John Grisham, thanks for setting me free.
I’m in three writing critique groups. Twenty or so regulars and some great writers. We focus down on plot, character voice, technique. I occasionally worry about over-analyzing everything I read. Like in college when I had that course in music that took Beethoven’s Ninth apart note by note. I still don’t like to listen to it.
So, here I am, worrying about whether it’s okay to name a character who turns out to be minor, whose point of view (pardon me, perspective) I should be in, when I pick up Grisham’s latest, The Whistler.
Damn. He starts the story pretty much the way my own most recent novel starts, which is boooooring, according to a substantial minority of my readers. Chapter 10 has a short paragraph in which we see the world through the eyes of three different characters. A stone no-no.
And, guess what? It doesn’t matter. The story moves nicely. The characters are interesting. The plot is straightforward, but it has me in the palm of its hand. I kept turning the page. Finished at 1:30. In the a.m.
In the hand of a skilled writer, the rules become plastic.
I know I have to cleave closer to the rules than Grisham, but I’m glad to see that writing rules are guidelines, neither prescriptions nor proscriptions. Maybe some day, I’ll get out of the straitjacket.
But I doubt I’ll ever be comfortable listening to Beethoven’s Ninth.