Let Your Words Grow Wild
By Kelsey Allagood | June 22, 2022 |
It’s firefly season in my part of the world. As I write this, it’s dusk, and my front yard is just starting to light up. For the next few hours the fireflies will flash their little butts at a much higher concentration in front of my house compared to my neighbors.
I get a better light show in the first half of summer not because my yard is more beautiful or well-kept than others, but because in the two years we’ve owned our house, we haven’t raked or blown away a single leaf. We don’t mow the grass very often, and we don’t do anything to control the population of clover, fleabane, and purple dead-nettle as they slowly take over. Fireflies spend 95 percent of their lives as larva in leaf litter and other dark, moist environments, and they only live for about two months as adults. If we had bagged up all those leaves last fall to be taken away, we would have lost all those larvae.
We’re lucky to live in a place without a homeowner’s association to dictate what makes a yard “attractive,” so we’ve been able to allow nature to reclaim some of what had once been an average suburban yard: a stretch of seeded grass, azaleas bushes (which don’t attract many pollinators, as they bloom too early in the season), and some border grass (an invasive ornamental). When I tell other homeowners I’ve let my yard go wild, they will sometimes joke that it must be so much easier to not have to do yardwork. And, yes, it is easier to not have to spend hours mowing the lawn, raking, pulling weeds, or filling in patchy sod every weekend. But it does take work: we’re constantly cutting back ornamental vines that threaten to choke off pollinator-friendly plants, and uprooting invasive plants that will outcompete native flora if left unchecked.
And that’s one of the major differences between the wild yard and the more traditional manicured lawn: one attempts to dominate and control the landscape. The other works with it. This means that I’ve had to teach myself how to identify the most common plants that crop up in my yard (there are some great apps out there that make this easier than it once would have been). I’ve learned which ones are native and which ones are invasive, which feed local wildlife and pollinators, which enrich the soil when they break down, which offer shelter for beneficial insects in the winter.
As writers, we’re frequently told by other well-meaning industry professionals about the “rules.” I don’t mean grammar rules, bur rather the rules of structure, of story progression, of beats. It’s easy to get bogged down in trying to follow all the rules. Am I hitting all the correct beats for my genre? Does every scene further both the plot and my main character’s internal development? Does each plot point occur the on the exact correct page?
Do these frameworks help create interesting stories? Abso-freaking-lutely. Just as I still put effort into my yard, guides for story structure and genre are worthwhile tools. But—like most things—there are limits to what one can accomplish by sticking strictly to what’s considered “good.” Particularly when we force our writing into a structure, set of beats, or genre that it may not perfectly fit, we’re only doing a disservice to our readers and our own creativity.
It’s important to not get bogged down in what we “should” do at the expense of letting our ideas run free. You never know what’s hiding under that leaf litter: firefly larvae, or a white-throated sparrow’s nest, a monarch butterfly cocoon. Why would I risk these beautiful, living things in favor of a “neat, well-manicured” lawn?
Has your creative vision ever directly contradicted the “rules” of good writing? How did you reconcile the two?
Kelsey Allagood (she/her) is a writer, occasional photographer, and trained political analyst specializing in the causes of war and systemic oppression. This background led her to begin writing fantasy fiction steeped in the anthropology of conflict.
Her writing can be found in literary magazines such as Barrelhouse, GRIFFEL, Menacing Hedge, and Wanderlust. Her photography has been featured in RESURRECTION mag. She has also written on peaceful resistance movements, art as a form of political resistance, and countering violent extremist ideology.
Kelsey has a Bachelor’s Degree in international and cultural studies from the University of Tampa and a Master’s Degree in conflict resolution from Georgetown University.
She lives in Maryland with her husband, mother, and a rescue dog named Henry.
