Orwell’s essay has become such an integral part of literary culture that it’s now almost impossible to imagine a professional writer who is not familiar with it. Indeed, the second rule has become so popular that it’s been parodied many times (as in William Safire’s famous spin-off, discussed in the oxymoronic & paradoxical neverisms chapter).
In offering his thoughts about writing mistakes and missteps, Orwell was continuing a longstanding tradition. Rules of composition have been an integral part of literary culture for centuries. As commonly happens with rules, however, they are sometimes taken too far. In the first half of the twentieth century, it was common for teachers and editors to proclaim:
Never end a sentence with a preposition.
This injunction has frustrated many young people learning the craft of writing, and it has infuriated many experienced ones who found their drafts “corrected” by editors slavishly following the rule. When Winston Churchill was reviewing the edited manuscript of one of his books, he discovered that a punctilious editor had reworded one of his sentences so that it did not end in a preposition. There are differing versions of exactly what Churchill scrawled in the margin as a note to the editor, but all are phrased in such a way that it didn’t end in a preposition, including: “This is the kind of arrant pedantry up with which I shall not put.”
Happily, that old rule has been relegated to the dustbin of history. William Strunk Jr. and E. B. White described it all quite nicely in their classic writing guide The Elements of Style (1999):Years ago, students were warned not to end a sentence with a preposition; time, of course, has softened that rigid decree. Not only is the preposition acceptable at the end, sometimes it is more effective in that spot than anywhere else.
Another writing rule that no longer governs is one that many readers of a certain age will recall from their high school days:
Never begin a sentence with the word “but.”
Like the preposition rule, this one is now also considered obsolete. In his 1976 classic On Writing Well, William Zinsser put it this way:Many of us were taught that no sentence should begin with “but.” If that’s what you learned, unlearn it—there’s no stronger word at the start. It announces a total contrast with what has gone before, and the reader is thereby primed for the change.
Throughout history, aspiring as well as experienced writers have been provided with advice about writing, exposed to rules of composition, and offered a wide variety of pronouncements about the literary life. Let’s take a look at some of the most memorable contributions—all expressed neveristically.
Never trust a spell checker.ANONYMOUS
Never say “In my book” in a radio or television interview.ANONYMOUS
I don’t know who first offered this advice to authors embarking on a book promotion tour, but it is now a maxim among publicists, who argue that it comes across as self-serving. It also assumes—often erroneously—that listeners or viewers will actually remember the title of the book.
Never judge your own writing. You’re not fit to do so.ISAAC ASIMOV, in a 1971 letter
Asimov, the author of more than five hundred books, added: “Always allow others to do so—preferably professionals, like editors. If they don’t like it, maybe they’ll like the next one.”
Never stop writing because you have run out of ideas.WALTER BENJAMIN
Never expect your partner to understand your work.RITA MAE BROWN
This comes from Starting from Scratch: A Different Kind of Writers’ Manual (1988). Brown added: “You can hope that he or she appreciates it, but don’t push your luck. Hell, you might not even understand your work.” Brown’s book, a truly different kind of writers’ manual, contains a number of other thoughtful admonitions for writers:
Never hope more than you work.
Never let anyone or any social attitude stand in the way of your productivity.
Never measure literature by accounting statistics.
A quarter of working authors earn less than $1,000.
Never read bad stuff if you’re an artist;
it will impair your own game.JAMES LEE BURKE, in a 2000 interview
Burke, the author of many popular mystery and crime novels, said this after being asked if he read less-than-perfect books in order “to catch the imperfections.” He added: “I don’t know if you ever played competitive tennis, but you learn not to watch bad tennis; it messes up your game. Art’s the same way.” In that same interview, when asked what advice he had for novice writers, Burke said:
The only thing an artist has to remember is to never lose faith in his vision.
It’s that simple—that’s the big lesson. All the rest is of secondary importance.
Never demean yourself by talking back to a critic, never.
Write those letters to the editor in your head, but don’t put them on paper.TRUMAN CAPOTE, in a 1957 Paris Review interview
Capote began by saying: “I’ve had, and continue to receive, my full share of abuse, some of it extremely personal, but it doesn’t faze me anymore. I can read the most outrageous libel about myself and never skip a pulse-beat.” Capote may have been influenced by a remark from Voltaire: “If you are attacked on your style, never answer; your work alone should reply.” Perhaps the best advice on responding to critics, though, came from the American financier Bernard M. Baruch: “Never answer a critic, unless he’s right.”
I have made three rules of writing for myself that are absolutes:
Never take advice.
Never show or discuss work in progress.
Never answer a critic.RAYMOND CHANDLER, in a 1954 letter to the editor
of The Third Degree, a mystery writers’ publication
Never think of mending what you write. Let it go.WILLIAM COBBETT, in A Grammar
of the English Language (1818)
Given what we now know about self-editing, this may be regarded as one of the most questionable pieces of writing advice ever given. Cobbett, a British writer who wrote his famous grammar book while living in Long Island in the early 1800s, added: “No patching; no after-pointing. As your pen moves, bear constantly in mind that it is making strokes which are to remain forever.”
Never pursue literature as a trade.SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE, in Biographia Literaria (1817)
Coleridge offered this as “An affectionate exhortation to those who early in life feel themselves disposed to become authors.” Coleridge believed that writers should spend the greater part of each working day in some other job, and at day’s end devote several hours to their literary pursuits. He wrote: “Three hours of leisure . . . looked forward to with delight as a change and recreation, will suffice to realize in literature a larger product of what is truly genial than weeks of compulsion.”
Never buy an editor or publisher a lunch or a drink
until he has bought an article, story, or book from you.
This rule is absolute and may be broken only at your peril.JOHN CREASEY