a particularly gnarly Bach chorale, and someone found hidden octaves. I know, I know! You’re thinking: “Bach had hidden octaves!? What a LOSER!” And I’d agree with you, really I would, only I couldn’t for the life of me HEAR the darn things. And the lesson of the, um . . . lesson, was that CONTEXT IS EVERYTHING.
Seriously, kill your darlings, or don’t kill your darlings. I really don’t mind. You made them up, after all, so you should be allowed to determine the precise, grisly details of their demise.
Yes, overuse of adverbs is grating after a while. So is routine avoidance of “said” in favor of “hissed” and “whispered” and “cried.” But there’s a place for all these things, and it has everything to do with context.
What Bach taught me, and what I’d have said if the Guardian had asked me to write some rules, is that rules are frequently not rules at all: they are successful techniques that have been used often enough in the past that we would be wise to take note of them now. But if Bach can break them, then I sure as heck intend to. And so should you.
Well, except for hidden octaves. You have to draw the line somewhere.
Antony, I was wondering what you thought of the Hilary Mantel rule “Don’t write for a perceived audience or market. It may well have vanished by the time your book’s ready.” It seems to me that the Young Adult niche, in particular, comes with many thematic constraints that you must respect if you want to get published.
Hi Greg: Thanks for stopping by (and apologies for not replying sooner; I’m having trouble keeping track of comments these days, as they appear all over the place: Facebook, MySpace, as well as here!).
You bring up a really good point, and I actually agree with you. I’m so immersed in YA that I don’t even feel the boundaries of the genre as “constraints” anymore, but there are certainly some things you should avoid if you want to be a published YA author: killing small children and animals is kind of taboo, as is having an exclusively grown-up cast surrounding your teen narrator.
I have a feeling that Hilary Mantel’s remark is aimed primarily at the unpublished author; and as such, it’s pretty good advice, even if you’re writing YA. The reason is that it can take years for an unpublished author’s work to see the light of day. By the time your work is being seriously read by an editor, publishing fads will have come and gone, and any contemporary references will feel terribly outdated.
For the published YA author, however, it is–as you suggest–crucial to be aware of the market. Five years ago, a well-written vampire novel might have been very attractive to editors. Now they’re as likely to roll their eyes, because the market has been saturated. Thankfully, lots of us have agents who are not simply on top of the current market conditions, but also have insights into what editors would like to see in the future, which is a huge advantage.
Anyway, in summary: I agree with you. Although, you know, the Guardian chose Hilary Mantel over me for a reason, so I’d take any advice I give with a pinch of salt!
P.S. Audrey says hi!
P.P.S. I cannot get my head around the idea of RUNNING 100K. When I lived in England, any drive of 100K or more required a week of planning, and enough provisions to support us through a nuclear winter. And you RUN it!? I am, quite simply, in awe.
Antony, do you like to run over short distances? If so, then there is some symmetry at work here. I myself like to write brief blog-style pieces, and could imagine writing a short story, but a novel? Even a YA-length novel? NO WAY! That would require way too much time, effort, sustained focus…. So you authors do have tremendous endurance, in your own way….
Greg, that’s so funny. As it happens, yes, I did used to run short distances. I was on the track team at Washington and Lee University and ran the 400m. Anything more than one lap and I get bored, you see?
I’m reliably informed that my blog posts are, um . . . lacking. So I’ll try to learn some lessons from you there!