I once met a writer who shouted, “No rules.
I write what I feel. I don’t use grammar tools.”
But her words ran amok. They slipped and they fell,
For freedom needs tracks if the story goes well.
“Rules are just barriers,” she said on that day.
“They block my thoughts. They get in my way.”
But barriers, you see, keep cows out of the street,
And rules keep stories from dangling their feet.
You don’t need to memorize a thousand laws,
Or make charts about commas and grammar flaws.
Just learn why the rules were written at all—
To help your words stand and not splatter or sprawl.
So writers, take note as you sit down with your pen:
Beyond rules, you need to know why, now and then.
For rules without reason are brittle and thin,
But principles shape what is written within.
Yes, rules have their place. They help you be clear.
They keep your meaning from drifting off to the rear.
But truth leads the dance and rules follow behind,
Like wheels on a wagon that roll when aligned.
So write, dear young writer, both fearless and true.
Let principles guide what the rules help you do.
For stories run fastest and farthest, you’ll see,
When rules serve the truth—and the writer runs free.
