{"id":988694,"date":"2026-07-16T10:58:20","date_gmt":"2026-07-16T09:58:20","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/jerichowriters.com\/?p=988694"},"modified":"2026-07-16T10:58:21","modified_gmt":"2026-07-16T09:58:21","slug":"3-writing-rules-you-should-definitely-ignore-at-least-some-of-the-time","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/jerichowriters.com\/3-writing-rules-you-should-definitely-ignore-at-least-some-of-the-time\/","title":{"rendered":"3 writing rules you should\u00a0definitely ignore\u00a0(at least some of the time)"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

I\u00a0don\u2019t\u00a0believe there are any\u00a0hard-and-fast\u00a0rules in creative writing. As my\u00a0former colleague\u00a0Helen\u00a0Francis\u00a0often says, \u2018If it works, it works.\u2019\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The problem we face as writers, of course, is making<\/em> what we want to do on the page work for our readers. So-called \u2018rules\u2019 and advice can be useful for understanding what has worked in the past for others, but the truth is you\u2019re the only person who can write your books. Which means that the only one who can assert any \u2018should\u2019s or \u2018shouldn\u2019t\u2019s about your writing is you<\/em>.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Here are three commonly quoted \u2018rules\u2019 that I think every writer needs to take with a pinch of salt:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

1. Write what you know<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Many of us begin writing by borrowing from the world(s) we know. That\u2019s very sensible, but unless you plan on becoming a serial memoirist, you\u2019re going to want to reach beyond your own perspective at some point. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

This advice often originates from two well-meaning intentions: <\/p>\n\n\n\n

    \n
  1. To make things easier on you \u2013\u00a0writing what you know requires\u00a0less research\u00a0and less imagination;\u00a0<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n\n\n\n
      \n
    1. A fear of appropriation\u00a0\u2013 it\u00a0also\u00a0gives\u00a0you more\u00a0sense of\u00a0credibility and less chance of stepping on other people\u2019s toes.\u00a0<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n\n\n\n

      I find this second point is the one that worries the writers I work with the most. However, I think we should be suspicious anytime we find ourselves making craft decisions based on fear.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

      Another oft-quoted bit of advice I prefer is: write what you\u2019re afraid to write<\/em>. Confronting our fears on the page usually leads to much more exciting and interesting work than playing it safe.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

      The truth is, writing what you don\u2019t know is<\/em> harder than writing what you do know, and it does come with risks. The greatest risk is that you\u2019ll get things wrong and offend or upset those that know the topic\/place\/people\/event\/etc you\u2019re writing about better than you. As with most risky things, though, the rewards when you do the work to get things right can be great too. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

      What I think is essential when writing what we don\u2019t know is to acknowledge our own positionality and understand why<\/em> we\u2019ve chosen to write about this particular topic\/place\/people\/event\/etc. Positionality refers to the social and political contexts that create our identities and the ways our backgrounds, thoughts, ideologies and biases filter how we perceive and interact with the world. Things that shape our positionality include class, race, gender, sexuality, nationality and ability status. We can\u2019t escape our positionality when we write, and we shouldn\u2019t want to. Whatever our stories are about and wherever they\u2019re set, it\u2019s our unique perspectives that shape the reader\u2019s journey through them. However, there are things, places and especially perspectives that each of us probably can\u2019t write well<\/em> because of our positionality. That\u2019s not a weakness, but I think we do have a responsibility to identify the limits of our positionality in order to understand where our strengths as a writer lie. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

      Rather than the safe, stay-in-your-lane approach that write what you know<\/em> instructs, then, I prefer to encourage the writers I work with to write to the edge of your experience. <\/em>How far can you push what you know and what you can<\/em> know? How can you acknowledge your positionality but also widen your perspective?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      2. Show, don’t tell<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

      I\u2019ve variously heard this clich\u00e9d rule first originated from C.S. Lewis, Anton Chekhov and even Aristotle. Whoever is responsible, I think they have a lot to answer for. While it isn\u2019t bad advice for some <\/em>parts of our work, especially for those of us working in long-form, it can never be applied throughout. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

      What it usually means when someone asks us to show<\/em> rather than tell<\/em> is that our reader would like this part of our story to be dramatized rather than summarised.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

      Scenes that are told<\/em> or summarised are brief, efficient and factual. This means they require a passive reading mode and generally don\u2019t stir our feelings as readers; we merely have to trust what the narrator says to be true. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

      Fully dramatized or shown<\/em> scenes, however, are slower, richer and full of sensory details, action and dialogue that require a more active reading mode. This encourages us to share in the emotions and sensations of the characters, which tends to make us feel <\/em>more as we read. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

      The latter is definitely more exciting to read, but the truth is we always need a bit of both. The tricky thing is knowing when to use each. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

      Showing\/dramatisation is best suited for: <\/p>\n\n\n\n