The peculiar tone of writing rules

Tone is an expression of attitude. It tells people how we feel about something. In writing, it tells the reader how we feel about our subject.

Or does it?

We usually have two or more feelings about a topic though not simultaneously. There is an initial gut response. Then there is a more reasoned response. It’s often unchanged but perhaps not as extreme as the first. It’s a “toned down” response. Since discussions progress, our attitude may change further as we get more information and see other perspectives.

I began thinking about tone after my post Ten off-the-cuff writing rules which included a link to Ten rules for writing fiction (lists made by other writers). In my list and in many of those other lists, there was a common tone.

There is something about making a list of rules, especially writing rules, that seems to shoehorn people into a particular tonal stance: somewhat dogmatic, a bit pontificating. There is an air of absolutism in the rules though I don’t think anyone actually feels any rules about writing are absolute or even close to that.

I think it may have something to do with the conflict between feeling rules for writing are silly and knowing that for each of us, individually, there actually are rules we follow (though it may be more true to say there are particular techniques we use). So when we present “ten rules for writing” or something similar there is an element of the facetious, or self-mockery. However, that element is so buried it comes out as dogmatism. “Do this and do that.”

The rules we present are really descriptions of ourselves as writers. Put more accurately, each of our rules would read, “To write like me, do this.”

It may have something to do with the brevity we feel something like a rule requires. Who ever heard of a rule that went on for several pages with a really full description, clauses, exceptions and addenda? We expect rules to be short. Thus, when we set down a rule we generally keep it brief but, because we know nothing is as simple as that, we’re a bit frustrated and that mocking element slips in.

We know rules are nonsense so we can’t help feeling a kind of conflict in saying, “This is what you must do.” If you read Elmore Leonard’s list (“Using adverbs is a mortal sin”) you know they are great rules – if you want to write like Elmore Leonard. But if you’re another kind of writer, it might simply be a helpful guideline that, if applied too rigidly, makes your work stilted or gives it a feel that is inappropriate to its theme.

But if we equivocate, we undercut our rule. So we have an inner conflict because the rule is true but not necessarily everywhere, for everyone. This conflict makes itself manifest in a tone that is dogmatic. Yet when you look at it closely, it isn’t really dogmatism but a kind struggle between helpful advice and facetiousness. We know that what we’re really doing is describing ourselves and pretending it’s a rule for writing. So deep down we’re a little uncomfortable because we feel we’re a little bit like flim-flam artists. We try to mask that discomfort with a bit of bravado.

Still, the “rules” we present are usually good ones for someone who wants to improve their writing. They can try them out to see if they work for them. They just have to keep in mind that of they don’t work, junk them.