My mother, a former English teacher and ace sentence diagrammer, was an ardent defender of proper grammar. If I used a “me” where an “I” should go, or vice versa, she’d gently correct me. But if print or television journalists made the same error, they, or whoever happened to be answering their phones, might get a stern reproof from my mom. “These people need to be held to a higher standard,” she’d explain to me. “They’re spreading bad grammar far and wide.”

I saw her point, and still do. But starting around college, I tried to convince my mom, unsuccessfully, that today’s common grammar mistakes might be tomorrow’s accepted usage, and that we should stand down and let the language evolve, as it has done quite energetically—and, apparently, despite any corrective efforts—for hundreds of years. Still later, as I labored over my own prose, I found myself questioning the rules of writing themselves, or at least some of them.

Although I appreciate clear, well-structured sentences—and I can fall in love with beautiful, truth-revealing ones—I’ve come to believe that certain conventions of grammar and word choice can actually get in the way of crafting such sentences.

Grammar Rules Worth Ditching

To my mind, any rule that leads to awkward or cumbersome sentences needs to be reconsidered at the very least. Fortunately, like the eyes of cave-dwelling fish, many of these rules already seem to be retreating from use. Here is just a sampling of them.

Don’t end a sentence with a preposition. Following this rule can result in clumsy sentences like this one:

I’m someone on whom you can depend.

Breaking the rule allows for a more natural-sounding sentence:

I’m someone you can depend on. (Of course, it would be even simpler to say, You can depend on me.)

Don’t split infinitives (i.e., Don’t put words between “to” and a verb.). The following sentence breaks this rule, but to me it’s perfectly clear:

The company expects sales to more than triple by the end of the year.

Getting rid of this split infinitive would require a major rewrite, and most likely result in a more cumbersome sentence.

Make sure that pronouns that refer to singular nouns are also singular. Consider the possible choices of pronouns in the following sentence:

Someone left [his or her / their] wallet at the checkout counter.

According to traditional grammar rules, because “someone” is a singular noun (more specifically, a singular indefinite pronoun), “his or her” (both singular pronouns) would be the correct choice, and “their” (a plural pronoun) would be incorrect.

But recognizing that “his or her” is a laborious construction, more and more publications and professional writers are regarding “their” as an acceptable alternative to “his or her” and “they” as a substitute for “he or she.” And “their” and “they” have the additional benefit of being gender-neutral.

A Word Choice Convention Worth Questioning: Avoiding Adjectives and Adverbs

Writers are advised to minimize their use of adjectives and adverbs for a good reason: quite often, these modifiers are just vague or empty stand-ins for the living, breathing possibilities that almost every sentence contains. By replacing them with specific nouns and verbs, we can bring sentences to life.

For example, compare the boldfaced adjectives in the first sentence below with the more specific language in the second sentence.

Jess was nervous before her performance, even though she was a good singer.

As she waited in the wings, heart pounding, Jess feared she would fail on stage. She tried to remember her mentor’s praise: “You sing like a chorus of larks.”

Yet over the years, as I struggled to make my sentences more vivid and specific—and, more important, as I devoured the work of masterful writers to learn what I could from them—I discovered that adjectives and adverbs aren’t always the enemies of powerful writing. In fact, if used judiciously, they can reveal truths in ways no other words can.

Consider this passage from Alice Munro’s story “The Love of a Good Woman,” in which I’ve boldfaced selected adjectives. (In this passage, a boy has just spotted his mother at her department store job. She’s standing in a window display, adjusting the clothing on a mannequin.)

Jimmy could hear in his mind the little grunts she would be making; also he could smell the stockings that she sometimes took off as soon as she got home, to save them from runs. Stockings and underwear, even clean female underwear, had a faint, private smell that was both appealing and disgusting.”

Collectively, these adjectives seem to convey the mystery that all women, not just his mother, represent to Jimmy at his age. The “appealing and disgusting” smell of the underclothes provides hints that both intrigue and disquiet him. (In general, combining contradictory adjectives like “appealing” and “disgusting” can be a great way to convey complex emotions or reactions.)

Now, take a look at this passage from “The Swimmer” by John Cheever. The main character of this story, Neddy Merrill, is determined to swim his way across his county via his neighbors’ pools. During this mission, Neddy senses a storm coming in. (Again, I’ve boldfaced selected adjectives and adverbs.)

Why did he love storms, what was the meaning of his excitement when the door sprang open and the rain wind fled rudely up the stairs, why had the simple task of shutting the windows of an old house seemed fitting and urgent, why did the first watery notes of a storm wind have for him the unmistakable sound of good news, cheer, glad tidings?”

Out of the context of this passage, most of us wouldn’t think of applying the adverb “rudely” to weather phenomena, but here the word perfectly captures the sense of gusting wind. And this modifier, unexpected as it is, offers its own kind of thrill. Also, the adjectives in the passage convey both the hazards and joys of storms.

A Final Word

I’ve found myself questioning some other writing conventions, such as “Show, don’t tell.” (This article offers an insightful rejoinder to that recommendation.) But for now—and perhaps forever—I will hold my peace on further quibbles with rules. Readers, if you have any responses to my thoughts, or any rule-quibbles of your own, I’d love to hear them.

In closing, I return to my mother. Although I rebelled in the typical youthful fashion against the grammar rules she championed, I grew to deeply admire her belief that language, and the ways in which we use it, truly matters—that trying to express ourselves eloquently and thoughtfully is worth all the time, dedication, and care that we can bring to the task. I remain grateful for her inspiration.