Rule: an explicit or accepted procedure or principle that controls action within a particular activity or sphere.

Textbooks and internet pages overflow with rules. Pundits argue and sometimes disobey their own rules, thereby exposing themselves as ambassadors for the idiom, “Do as I say and not as I do.”

This series of posts discusses writing rules, often with examples, in an effort to help writers decide when to follow or break what some experts insist are unconditional commandments.

See also The Master List of So-called “Rules” for Writers.

Rule 11: Opening a Story With a Dream Is Bad

Ditto for sci-fi that begins with a virtual-reality segment.

To test this premise, consider an episode of a television drama. The episode begins with a tense action scene in which the protagonist does something heroic or stupid or funny — and then the alarm buzzes, the telephone rings, or someone knocks on the door. The action scene fades to focus on the protagonist’s eyes opening.

You’ve been duped. You feel cheated. You’d like the action to continue, but you’ve been denied the opportunity to find out what happens next.

Likewise for books and short fiction.

Let’s compare two story openings.

#1: A bullet whizzed past Walt’s ear. He ducked behind a garbage bin and returned fire. Two more shots sounded. A searing pain speared his left shoulder. He collapsed onto the pavement and —

A pounding on the wall woke Walt from his dream. Third time in one week he had dreamt about the gunfight that got him suspended from duty.

This dream opening was shorter than what I’ve seen in a few novels. Sometimes dreams mislead readers for pages or even for chapters. Nobody deserves to be treated like that. Writers who want to keep their readers should reevaluate opening dream sequences.

Here’s a better beginning.

#2: Walt groaned in his sleep, reliving the third nightmare in one week about the gunfight that had caused his suspension from duty …

A bullet whizzed past his ear. He ducked behind a garbage bin and returned fire. Two more shots sounded. A searing pain speared his left shoulder. He collapsed onto the pavement and —

A pounding on the wall woke him.

From the first sentence, readers know that Walt is dreaming.

Rule 11 should be rewritten: Opening a story with a dream is bad if the writer deceives the reader into believing that the dream is real.

Rule 12: Never Write About People in an Ethnic, Indigenous, or Oppressed Group Unless You’re a Member of Said Group

This is just a rephrasing of Rule 7: Only write about what you know.

Are schoolteachers experts in the subjects they teach? Sometimes. However, they usually relay information that has been researched by others. A history professor doesn’t have to be a time traveler to impart knowledge about the Roman Empire or World War I. A science teacher can lecture about the wonders of the galaxy without visiting the stars.

The best way to perform research is to live with people in the group you plan to write about. The second-best way is to complete extensive interviews. Then if possible, choose beta readers and editors from the group.

Consider blond-haired American writer Alex Kerr, who wrote Lost Japan. He won the 1994 Shincho Gakugei Literature Prize for his book — the first foreigner to receive this prize for the best work of non-fiction published in Japan. To accomplish this, Alex spent more than thirty-five years in-country.

And what about John Howard Griffin, an American journalist and author who wrote the bestseller Black Like Me? So determined was John to create an authentic work that he adhered to a regimen of sunlamp treatments, skin creams, and drugs to darken his skin. Before traveling as a black man in the Deep South of the USA, he also shaved his straight brown hair.

Kerr and Griffin expended more effort than most writers would ever dream of. However, in doing so they set an example and disproved Rule 12.

You can too.

Good narrative includes conflict, emotions, and often physical discomfort or pain. Write your story. If you’re mocked, maligned, or shunned, remind your detractors that it’s creative writing.

Rule 13: Always Read in Your Own Genre

Authors often decide to write in a specific genre, and that’s all they read. Their reasoning is similar to Rule 7: Only write about what you know. In doing so, they pigeonhole their creativity and deny themselves the tropes and nuances of other genres.

Chaining yourself to one type of reading will bore you after a time, and you might become discouraged. Who wants to open a book if it’s deemed a chore instead of a pleasure? Multi-faceted reading stimulates multi-faceted creativity. Just as a holiday rejuvenates the spirit, a change in genre rejuvenates the brain.

Emotion is the foundation of good books. Whether you read science fiction, historical romance, or thrillers, you’ll discover similar character reactions. Romance existed millennia ago, and it’ll exist millennia from now. Jealousy, hate, anger, and desperation existed millennia ago and will exist in the future.

Both space explorers and Victorian lords will respond to their environment. Well-written narrative stimulates empathetic responses in readers, no matter the genre.

Rule 14: Show, Don’t Tell

Tell: Inform the reader about what is happening via concise exposition; e.g., The little boy was happy when he saw the birthday cake. This sentence tells us the boy is happy. It doesn’t engage the senses or imagination.

Show: Provide details that cause the reader to vicariously experience narrative via characters’ actions, dialogue, and senses; e.g., The little boy giggled and oohed when he saw the birthday cake. Readers will see the little boy’s actions and intuit that he’s happy.

Anton Chekhov said, “Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on the broken glass.”

Show usually requires more words than tell. Therefore, tell is sometimes the better of the two options for action scenes, short fiction, or other situations where economy of words is crucial.

Does the following snippet work?

Walt ran away from the bear, dripping in hot perspiration that steamed off his body in the cold air, and crunching through underbrush that tore at his face, arms, and body. He quickly looked behind him to see how close the bear was. He cringed, and his stomach clenched, almost expelling its contents. The beast was huge! Its teeth dripped with strings of saliva. Its claws looked like they could tear out his heart with one swipe. Walt redirected his attention to where he was running. His pulse raced, and he struggled for air. Disheveled hair clung to his face.

That’s a lot of show for an action scene. By the time readers get to the last word, the bear could have ripped Walt apart three times. A bit of tell, accompanied by strong verbs, concise adjectives, and removal of non-essential phrasing, would make it move faster:

Walt fled in fear from the grizzly, gasping as he crunched through razor-sharp underbrush. He dared a quick glance behind him to see how close the beast was, and cringed at the sight of its saliva-drenched fangs and dagger-claws.

There’s a time to show and a time to tell. Choose wisely.

See also The Master List of So-called “Rules” for Writers.