Vonnegut’s 8 rules for great writing

You may already know Kurt Vonnegut’s 8 rules for great writing but they are worth repeating:

1: Find a subject you care about and which you in your heart feel others should care about. It is this genuine caring, and not your games with language, which will be the most compelling and seductive element in your style.

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I am not urging you to write a novel, by the way — although I would not be sorry if you wrote one, provided you genuinely cared about something. A petition to the mayor about a pothole in front of your house or a love letter to the girl next door will do.

2: Do Not Ramble, Though

I won’t ramble on about that.

3: Keep It Simple

As for your use of language: Remember that two great masters of language, William Shakespeare and James Joyce, wrote sentences which were almost childlike when their subjects were most profound. ‘To be or not to be?’ asks Shakespeare’s Hamlet. The longest word is three letters long. Joyce, when he was frisky, could put together a sentence as intricate and as glittering as a necklace for Cleopatra, but my favorite sentence in his short story ‘Eveline’ is just this one: ‘She was tired.’ At that point in the story, no other words could break the heart of a reader as those three words do.

Simplicity of language is not only reputable, but perhaps even sacred. The Bible opens with a sentence well within the writing skills of a lively fourteen-year-old: ‘In the beginning God created the heaven and earth.’

4: Have the Guts to Cut

It may be that you, too, are capable of making necklaces for Cleopatra, so to speak. But your eloquence should be the servant of the ideas in your head. Your rule might be this: If a sentence, no matter how excellent, does not illuminate your subject in some new and useful way, scratch it out.

5: Sound like Yourself

The writing style which is most natural for you is bound to echo the speech you heard when a child. English was the novelist Joseph Conrad’s third language, and much that seems piquant in his use of English was no doubt colored by his first language, which was Polish. And lucky indeed is the writer who has grown up in Ireland, for the English spoken there is so amusing and musical. I myself grew up in Indianapolis, where common speech sounds like a band saw cutting galvanized tin, and employs a vocabulary as unornamental as a monkey wrench.

[…]

I myself find that I trust my own writing most, and others seem to trust it most, too, when I sound most like a person from Indianapolis, which is what I am. What alternatives do I have? The one most vehemently recommended by teachers has no doubt been pressed on you, as well: to write like cultivated Englishmen of a century or more ago.

6: Say What You Mean to Say

I used to be exasperated by such teachers, but am no more. I understand now that all those antique essays and stories with which I was to compare my own work were not magnificent for their datedness or foreignness, but for saying precisely what their authors meant them to say. My teachers wished me to write accurately, always selecting the most effective words, and relating the words to one another unambiguously, rigidly, like parts of a machine. The teachers did not want to turn me into an Englishman after all. They hoped that I would become understandable — and therefore understood. And there went my dream of doing with words what Pablo Picasso did with paint or what any number of jazz idols did with music. If I broke all the rules of punctuation, had words mean whatever I wanted them to mean, and strung them together higgledly-piggledy, I would simply not be understood. So you, too, had better avoid Picasso-style or jazz-style writing if you have something worth saying and wish to be understood.

Readers want our pages to look very much like pages they have seen before. Why? This is because they themselves have a tough job to do, and they need all the help they can get from us.

7: Pity the Readers

Readers have to identify thousands of little marks on paper, and make sense of them immediately. They have to read, an art so difficult that most people don’t really master it even after having studied it all through grade school and high school — twelve long years.

So this discussion must finally acknowledge that our stylistic options as writers are neither numerous nor glamorous, since our readers are bound to be such imperfect artists. Our audience requires us to be sympathetic and patient teachers, ever willing to simplify and clarify, whereas we would rather soar high above the crowd, singing like nightingales.

That is the bad news. The good news is that we Americans are governed under a unique constitution, which allows us to write whatever we please without fear of punishment. So the most meaningful aspect of our styles, which is what we choose to write about, is utterly unlimited.

8: For Really Detailed Advice

For a discussion of literary style in a narrower sense, a more technical sense, I commend to your attention The Elements of Style, by Strunk, Jr., and E. B. White. E. B. White is, of course, one of the most admirable literary stylists this country has so far produced.

You should realize, too, that no one would care how well or badly Mr. White expressed himself if he did not have perfectly enchanting things to say.

