Heinlein's Rules of Writing - the Amendment

A recent discussion on a writers' forum reminded me of Robert A. Heinlein's five rules for writing. These were put forward in his 1947 essay On the Writing of Speculative Fiction, and are still fiercely debated, some considering them the elixir of life, others a poisoned chalice.

Robert A. Heinlein (1907-1988, left) is considered one of the three masters of "Golden Age" SF, along with Isaac Asimov and Arthur C. Clarke. He wrote some of the great works of the genre — but do his rules hold up sixty-eight years after he wrote them?

1. You must write 

Well, this seems the most obvious of the rules, though I'd possibly phrase it more like If you don't write, you're not a writer. You choose what you do, of course, but a writer who doesn't write is an oxymoron.

What this rule ducks, though, is exactly what "writing" means. For a full-time author like Heinlein, it might mean an eight-hour day in front of the typewriter (or its modern equivalent), but most of us have to juggle many other calls on our time: work, family, Facebook… No, scratch that last one, it's not an excuse. Perhaps the rule should be Use whatever time you can possibly spare to write — even if that only means squeezing in ten minutes a day.

2. You must finish what you write

As with many of these rules, my reaction to this is "yes and no". Its value is as a counter to something I see with a lot of beginning authors, project-hopping. I was guilty of this myself in my teens, rarely finishing a project before I lost interest and went on to something else.

What it meant was that I didn't get enough practice until a little later at writing something complete, in particular learning how to end a story. It's certainly good discipline to keep going with your current story and leave that shiny new project on the back burner till you've finished.

That doesn't mean, though, that every verbal doodle you put down has to be seen through. Many of my stories come from a weekly exercise I take part in, writing for an hour to a prompt. Many of my published works have started that way, included the two stories I published with Musa, The Treason of Memory and The Lone and Level Sands, but equally I've put down many of these pieces as "fun but no potential". If I felt I had to finish everything I started, I'd be inhibited from taking part in these exercises and miss out on some great ideas.

Perhaps this one should be Finish any project you commit to, unless you have very good reason to think it's not working.

 

3. You must refrain from rewriting, except to editorial order

This is perhaps the most controversial of Heinlein's rules. Taken literally, it's perhaps the worst advice since George Lucas was told everyone would love Jar Jar Binks. It's very rare for a first draft to be fit to send to any agent or editor, and even if you revise as you go (which I don't), chances are you'll still need to revise again in the light of the finished product.

Some people (including, again, me as a teenager) believe that revision spoils the originality and spontaneity of the initial concept. It's not true. Spontaneity, like comedy ad-libbing, takes an enormous amount of work to get right, while actual first drafts tend to be way off the mark.

Many people, though, interpret this rule differently, as advising against constant fiddling. That's far better advice. Getting hung up on making a story perfect is a recipe for never finishing. No story is ever perfect, and I'm not even sure it should be. If, like Oscar Wilde, your day's writing consists of inserting a comma in the morning and removing it in the afternoon, it's a sign the story's good enough to go out into the wide world.

Even so, the rule isn't perfect. Not all rejections are accompanied by rewrite suggestions, or any feedback at all, but occasionally time leads you to recognise one particular aspect of the story that keeps getting it rejected. If you have really good reason for believing a rewrite will fix that, go ahead. In any case, computers have made revision infinitely easier than when I was first pounding a manual typewriter — let alone when Heinlein was writing.

On a few occasions, I've had a response to a submission that they can't accept the story as it stands, but they'll reconsider it if I change X, Y or Z. Heinlein probably wouldn't consider that an "editorial order", but perhaps he had plenty of alternative markets lined up where he knew the editor. I assess requests like that on merit. They've ranged from tightening up the opening scene to changing the gender of the protagonist — it's perhaps not surprising that I agreed to the first (and the story was accepted afterwards) and refused the second, although not without considering.

So perhaps I'll make that one When you've got your story good enough, leave it alone unless you have a concrete reason to change it.