[coffee]
Hello Kelsey, and thanks for cultivating your garden your own way. In answer to your question, my one inviolate rule is simple: if it works, it’s good. But it needs to be said that whether “it” works or not can’t be left to the writer alone to say. A reliable editor and/or beta readers need to think so, too. As for the paint-by-numbers approach to writing fiction (plot points, etc), I assume it works, but not for me. My gardens are all wild, but each has a path. It’s called the reader’s interest in finding out what happens next, or why, or how. If they are engaged by my characters, readers will follow the path where it leads. Or so I hope.
Woman after my own heart. I’ve never been a fan of writing dogma or hard-and-fast, one-size-fits-all “rules.” Educate yourself, learn the craft, and then use the tool you need when you need it. Getting wrapped up in strict techniques strips the life from story.
And your approach to gardening sounds lovely too. I’m a fan of working *with* the flora in your region, not pushing against it. And you’re right–it can take an awful lot of research and learning (plus, for me, making sure nothing I plant will be toxic to our dogs!). Just like writing again, I suppose. 🙂
Amen! My other favorite craft analogy is the toolbox: as you say, know the rules, then choose and use the tool you need when you need it. But I don’t know anything about tools, so that’s as far as my analogy goes 😂 Thank you for reading, Tiffany!
Wonderfully said, Barry! Thank you for reading.
Thank you. I’m bookmarking this post for the times when I get bogged down in the “shoulds” instead of following my creative instincts.
Thanks, Michelle! I’m so glad you found it helpful. Now if only I can take my own advice…
Hey Kelsey — Wise post, and deceptively succinct. So much to mull here (thought mulch?). I love the idea of working with natural forces rather than fighting to control them. In regard to your prompt about whether the “nature” of my storytelling has seemed to run counter to writerly conventional wisdom: let me count the ways. And I’ve spent a considerable chunk of my journey seeking to control its unruly nature.
Now that I’ve resigned myself to much that I once sought to tame, I can stand back and see that the work done was not in vain. I’m learning which elements have potential to be harmful invasives, and which can be propitious or even nurturing to future progress. Still learning as I watch it grow, but as any astute grower knows, patience and positivity are essential to progress.
Thanks for getting me thinking. Long term thinking, at that. Happy Summer!
Hey Vaughn! As always, very well said. As a compulsive rule-follower, I sympathize with the effort to control the nature of our stories; some part of me must still be stuck in that grade school mentality of “do X this way, get good grades.” But as you said, even if that’s not the way I work anymore (mostly…), those efforts still helped me become a better writer with more tools in my toolbox. Not to mix metaphors or anything.
Happy summer to you!
I love breaking the rules that no longer serve. I am doing more of this as I get older and wise. Some traditions have rendered themselves useless and counter-intuitive to the peace and harmony we seek. So, I’m with ya! Do away with behaviors that conflict with your deepest values. Life is beautiful this way. Freedom is palpable this way. ALL yard work is hard work, regardless of technique or outcome; for you, however, it sounds like a labor of love. Enjoy!
To answer your question, I break rules all the time when writing. For example: I weave in and out of narrative prose and poetry; I bend genres; sometimes use more than one POV at times, though not in the same paragraph; and, I don’t always use dialogue tags. So there! After sitting in numerous installations of writer workshops, I’m convinced that they exist to throw writers into a tizzy about whether they are “writing right.” It’s pointless. “Write to heal, write to feel,” is my motto. Writing is too deeply personal to be regulated. Barring spelling errors and punctuation abuse, writing makes the reader feel something and/or accomplishes its purpose. That’s it!
I’m going to print out this comment and tape it above my computer so I can look at it when I write. Well said, all! Thank you so much for reading! <3
I agree. Absolutely. Makes me wonder how many of us have poured over how-to books on writing. I own a bookcase full of them. Makes my head spin. The best advice I ever received was from Diana Gabaldon, author of the Outlander series. We discussed these same issues, “experts” and their rule books. She said to me, “Write your heart.” Of course there’s more to it, but in the end, after decades of study, I write for my readers. Not the “professionals.” As for your yard, I hope your neighbors are as in agreement with your methods. 😊
I can’t speak for others, but while I’m glad I’ve read as many writing craft books as I have, I know there was a time when I was unintentionally looking toward them to give me The Right Answers(tm). That must be another part of maturing as a writer: recognizing when the tools you’ve gathered from the rulebooks are useful, and also recognizing when they aren’t serving your story.
