I often talk about writer’s myths, things people think of as writing rules that often just get in the way of good writing. Are their any rules for writing that the writer should be aware of? Certainly. One such rule is, “don’t use sentence fragments”. An example of a sentence fragment, for those who missed the inherent irony, is “Certainly.”

Proper use of grammar is important. Knowing when to use “he” and when to use “him”, for instance: Is it “I went to the store with he and Irene” or “I went to the store with him and Phyllis.” In this case, the easiest way to know which to use is to cut the “and” phrase from the sentence and see which one works. “I went to the store with he” is obviously wrong, so the second example is the correct one. (Unless you actually went to the store with her and Gregory, in which case the sale meat you purchased is probably tainted.)

However, there are times when you might do exactly that for effect. (A subtle effect, to be sure, as most in America would probably miss it.) One way to break it is in dialogue where, depending on the character talking, most grammar rules can simply be thrown out the window. Real people, when they talk, often don’t know and therefore don’t use, proper grammar. To make the dialogue true to the character, write as he or she would talk. (Him or her? No. He or she.)

You’ve heard not to start a sentence with “and” or “but”. Many great writers do. You’ve heard that you shouldn’t split an infinitive (put any word between “to” and the verb.) That rule only came into existence at the beginning of the 19th century because some priggish professors wanted English to sound more like Latin, which it never will, so to simply ignore that rule is to boldly go where good writers have gone before.

Knowing the rules of proper grammar is important and every writer should strive to learn them, if only because you can then you can break them much more effectively.
~Geoff Hoff
Co-author of the how-to guide On Writing a Short Story.

(@conniegreen #blog30 a13)

It’s a new year, and as such, I thought I’d talk a little about beginnings.  The western notion of story structure (no, it’s not Universal, I’ll talk about that in another post) dictates a beginning, a middle and an end.  It dictates setups and payoffs.  It dictates some sort of change to happen to a circumstance or a character.

In the beginning, something happens that sets something else in motion.  Pretty simple.

In linear story structure (1~2~3) the beginning happens where you would expect it, at the beginning, but there are many other ways of doing it.  There is a device called framing, where you “frame” your story with the last scene.  (3~1~2~3.) Usually, with this device, the last scene is broken in two and the story starts with the first half and ends with the second half of that scene.  Sometimes the last scene is repeated, but on the second reading, we know much more, so it seems new, the meanings of the moments seem different. The beginning happens second in this technique.

Sometime, you might tweak this even further and start at the middle, then go back to the beginning and tell the story through to the end.  (2~1~2~3.) This can be a very exciting way to tell a story when handled well.  It creates an immediate intrigue, then goes back to explain what lead up to it, how it happened, then resolves it.

One of my favorite non traditional story telling techniques is the non-linear structure, where things happen completely out of sequence and the reader isn’t sure of anything until the final moments of the story.  (3~2~6~1~4.  Or something.) In these, the beginning can be in the middle or, as with the movie “Memento“, at the very end, or anywhere in between.  This is a difficult device to use well, but when it is mastered, it can be thrilling to read because every moment keeps you guessing.  A very formidable but gloriously satisfying (and marvelously surreal) novel that uses this technique is Samuel R. Delany’s Dhalgren.  That one not only starts somewhere in the middle, it starts mid-sentence!

Even within these non linear or non traditional ways to tell a story, however, the piece itself has a beginning.  It needs that moment or event that makes the reader want to know what’s next.  No matter where in your story you start, starting on something that creates tension or surprise or confusion or recognition or  something is very highly recommended.  At least in the Western notion of story structure.

Happy beginnings!  The rest of the story is wide open!

~Geoff Hoff
Co-author of the how-to guide On Writing a Short Story.

Steve and I write in this blog to discuss the process of writing, which brings us to the question, “Is there one correct process to use to write?”

The short answer is, “No.”

That’s pretty short, and not very helpful, so I’ll augment it a bit with a  more complete answer.

Steve and I do have our process, honed over the years.  It works for us, but, as with every individual writer’s process, ours is uniquely our own, and, as with every individual writer’s process, is a wonderful, delightful, sometimes harrowing mystery.

However, there are things we’ve discovered along the way that are useful to us and might be useful to any writer.  To you, for instance.  We have also heard (and tried) all the “rules” for writing that all the smart people espouse.  Some of them, we have come to discover, are simply silly.  Some of them are “clever” but not pragmatic.  (I like to call those “bromides” not “rules”.)   Some sound great on first hearing them, but put into practical use are, frankly, useless.  Some are wonderfully beneficial and we like to take those, use them, adjust them to our own quirks, then take full credit for them.  (I kid.  Sort of.)

What we present here is what we do, and, after several screenplays, a web-based comedy serial, a best selling satirical novel, a popular web show, a long running, episodic stage show and several articles, opinion pieces, sales pages, blurbs, eulogies, press releases, forum postings and works of self adulation, it works fairly well for us.  Any tips we present here are tips, not rules.  Listen to them.  Try them out.  Adjust them to your own personality.  Refute them and do something completely different then start your own writing tips blog.