4. You must put the work on the market

Ultimately, I write to communicate. Of course I write largely what I'd want to read, but if the stories were purely for myself, there'd be no point in actually writing them down. If I want anyone to read my work, I need to get it published, whether with a professional publisher or self-publishing.

So yes, if you finish a story, it's worth nothing unless you're trying to get it read. If you're making a living from your writing, that has to mean "putting it on the market", but few of us are in that league. In any case, there are more options than in 1947, and a story can be published, self-published, or even given away free in a calculated effort to generate interest.

So this one, perhaps, could be When you've finished a story, do everything you can to get it read as widely as possible.

5. You must keep the work on the market until it is sold

This seems to me an over-insistent rule that nevertheless contains a truth. It's very easy to get discouraged if a story is continually rejected, but all a rejection is saying — unless it's accompanied by feedback — is that particular editor can't use it at that particular time. It doesn't necessarily mean the next editor won't snap it up.

We all know anecdotes about how such-and-such a bestseller was rejected X number of times before someone took a chance on it. I certainly haven't published a bestseller, or anywhere close, but I did have one story that was accepted on the eighteenth time of asking. And, having been rejected by a number of fairly small markets, it was eventually published by a professional-rate magazine. It was simply a good fit with them at that time.

On the other hand, there comes a point where further submission seem merely cruel and unusual punishment of a deceased equine. That's nothing to do with the number of rejections a work has garnered. A story may be very specialist, for instance, with only a few markets you can reasonably submit it to, and when those are exhausted, there's nowhere else to go. Or the editor may give you damning feedback which, after the permitted tantrum, you have to admit is reasonable.

This leaves you with three options. You can say sod them all and self-publish. You can decide you'll probably never get a paid acceptance for that story, and stick it on your blog for free. Or you can invoke the final sanction and mark it as "retired" on your database.*

So we'll make this rule Don't give up trying to get a story published unless you're absolutely certain you're wasting your time.

So where does this leave us? I have no great hopes that the Blatchley Amendment to Heinlein's Rules for Writing is going to replace the original, but here it is.

1. Use whatever time you can possibly spare to write.

2. Finish any project you commit to, unless you have very good reason to think it's not working.

3. When you've got your story good enough, leave it alone unless you have a concrete reason to change it.

4. When you've finished a story, do everything you can to get it read as widely as possible.

5. Don't give up trying to get a story published unless you're absolutely certain you're wasting your time.

* Or "semi-retired" in my case. Never say never.

Image of Robert A. Heinlein: "Heinlein-face". Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Commons - https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Heinlein-face.jpg#/media/File:Heinlein-face.jpg

"This Is Getting Too Silly," He Expostulated Belligerently

Get a bunch of fiction writers together and there's a couple of things you can be sure they'll eventually start arguing about. One's point of view and the multitudinous ways it can be well used and badly used. The other is the proper way to tag dialogue.

At their most basic, tags are the devices used to show the reader who's speaking, and sometimes also how they're speaking and in what context. The most basic tags are he said, she said, said Ug the Barbarian etc*, but it gets a lot more complicated than that.

For one thing, there are vast quantities of verbs in the English language that mean a particular type of saying, and at one time it was common — certainly more common than now — to use these to the full. Characters would expostulate, opine, or even ejaculate their words.

Generally speaking, this has gone out of fashion. A term has even been coined for it: "said bookisms". In fact, in some quarters you may even be told never to use any verb but said, but that seems to me to be a rule followed off the edge of a cliff.

The argument is that using colourful verbs in tags distracts the reader from what's actually being said, and the manner of speech should be clear from the context. There's certainly a lot in that, but there are other verbs that give a quiet, matter-of-fact account of the speaking, just hinting that the speech isn't entirely neutral — asked, replied, murmured, shouted etc. Each of these can be used without getting in the way of the dialogue itself.

But what about the more elaborate words? Well, it partly depends on the tone you're shooting for. In general, "said bookisms" work better in comic writing (Douglas Adams is an excellent example) but even a more serious writer might want to cultivate an exuberant style that would suit this approach.

