[This week, I led a session at the Madrid Writer’s Critique Group on important writing rules. My focus wasn’t on broad edicts like “write every day” or “write what you know,” but rather on the more technical rules of writing that elevate one’s work and give it the air of professionalism. This post summarizes that session.]

Artists are rulebreakers. They want to pave the path, not follow it. Nonetheless, years ago I received a piece of advice that I found invaluable: if you want to break a rule, you first need to understand it.

I don’t remember where I first heard that. Maybe it was a high school teacher or college professor. Or maybe it’s from that Quantum Leap episode where Sam Beckett leaps into a horror writer and fights the devil (oops, spoiler). Wherever I heard it, I’ve practically had it tattooed on me ever sense.

I’ve learned hundreds of “rules of writing” over the years. Many are overstated or old fashioned, or not really “rules” but merely advice based on one writer’s personal preference (like, “write early in the morning”). There are, however, writing rules that are essential to know, particularly if your goal is to find an audience or make money. You can break any writing rule you want, but you should at least know them first. Chances are, the longer you write, you’ll come to the realization, Oh right, these rules exists for a reason.

Writing is first and foremost about communicating to your reader, and the rules of writing will make you a more successful communicator. Presumably that’s what you want. So, without further preamble, here are 8 rules for writing that should only be broken if you have a great reason—plus, my “unbreakable” rule.

1. Remember Chekhov’s Gun

“Chekhov’s gun” is probably the most famous writing rule (it’s got its own name). Russian playwright Anton Chekhov expressed the idea thusly: “Remove everything that has no relevance to the story. If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off.”

Everything should serve the plot, characterization, or theme; ideally, all three. When you write something, imagine an interviewer asking you, “Why did you include [this] in your book?” You need a better answer than, “Because I liked it.” Don’t bore your reader with useless information. They’ll resent you for it. You can introduce something for misdirection, but that still means there’s a purpose. The “gun” doesn’t have to literally fire for its threat to affect the narrative.

(A related bit of advice is the famous “kill your darlings” dictate: even if you love the writing, if it doesn’t best serve the story, be a ruthless editor and cut it.)

2. Don’t Introduce Unnecessary Names

Avoid bombarding your reader with useless details. This is essentially a subcategory of the first writing rule, but it deserves its own point because it will seemingly contradict the next rule. Names are important. They help distinguish your various characters and can even reveal backstory. They also tell your reader a character is important. Which is why, if a character isn’t important, you shouldn’t bother naming them.

Is the waitress who brings your main character coffee only going to say one sentence and then never reappear? We don’t need to know her name tag reads “Tammy.” Does your heroine’s coworker only exist to inform her of a meeting after lunch? Then I don’t care that he spells his name “Mathew.” As a reader, every time I’m given a name, I assume it’s important (especially if it comes early in the story). Which means I’ll probably waste my ever-dwindling mental capacity remembering it, thereby forgetting a more important detail.

This rule is especially valuable for short stories where space is at a premium. Unless the name helps distinguish one bit character from another, don’t include it. Remember, as with Chekhov’s gun, when you introduce a character name, it tells the reader, “This is important, pay attention.”

3. Be Specific and Avoid Vague Words

Now, if something is important, give us those delectable details. Was the jacket “blue,” or was it “cobalt”? Was the day “cold,” or was it “dreary”? If those details are relevant, specificity will not only keep you from writing “blue” a dozen times on a page, it’ll be more memorable to your reader. That’s especially useful if you’re writing a novel and the reader needs to remember a detail many chapters later.

Alternatively, certain words are momentum killers. They lack specificity and interrupt the natural rhythm. Words like “some” and “about” are placeholders. They work for a first draft, but by the time you’ve thoroughly edited your work, they should have been replaced with more precise language—or just deleted. To a reader, “There were some birds in the sky” and “There were birds in the sky” convey the same amount of information. Just delete “some” and you’ll save everyone a millisecond. Those add up.

4. Don’t Repeat Yourself

Don’t repeat yourself. If you’re anything like me, that repetition irked you. As a freelance editor, one of my pet peeves is when a writer is clearly inflating the word count by saying the same thing with new words. It’s not just useless; needless repetition will make the reader’s mind wander.