Plus, what Vonnegut called the  8 basics of  Creative Writing 101 (From the preface to Vonnegut’s short story collection Bagombo Snuff Box):

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  1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.
  2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.
  3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.
  4. Every sentence must do one of two things—reveal character or advance the action.
  5. Start as close to the end as possible.
  6. Be a sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them—in order that the reader may see what they are made of.
  7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.
  8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.

And finally the last word from Mr Vonnegut on his writing rules:

“The greatest American short story writer of my generation was Flannery O’Connor (1925-1964). She broke practically every one of my rules but the first. Great writers tend to do that.”

I love these rules. They help stop me falling in love with my writing and, hopefully, be a better editor. My favourites are: Have the Guts to Cut and Keep it Simple –  the areas I most struggle with!

What about you? Do you find rules helpful? Do you know of any other good writing rules? Do you have a favourite? If so,  I’d love to hear from you :)

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12 Responses to Vonnegut’s 8 rules for great writing

  1. Kendra says:

    A great set of rules here! My favourite of his is : Find a subject you care about. I think finding a subject you care about is likely to bring on a meaningful story and keep you writing when you might become tempted to do something else. The other day in a writing workshop our teacher gave us some good advice: Treat your reader as you would a guest; you want to make things as comfortable as possible for them. She also said you can break all the rules you like, if the reader is sitting comfortably and willing to follow you. Thanks for a thoughtful post :-)

  2. Hi Kendra,

    Great rules! Yes, finding a subject you care about is also very important. I think its that thing Ray Bradbury meant when he said, “If you are writing without zest, without gusto, without love, without fun, you are only half a writer.” And, yep, absolutely treat the reader – and audience – with respect. As for breaking the rules, oh yes, as long as you can get away with it :)

  3. Katie says:

    Hi Marianne.

    Great blog post… I like the find a subject you care about one.

    I hope you’re well.

    Kind regards.

    Katie

    • Thanks, Katie. Yes, having to be passionate about what you write is a good one!
      Cheers :)
      BTW: I’m good, thanks. Coming to the end of a terrible cold in time to enjoy all the spring flowers and flash of sunshine today1 Yay!
      Hope you are well too :)

  4. Good one, Marianne. Bookmarking it. As a writer, I tend to live in a welter of insecurity most days, and I suspect that’s not as uncommon as I first thought. As for rules, at the moment I just need to get out from under all these deadlines, and get back to my writing! That would be a good beginning. :-)

  5. Glad you like them, Belinda! I empathise with the welter of “insecurity” – no matter how much we write, we writers always seems to have more “homework” to do ;o) Good luck with the deadlines and getting back to your writing!

  6. Louisa says:

    Great post and advice, Marianne! I like the one about sounding like yourself. When I first started out writing, I wrote like “myself” because I didn’t know any better. Then, the more I learned about writing, the more I thought I had to sound “literary” and like someone else! Now, I am trying to get back to writing like “me”!

  7. Ruth Hunt says:

    These are great ‘rules’. Would you say his rules were a lot to do with accessible writing, being clear, giving information etc?
    Think I need to print them out to repeat daily, before I start to type!

  8. Thanks, Ruth. They are so easy to follow yet so easy to forget ;o)

  9. This is a brilliant post, Marianne – and i think can be applied in all sorts of ways not just to writing. I too am particularly drawn to the first ‘rule’ which is about passion, and the very reverse of a ‘whatever’ approach to writing – or, perhaps more importantly still – to living. As is the authenticity of ‘finding your own voice’ – or living that. Of course, it takes a long time, perhaps a lifetime (the living of it) We spend so much time living someone else’s lives, instead of our own, it seems to me.

    Insecurity is a funny one. It’s a blessing as well as the curse we often think it is – it’s a guard against being complacent as well as something which can freeze and inhibit

    • So glad you liked them, Lady FF. And I couldn’t agree more about some of the rules being applied to other things and not just writing. In particular the one about finding our own voice in writing and in life. It can take a long time to know what it is we want from life and who we really are, especially when we are surrounded by so much conflicting advice from the media, the news, advertising, social media etc etc The jazz musician Miles Davis said, “you have to play a long time to be able to play like yourself.” You certainly do 😉

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