Novelists don’t take kindly to rules. Put simply, they don’t like being told what to do. It’s why they became novelists in the first place.
When I started writing fiction, I had little interest in anyone else’s rules. With time, and lots of early failure, I came to realize that thumbing my nose at the rules of narrative fiction made about as much sense as ignoring the laws of physics.
I once heard a guy in a bar refer to the song, “My Way,” as “the loser’s national anthem.” Individualism should be prized, but it’s vital to a novelist’s full development that distaste for authority share space with some respect for the “rules” of fiction–ancient principles that work for you if you let them, or trip you up if ignored.
A novel is such a giant undertaking that you won’t get by if you know only a few of the rules; it will crumble under its own weight. Familiarity with all of them is required–and not just to recite, either. They should become part of your muscle memory. For any given story, you should have a visceral feel for which rules apply and which don’t–and be able to explain why.
I hate trying to do the following, but here’s an attempt at formulating a general principle:
To write convincing fiction, a writer needs to know which rules
can never be broken, which rules can be broken on occasion, as
well as which rules actually should be broken, given the right set
of circumstances.
If you got lost in that sentence, I don’t blame you. Let’s get simple:
What’s an example of a rule that should never be broken? Here’s an easy one: character actions must be believably motivated.
Suppose that, in order for your story to work, a character MUST make a key decision that triggers ESSENTIAL plot action–marry a man she doesn’t love, enter a Tibetan monastery, fight back against a murderous oppressor, etc.
Major actions like the ones I mentioned must be motivated, not just by ordinary causality, but by emotional logic as well. You should be fully conscious of how both types of logic are in play, as well as be able to explain, if promped, what they are. Otherwise you’ll have to be resigned to a soft spot that kills your story.
The preferred alternative: get busy. Start freewriting, and don’t stop until you’ve produced some some clear thinking that explains (justifies, rationalizes) the situational and emotional forces powering that character’s decision and consequent action. It may take a while to come up with what you need, but keep digging.
Warning: do not try to fake it–readers will sense you’re asking them to believe in a life choice that your character has no credible reason to make. If that happens, it’s game over. You lose.
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