As with anything in writing, though, it's important to know exactly what you're doing and why. If you don't have any particular axe to grind, my recommendation is to start with said as your default (perhaps with asked and replied as fairly obvious in their places) and identify the specific places where a more elaborate verb would work. "You'll never get through this gate," thundered Ug has a genuine purpose — said just wouldn't cut it there.

One particularly controversial group of words are those that don’t represent believable speech. I can just about accept laughed or wailed if the person is laughing or wailing a very short phrase. "Stop that," laughed Ug is believable as a phrase caught up in an explosion of barbarian laughter. "That's absolutely the funniest thing I've ever heard in my life," laughed Ug isn't — and not only because no self-respecting barbarian would use the word absolutely.

On the other hand, there are words that don't in any way represent speech — unless you're writing about a species whose language is based on facial expressions — like smiled or winked. I'd definitely advise against these. Instead of "I'm pleased to meet you," he smiled, what's wrong with "I'm pleased to meet you," he said, smiling? Far more accurate.

The other big controversy is the use of adverbs in dialogue tags. Now adverbs tend to have a bad press that's largely unfair, but it's undeniable that a big part of this is because of their overuse in tags. That's not because they're adverbs, though: it's because their use is often a symptom of lazy writing.

Sometimes the problem is that the adverb is vague and could be expressed in a much clearer way. "Stop doing that," she said angrily isn't wrong, but it's not very evocative and "verb adverb" in tags can easily become a very repetitive pattern. Much better would be "Stop doing that," she snapped, scowling. A specific case where I would reach for a slightly more elaborate verb.

Equally, the adverb may be redundant — in tags like she whispered quietly, he asked questioningly, she snapped angrily, the adverb merely repeats what the verb has already told us.

Adverbs aren't always wrong, though. Sometimes an adverb is all that needs to be said. "Is that really true?" she asked quietly is both clear and evocative.

So should we just tag dialogue with an endless string of he said, she said? Not at all. There are plenty of other ways of tagging dialogue, including not tagging it at all. In an ongoing back-and-forth, especially between just two characters, it's obvious enough who's saying what, and it can be given without any tagging at all. As long as you keep track. I've read at least one published book where the author appeared to have lost count in a scene like that.

Or you can use an action tag, instead of a dialogue tag. An alternative to the sentence above, "Stop doing that," she snapped, scowling, might be She scowled. "Stop doing that."

The best approach, perhaps, is to understand the full range of options and use whichever is the right one for the moment, as well as for the bigger picture. Vary the type of dialogue tags, action tags or no tag you use from paragraph to paragraph, and also use tags and interruptions to help the dynamics of the speech**.

Or develop you own non-standard, utterly idiosyncratic approach to dialogue tagging. But, if you're doing that, make sure you do it very, very well indeed.

 

* When using a pronoun, it has to be she said, unless you're trying to sound archaic with said she. If it's a name or other noun, both said Ug and Ug said are equally correct — it's entirely a matter of taste and how the sentence flows best. If someone tries to tell you (as they occasionally do) that one or the other is wrong, they're talking through an orifice other than their mouth.

** One mistake beginners often make is always to put the tag at the end, even of a very long paragraph. This can confuse readers, if they need to identify who's speaking; it's redundant, since by that point the speaker and the way of speaking should have been established; and it makes the flow of the writing clunky. In general, tags should come early and, if possible, punctuate the dialogue.

Rules? What Rules?

As a writer, it seems impossible to go anywhere on the internet without bumping into someone laying down rules for how to write, usually in the form of "Never do X."  Advice is great, but, as far as I can see, writing rules are like the Pirate Code - more in the nature of guidelines than actual rules.
 
Of course, some of these guidelines are a lot more rule-like than others, and can very easily be mistaken for absolutes.  Take grammar, for instance: there are constructions that are right and constructions that are wrong.  Is there really any room for manoeuvre there?