As for the neighbors–luckily for me, some of them have also let their yards go wild too (and made them even prettier than mine!)
Thank you for reading!
Wonderful, thank you! I love your wild analogy. I’ve found, as the years go by, I rather appreciate a ‘wilder’ book to read, one that feels more organic and creative and unique.
Thanks, Gina! Same here–a well-crafted story doesn’t necessarily have to follow any particular pattern. Thank you for reading!
Hi Kelsey! Thanks. Helpful article. Even as i write this, I am seeing fireflies twinkling in front of my eyes. Oh, wait. It’s ten a.m. It must be the caffeine! For me, one rule is consistency, always showing up. I aim to post a short story to my blog every week, but this week I go wild. The story won’t come together. The characters need more rough edges, and the ending is unsatisfactory. So…I will skip posting for a week. Let the rule slip in favor of a better story. Thanks for your articles. Always both entertaining and informative. Be well.
Thanks, Bob! Congrats on going wild this week. Sometimes all it takes to get a story to come together is to let it breathe.
Also–maybe take a little breather from the caffeine? ;)
Thank you for reading!
Kelsey, your garden returning to a natural wildness sounds lovely and is a perfect metaphor for writing as well. I’m only recently learning to write more freely the way I wrote when I first began. Somewhere along the way of learning how to write well, I lost some of the spontaneity. My internal editor is never quiet but allows me to play more. Getting older helps–you simply care less what other people think. Thanks for a lovely essay. Enjoy all the gifts of summer.
I’ve noticed that this seems like a common path: we start off as writers writing freely but not knowing much about craft, then we learn about craft and hew a little too close to the “rules,” and finally we achieve some sort of balance between the two. It applies to the other arts, as well–I’m thinking of visual artists who, as they learn to draw, go through a period of creating hyperrealistic drawings before developing their own unique style. It always helps to know that I’m going through isn’t unique :)
Very true about getting older and giving less of a crap what others think, too!! Thank you for reading <3
There’s an alternative to letting the yard go wild – we had it until we moved to our retirement community: design a surrounding perennial garden so that there were flowers blooming all the time, with varieties for butterflies and hummingbirds.
Still work to maintain, but it avoided periods with no food for the critters – we even included the kind of berries on bushes that are the last things eaten in the winter months (this was suburban NJ). And those beds had the lovely extra function of capturing the Fall leaves – we raked only the grass areas, once. The rest of the leaves not blown into the beds got mulched.
Which, as I look at it, is a metaphor for the controlled way I write, structure-wise. I use Dramatica for plotting, which is about as extreme as you can get (took me years to learn), but has the side benefit that it allows me to work in very tiny pieces, knowing those pieces will fit when I plug them in, a problem I have because illness hands me the kind of brain fog that keeps me from working on the whole as a unit.
As in life, everything IS connected.
❤️ this Kelsey. Wild or cultivated the Gardner needs tools. Craft is tools. Master them. Sharpen them. Respect their power. All artists (painters, actors, musicians, dancers…They master craft and practice and refine. Then let go for each piece and go into flow. Storycraft is the same. Tools serve us not us them. We choose and then stow them to cultivate the garden we desire.
Thanks, Torrie! I’m going to write “Tools serve us not them” on a post-it and stick it in my office where I can see it every day. Beautifully said, and thank you for reading!
I love this, Alicia, and your perennial garden sounds beautiful! My house came with a mature holly tree, and there’s little I love more than seeing the robins that flock to it toward the end of every winter to gorge themselves on holly berries (what I don’t love as much are the berry droppings they then leave all over our walkway…).
Thanks for introducing me to Dramatica as well–I’m going to take a look at it!