This is generally more of a problem in fact-based writing, but it pops up in fiction as well. Sometimes, as a writer, you don’t trust the reader to remember or get something. If that’s the case, the problem isn’t the reader, it’s you. You haven’t expressed yourself clearly enough and you know it. Reiterating information that is important or complex can be helpful, but restatement for the sake of restatement is painfully dull.

In a similar vein, beware of your writerly tics and overused idioms. You have them. I have them. Zadie Smith has them. Every writer falls back on the same terms and expressions (even sentence structures). Sure, sometimes writers repeat words or phrases to establish a theme or mood; usually it’s just laziness. As with vague words, habitual phrases are fine scaffolding for a first draft. Dismantle them in the editing process.

5. Use Context to Explain Jargon

Many pros will tell you to avoid any jargon, those technical words that your reader probably won’t know. That’s good advice as a general rule. However, there are genres where jargon is not only fine, it’s necessary. If you’re writing a military story, authentic characterization will require realistic vernacular and slang. Likewise, a story set in the future or on alien planets will probably involve strange terms. Even non-genre literary fiction can need particular terminology that isn’t immediately familiar to your reader.

Defining jargon through narrative rather than exposition is always preferable. Science fiction and fantasy are probably the hardest genres to write when it comes to jargon, because the terms will often be the writer’s inventions. Still, don’t cop out and simply explain the terms. If it’s an item that can be moved or manipulated, have a character use it so the reader can “see” it in action. Always introduce unfamiliar terms with context, because stopping the narrative to explain something risks losing your reader.

6. Follow the Conventional Rules of Grammar

Certain writers seem to think grammar rules are beneath them, as if it’s antithetical to creativity. Really, they’re just lazy. I’ve known more than my fair share of writers who have an appalling sense of the rules of grammar—a few English teachers in Spain for that matter. Just because it’s your native language, that doesn’t mean you actually know English grammar. Also, just because you know grammar doesn’t mean you won’t ever make an embarrassing mistake (we’ve all been their).

A successful writer must be as much an editor as a creative. Your first draft will be riddled with mistakes and misused words. Mine always are. But if you’re submitting work, do a grammar and spelling edit first. Those errors will torpedo your chances of being accepted, and this business is hard enough without handicapping yourself.

Boring as it might be, grammar is the foundation for the entire writing enterprise. Yes, there are successful writers who flaunt grammar conventions, but they do it with purpose. James Joyce’s experiments with grammar only work because he so clearly knows the rules. You don’t have to be an expert, but you shouldn’t be content being a grammar dunce. F. Scott Fitzgerald was published despite being a terrible speller, but the modern landscape is harder. (If grammar is your weak spot, hire an editor. I’m available.)

7. Be Consistent

If you do know the rules of grammar, you know a terrible secret: English grammar is inherently inconsistent. Depending on which style guide you follow or which country you’re in, you may be told completely different things. Everyone knows there are certain words the British spell with a “u” that the Americans don’t. But did you know that, as a general rule, Brit publishers spell the word “towards,” and the Yanks write it as “toward”? Or how about the fact that Americans are more likely to shorten a compound term to one word, whereas in the UK they prefer hyphenation (e.g., ecofriendly vs. eco-friendly).

Unless you’re a professional editor, there’s no reason to know all of that, so don’t fret it. But do be consistent. If you go with “towards,” also use “backwards” and “upwards.” If you capitalize “Band-Aid” (because it’s technically a brand name), then consistently capitalize it. A minor quibble? Maybe. But, as an editor, if I received a manuscript in which both “toward” and “towards” were used on the same page, I’d immediately anticipate tons of grammar issues.

8. When It Comes to Deus Ex Machina, Be an Atheist

I started with one famous trope and am ending with another. Meaning “God in the machine,” Deus ex machina refers to a sudden event or character appearance that resolves a seemingly unsolvable problem at the end of a story. Think of the “it was all just a dream” cliché or when a previously unimposing character suddenly figures out they have god-like powers at the last moment and beats the bad guy. There are plenty of examples of Deus ex machina – both good and bad – that show the versatility or failings of this trope. Certainly, it has been used successfully.