Well, yes and no.  I'd certainly encourage any writer to learn how grammar works, how to punctuate correctly and the actual meanings of words - many are hideously abused - but there are times when the rules are flexible.  Flexible, but not infinitely elastic, and only if you know precisely when and why you're breaking them.

Sometimes it can be for effect.  The last sentence in the previous paragraph is ungrammatical, because it's a fragment, but a fragment can sometimes be extremely effective, as can starting a sentence with and or but.  The secret is to do it at exactly the right time and to know why you're doing it.  The two secrets are to do it at exactly the right time and to know why you're doing it, and to use it very sparingly.  The three secrets...

The other main reason for using incorrect grammar is register, or the level of language-use you want to convey.  The most common distinction is between narrative and dialogue, but there's a great deal of variation within these.  Narrative might be the formal relation of an old legend or a chatty first-person account.  Dialogue might be spoken by a pedantic academic or by a yokel, or anywhere between.  In some cases, correct grammar isn't appropriate.

I'll take a simple example - the word like.  If you're following grammatical rules, it's correct to say He ran like a demon but wrong to say He ran like a demon was after him (here, like should be replace with, for instance, as if).  However, many people use the incorrect form, and in some circumstances it might give a feeling of the character or the narrative atmosphere to use it.  If you don't know it's wrong, though, you're likely to use it where it's inappropriate.

If even the rules of grammar are flexible, what about all the other "rules"?  Don't use passive voice; cut out adverbs; don't use words ending in -ing; don't use past continuous - and so ad infinitum.

Most of these have some reason behind them, but they're ridiculously dogmatic.  It's rare to find a construction or part of speech that isn't effective in its right place (I'm tempted to say it never happens, but I wouldn't be that dogmatic) but some are easier to misuse than others.  That's all.

Take the much-maligned passive voice.  Now, for a start, many writers (and even some editors) don't know what the passive voice is.  It isn't "writing weakly" or "distancing" - it's the form of the verb where the subject is the person/thing acted on, as opposed to active voice, where the subject is the actor, and middle/reflexive voice, where the subject acts on itself.  An active sentence would be John hit Fred.  The passive form would be Fred was hit by John.  Middle would be John hit himself (idiot).

Neither active nor passive is right or wrong: they perform different functions.  In the example given, it depends largely on whether the sentence is about John or Fred - whichever we want the reader to focus on should normally be the subject. 

Beyond that, though, passive can give an impression.  The anti-passive sentiment originated in business writing, where it's important to be strong and positive all the time, but this doesn't necessarily apply to creative writing.  Imagine a character who appears to be a strong leader or general - but you have your doubts as you read.  Something about him doesn't seem quite as strong as he makes out, and it turns out in the end that this impression is correct.  Where did it come from?  Simply that, throughout the story, a lot of statements about him, or things he says, are passive constructions.

This kind of thing applies to all the "rules", so where did they come from?  I suspect a lot of them may have originated in mistaking specific advice for general advice.  An author might get a critique from a Respected Source (a top editor, or a published author) who criticises a battle scene because "You use a lot of passive constructions, and this slows down the action and makes it seem remote."

Now, this is perfectly good advice: there are valid places to use passive, but a battle scene isn't one of them.  However, the author doesn't quite get that and spreads it all over the internet that "Respected Source says using passive slows down your writing and make it seem remote."  This isn't what RS has said at all, but it's plausible enough to catch on, especially if Acknowledged Expert and Impeccable Authority can be similarly misquoted.

Thus a "rule" is born.  It's not entirely wrong, but the correct guideline should be "Keep an eye on your use of passive voice.  It has its place, but avoid it in sections where you want the action to be fast paced and vivid.  If in doubt, it's probably best to change it to active."

The same is true for all the other "rules" that are flung around: guidelines, not rules.  In reality, I've only ever found two genuine rules for writing.  One is If it works, do it; if it doesn't work, don't do it.  The other is Never believe a rule that contains the words always or never.  Including this one.