I break grammar rules and other writers must follow

If you want your writing to shine, then break grammar rules if it means improving flow. You won’t be disappointed even if your English teacher will. 

I once heard someone say, “Write in a way that your high school English teacher would’ve given you a ‘C.'” Once I took that advice, shit started falling into place.

Somewhere along the way, English teachers convinced generations that perfect grammar equaled good writing. It doesn’t, so don’t fall into that trap that only public schools could bring.

Want to know how many of my English teachers published anything worth reading? Approximately zero times. Meanwhile, they made us read novels whose authors broke just about every rule.

Ironic, yeah? That’s when it hit me: good writing don’t equal perfect grammar. Or even remotely good grammar if done right. And it’s why the best writing is pristine, alive, and unafraid to break rules.

I know the rules and I’m constantly reminded of them

Look, I know the rules. I can write clean, formal prose when needed. But fiction and personal essays don’t live in MLA format. They live in rhythm, emotion, and voice.

When I work a day job where editors grow even more anal about following grammar rules, the more likely I am to break them. They want 100 percent beige prose; I want prose that sounds human. Especially in an AI-dominated world where so many AI tools organically follow grammar rules and what they spit out is migraine-inducing.

Little do those editors know what kind of lengths I went through to “unlearn” grammar. Something I kicked into high gear starting in 2023 when the AI Revolution intensified.

It’s obvious why I break grammar rules

If correct grammar disrupts rhythm, pacing, emotion, or character voice, then “correct” is the wrong choice. When you think about it, it makes perfect fucking sense.

Just to throw out an example, readers think in fragments. And guess what? You do the same. How many times have your racing thoughts come to you in a complete sentence? I’ll guess rarely, if ever.

That said, emotional beats require fragments. Ditto for internal monologue. It needs to be messy because it is messy. Once again, pay attention to your own internal monologue and you’ll understand where I’m coming from.

Good editors edit for clarity, not compliance

I once had a friend request that they edit my work because of all the “grammatical errors.” I didn’t let them touch it. I’ve seen them critique others’ writing, often unsolicited, in the past. They were one of those people who tried impressing everyone in the room of how smart they were.

No, that shit wasn’t happening. Hell, if I let them have a field day, my forehead would’ve hit my desk of how bland the goddamn thing would’ve read.

Good editors don’t edit for compliance. They’re at it for clarity. As for that godawful tenth-grade English teacher who once docked me a letter grade because they didn’t like the way I wrote my lowercase ‘g’s? They edited for compliance, and it’s why so many people I went to school with are shit writers.

Buck everything you learned about grammar and start anew

Even some traditional publishing outlets pretend rule-breaking is amateurish until you read work from bestselling authors who break rules constantly. Chances are, you probably know which authors I’m talking about, so have at it.

One that stands out is Richard Peck’s A Year Down Yonder. So many fragments. Such beautiful fucking writing.

For the most part, though, traditional publishing these days makes me think they want pamphlets, not books. Yeah, some break the rules, as noted above. But I still get the vibe they want watered-down prose that’s beige as hell. I don’t mind beige. I like beige. Most of this article’s beige. But too much beige sucks.

Therefore, indie writers can actually lead the craft forward because we don’t have committees sanitizing our voices. Sticklers may disagree, because they have it in their smug heads that indie publishing is second-rate. As for me, it sounds human, and that’s all I’m worried about.

Grammar rules worth breaking

Sentence fragments. Like this. Starting sentences with ‘And’ or ‘But.’ Reread this article. I put a hell of a lotta them in there.

Ending sentences with prepositions. Because nixing them can kill the flow. Now that’s what I’m talking about. Where do I need to sit at? A teacher once asked me if ‘at’ needs to be part of the sentence. For real, bro.

Comma splicing for speed. I wouldn’t do this all the time, it wouldn’t sound right. Still, comma splicing’s a genius way to break grammar rules when it’s thrown in there, and when it is, it wins.

Use slang, dialect, and voice-driven grammar. Once again, use your writing voice in the same way you would as if you were thinking to yourself. You use slang, distinct dialect, and colloquial language. So damn it, use it in your prose.

Breaking “show vs. tell” on purpose. Because sometimes, telling is short and sweet, and hits harder than showing.

Break grammar rules professionally, not with amateur hour

This doesn’t mean confusing ‘your’ and ‘you’re.’ As for ‘doesn’t’ and ‘don’t?’ Oh, have at it. I could’ve said, This don’t mean confusing ‘your’ and ‘you’re,’ and it would’ve sounded more human. Especially if my audience spoke that way.

But you can do this in a professional way, even if your English teacher wouldn’t’ve liked it. Use a fragment that heightens tension. A run-on that mimics panic. Or a clipped sentence conveying coldness.

Bad grammar is when a reader can’t follow you. Rules-broken-on-purpose is when the reader feels you. That’s what you want.

So break the rules to preserve voice. Do it to preserve pacing. And do it to preserve authenticity.

Voice dies when you try and impress grammar judges. But it thrives when you write like a human. So don’t be fucking fake and use those God-given creative liberties.

Catch me breaking grammar rules in my work

You can have your pick of the litter. But if you want the work that shines, then you need to read Cursed Mage. Kaija Jokiharju breaks about every grammar rule known to man. But you know what? A shit ton of readers can relate to her.

Kaija breaks down barriers in narration and dialogue. She’s young, sarcastic, ain’t scared to use slang or colloquial language, and she’ll make any English teacher cringe. But don’t question her intellect.

And don’t question her open-mindedness. Because Kaija’s about to experience something frightening as hell for an eighteen-year-old college girl. She can see and communicate with drowned ghosts.

If she’s caught? Oh, she’ll end up in an “institution,” because this paranormal fantasy’s got a dystopian flair. Check it out now and brace yourself for a lecture on how to break grammar rules.