The real purpose of all this, though, isn’t necessarily to tell you how to write, it is to tell you to write, and give hints that might help with that.

Happy writing!

~Geoff Hoff

In yesterday’s post, I mentioned that I had a thought that I hoped wouldn’t become a cliché.  It turned out that the thought was so cumbersome and convoluted that chances of that happening were very small.  (I almost said moot, but that would be entirely too cliché.)  However, it started my mind swirling around with the whole notion of cliché.  It is almost a cliché to say, “avoid clichés at all cost.”  Actually, it’s almost a cliché to say, “it’s almost a cliché”, so it’s hard to avoid them.  As I said in a comment on Laura Christianson’s Blogging Bistro blog, they are insidious, sneaky little buggers, and creep in to your writing without any warning.

Things that have become clichés usually started out as profound or poetic thoughts, very clever and original ways to either describe something familiar or make understandable something very obscure, but devolved due to over use to become almost meaningless.  Salvador Dalí said of clichés, “The first man to compare the flabby cheeks of a young woman to a rose was obviously a poet; the first to repeat it was possibly an idiot.”

When used consciously, clichés can actually enhance good writing, they can be a comfortable entry point to a more complex bit of thought.  They can be a good source of humor, especially if you somehow acknowledge that you realize you’re using the cliché.  If you’re using several clichés strung together like pearls on a string, the turns of phrase can play well with others or fight like cats and dogs, they can gum up the works, or be your trump card, which can put the lie to thinking outside the box or become an actual Deus ex machina, making you eat your own words with an evil laugh, which is food for thought for anyone who sees the writing on the wall and really, really wants to avoid cliché.  They also taste like chicken.

Okay, I think I just wrenched the soft tissue in my brain.

More seriously, as a writer of fiction, I always strive to avoid cliché phrases and (to use a cliché) turns of phrase. When I notice them on my page I try to reword them in a new and original way.  “He breathed a sigh of relief” might become “He breathed in sharply, then released the breath slowly as he realized the shadow crossing his path was simply the old man who sold newspapers on the corner.”

Doing this does two things.  It makes your writing have more of a unique voice, and it will usually make it more viscerally exciting because you’ve had to experience then describe what the cliché actually means, and that’s what you really want to communicate to your reader.

Allow the clichés to be there in your first pass.  Then, when you go back through to polish it, think about them.  Make them yours.  Wrestle them to the ground.  To coin a phrase.

~Geoff Hoff

We as writers have often heard the dictum or rule to “write what you know.”  I first heard this when in grade school, and it really puzzled me.  I liked to read fantasy stories and wondered how they were written if that rule were true.  When I heard it, I had just read Mary Mapes Dodge’s Hans Brinker, or The Silver Skates about a young Dutch boy in Holland.  It said in the forward that Ms. Dodge had never visited Holland, (she finally did after the book was published) and yet she evoked an experience or reality that was wonderful for a young reader.

In our writing guide, On Writing a Short Story, we talk about this.  I call it a myth, here, but only sort of.  If you take the notion at face value, as many writing students have done, it will stifle your creativity.   Had Jules Verne heard it and taken it to heart, we would be a much less rich society.  If Arthur C. Clarke had done so, we would not have the communications satellite, which he envisioned in 1945.  I’m sure J. R. R. Tolkien never actually visited Middle Earth.

However, if you dig more deeply, the dictum has truth.  Ms. Dodge didn’t know Holland first hand, but had:

• Done lots of research and
• Imagined herself into it’s environs

Because of this research and daydreaming, she did know the land, and know it well.  This is also what Mr. Tolkien had done.  He spent years imagining all the lands in Middle Earth, imagining their populations and creatures.  He dreamed about them and knew them first hand.  I’m sure Bilbo Baggins “spoke” to him, as many characters seem to do to the writers creating them, because Mr. Tolkien imagined him so completely that in his mind the Hobbit had become quite real.  Tolkien, then, like Ms. Dodge, did ultimately write what he knew.

We also have the Internet, which writers of past generations didn’t, to do the research.  Then we can daydream about the facts to make them viscerally real in your experience.  And daydreaming is fun.  You can tell your spouse you’re working if they ask why you’re sitting on the couch with that silly blank expression on your face.

I think the originator of the rule had the best of intentions.  If you feel stuck, write about what’s in front of you.  That is good advice.  It’s one of the exercises we recommend in our writing guides and on these blogs.  But when it was presented to me, it was communicated to mean “if you try to write about stuff you haven’t experienced, it will be phony, which is bad.”

Thank God I never listened!

~Geoff Hoff

Disclaimer: We are Amazon affiliates and will receive a small commission if you make a purchase through one of the links in this post.