Ultimately, though, if you’ve come near the end of your story and can’t figure out how to resolve a problem, using a Deus ex machina will almost always be unsatisfying for your reader. You’d be better off going back and doing a major rewrite to avoid the issue rather than wrapping up the story with something that’s improbable or too easy. A great ending can salvage a just-okay book, but a bad ending can kill an otherwise masterpiece.

Subverting the Rules of Writing

As long as you understand the purpose of these rules, tweaking them can help you convey something important to the reader. Though, if you’re going to break a writing rule, do it in a clever or funny way.

I’m not a huge fan of horror movies, but the genre does include two excellent examples of writers subverting these writing rules (spoilers ahead).

The first example is in the original Scream film. The movie introduces a seemingly major character in the first scene, played by one of the biggest young actresses of the moment, Drew Barrymore, and then immediately kills her off. We even learn her name. I can imagine a studio exec begging writer Kevin Williamson to find a way to bring back Drew’s character for an end-of-film reveal. Instead, the audience gets invested in someone who lasts barely 10 minutes of screentime. This subversion works exactly because of what it conveys to the viewer: no one in the movie is safe.

The second example is one of my favorite subversions. Since this is a major spoiler, I won’t say the movie’s name. I’ll just say it’s an adaptation of a Stephen King story starring Thomas Jane. The movie (which changes the ending from the source material) includes a Deus ex machina in the form of the US military, but by the time the calvary arrives, the lead character has already made a decision that all but negates his salvation. It’s a devastating twist and a brilliant way to wrap up the overarching plot while not undermining the film’s tone or the character’s narrative arc.

My Unbreakable Rule: Read

This will piss some people off, but whatever. I don’t care how many followers you have on TikTok or how many people tell you you’re a great writer. If you don’t read, you won’t make it as a writer.

This isn’t about people who are too busy to read or aren’t reading for a time because they’re in the process of creation. I know musicians who don’t listen to music when they’re recording to avoid accidental theft, and I also know that when life gets hectic, reading isn’t a priority. Reading as a pastime will come and go in waves (same with writing).

I’m referring to the so-called writers who are proudly anti-reading, the ones who are essentially saying, “I’m such an inherently gifted writer, I don’t need to read anyone else.” They don’t last, and what they have to say with their writing is usually about as profound as a Bazooka Joe comic.

Every few months, this debate reawakens on social media. If your ADHD or mental illness prevents you from reading, I sympathize. Again, there are many reasons why a person may not be reading at any given point in their life, or why they might choose short online articles over full-length novels. Read what you want, when you can. But read. (And that includes listening to books on tape, though the physical act of reading does work out different parts of the brain that are valuable for writing.)

Why is this my unbreakable rule? Because if you refuse to read, you’re clearly not interested in the story-telling power of the medium. You write solely for attention. Almost every writer I know is motivated, in part, by the desire to read a story that doesn’t exist; they feel compelled to write it themselves.

If you’re a non-reader, that passion for the story isn’t driving you. Maybe you’ll spit out an article or two, a few poems, even a novel. And with our culture’s reliance on algorithms and marketing trickery (not to mention ironic consumption), you might generate viral buzz. But eventually the well will run dry. To be a writer, you should be reading, and you should be reading within your genre. If you can write, you can read.

Honestly, if you don’t enjoy reading, why be a writer? There are more exciting (and sexier) hobbies.

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Bonus Thought

I love when artists talk intelligently and passionately about their medium, even when – especially when – I know nothing about it.

I am a music obsessive, but I don’t have an ounce of musical ability in my body (not much B12 either). Nonetheless, this video of Michael Palmisano, a guitar teacher and blues aficionado, gradually recognizing the brilliant and intricate musicianship of Radiohead is pure, nerdy fun. I’ve always loved this song (back when it was just an mp3 rip circulating on fan pages), but Palmisano explaining the complexity of its craftmanship just deepens my appreciation.

Yeah, this is super niche, and yes, we Radiohead fans are annoying. But if you don’t have art that makes you giddy, what are you creating for?