Don’t Let Anyone Tell You How To Write!

Don’t Let Anyone Tell You How To Write!

Somewhere along the way, writing became a profession instead of an expressive art form. Most professional writers that I know are miserable. The few who can get anything published face unrealistic deadlines, the constant threat of unemployment or are forced to write about things that they have no interest in or know too little about. Why? Because they had a desire at sometime in their life to put pen to paper and made the mistake of trying to play by the rules.

The entire system which spits out writers is flawed beyond repair. It accounts for the fact that most people who have a desire to write will never have any hope of getting published in a meaningful way. If they do, what makes it into print is unlikely to resemble anything original. It’s not going to be something which came from that Writer’s heart and soul. Instead, it’s likely to be a carefully orchestrated and constructed piece created by a mechanical hand whose arm is controlled by those who tell us what people want to read.

The problem begins with the way most writers are trained. In elementary school we were all told to write short stories without much thought given to sentence structure or the rules of grammar. The idea was to develop spelling skills, the ability to tell a story and put it on paper. In Junior High and High School, word usage, the rules of grammar and sentence structure were thrown into the mix. But if you’re experience was similar to mine, creativity was still encouraged and rewarded. Then came college!

Attending your first journalism or creative writing class is like the first day of Marine Boot Camp. You are stripped of everything that makes you an individual and told that all your knowledge is useless. The rules have changed. Your entire purpose on earth suddenly amounts to pleasing an instructor who has probably never written anything read by anyone except other Academics. You are forced to exist inside the unrealistic world of a culture of education that will put it’s claws into you and fight like crazy not to let go.

Before you decide to hand your soul over to a hierarchy of untalented hacks, stop and think about how much your creativity is worth? If you’re willing to pay any price to get published, welcome to Creative Writing 101. Just make sure you check your brain and self-expression at the classroom door. Even the slightest attempt at individuality will be met with the threat of failure. Play by their rules, or don’t play at all.

If you really want your work to get noticed, be a stand up writer! Stop trying to fit your project into someone else’s box. The three keys to great writing are style, creativity and individuality. The way you tell a story is just as important as the story you’re trying to tell. If you allow someone else to dictate how you tell a story, it becomes theirs, not yours. Allow your individuality to shine through. WRITE IT in the same way you would SAY IT. That provides you with an individual writing style that fosters creativity and makes your work stand out from the rest.

Creativity, individuality and style should be your first consideration, not your last. Too much emphasis is placed on format. While you need to be sure that your writing meets the grammatical and structural standards expected by any potential publisher, it’s ridiculous to start there and then fill in the blanks! But that’s exactly what many writers do.

Be flexible when it comes to the way you place your content within a sentence, paragraph or the entire article, essay or manuscript. Create a flow that is natural for you and comfortable for the reader. Don’t worry about what some editor will think. Most don’t! They just read. If they like what they read, they’ll probably purchase your work. If not, they won’t. But it’s a sure bet that after looking at eight hundred manuscripts with exactly the same number of words on each page and all written in the same style, it’s possible that one with some individuality might just make it off the slush pile.

Contrary to what most how-to books on getting your writing published say, it’s passion that is most likely to impress potential buyers. Writing, in any form, should always be passionate. It’s the passion in a written work that will make the public want to read it. That makes a publisher want to buy it. Before you decide to write a 100,000 word manuscript that reads like all the rest and keeps the format police happy, consider what you might be giving up. It could be that an article or manuscript with your particular personality and passion for your subject is just what a literary agent, publisher or the public is looking for.

Informative, Provocative, Exciting Books (ebook and paperback formats) by Bill Knell and others…

Bill Knell's books are available on Ebay (Rating 5/5), Walmart, Amazon, Lulu, GoodReads, Kobo and more. Some titles are available in Spanish 

Radio Personalities that book me as a guest for their shows call me The UFO GUY.‭ ‬This book covers my early life experiences and investigations.  As you’ll soon discover, my life has always been surrounded by the paranormal and unusual events. People that have experienced the unexplained have been drawn to me, and I to them. - Bill Knell

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This is not just another Vampire Story. It's the amazing tale of a powerful being bent on revenge. Discover how a common man became The Dark Master and move with him through the centuries until he winds up in New York City. It's there that we meet the fascinating characters that interact with him over one hundred years. It's there that he reaches into the heart of the New York City Mob and pulls out a man in need of his unique powers. Stay off the streets of NYC at night… He's hungry!

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The belief in life after death is a common belief among most of the world’s civilizations and that may have been the birth of the idea of ghosts and spirits. The Vampire persona has evolved from many true and untrue facts, legends and myths. At various times vampires, real and imagined, have been considered fiends, supernatural beings, shape-shifters, mentally disturbed deviants, satanic servants and fetish followers...

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WARNING: Sexual Situations

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The seeds of her self-doubt had been sown in her early years. She'd been relentlessly bullied in school for being different, for her passion for gaming, which had been dismissed as a “boy thing.” That hurt had left deep scars. Creating Lemonade had been a shield, a way to deflect the negativity she faced in the real world. It was a safe space where she could be celebrated for her skills, her wit, and her personality, instead of facing ridicule.


The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Each step crunched on the forest floor, a sound amplified in the suffocating silence of the Blackwood Forest. My breath hitched in my throat, a thin plume of white mist disappearing into the inky blackness. The only light came from my lantern, a feeble spark against the overwhelming darkness that pressed in from all sides, swallowing the forest in its shadowy embrace. Above, the branches of ancient trees twisted like skeletal fingers, their gnarled silhouettes scratching at the moonless sky.

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The darkness claimed me, swallowing me whole. But in death, a twisted metamorphosis occurred. The venom of betrayal, the searing agony of death, transformed into a cold, unrelenting fire. I became a specter, an instrument of vengeance. The chilling weight of my decomposing body became a burden that fueled my relentless pursuit.

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Grandma Elara's tales filled the quiet evenings at her house. The aroma of woodsmoke and simmering herbs hung heavy in the air, mingling with the scent of old books and the comforting warmth of her presence. Her cozy old house seemed to hum with a gentle energy, a place where ancient stories and timeless secrets intertwined. The antique furniture, each piece telling a story of its own, seemed to come alive as she spun her tales, the very atmosphere of the house adding to the mystique of the Ceasg and its watery realm.

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Cerelia, a museum employee with a penchant for the obscure and a healthy dose of skepticism tempered by an insatiable curiosity, had been cleaning the newly acquired collection of ancient artifacts. She was meticulous, and painstaking in her work, a sharp contrast to the hurried pace of the city outside the museum walls. She liked the quiet solitude of the museum, a world apart from the noisy urban jungle. She found solace in the relics of the past, each object whispering a story of bygone eras.

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Aislinn felt it too, a growing sense of unease, not just from the tales of a missing Prince, but from the visions teased by the necklace. The shadowed figure, the one with piercing eyes and a cruel smile,haunted her dreams and even invaded her waking moments. He was connected to the necklace, a palpable sense of threat radiating from the glowing pendant. The prince's fate, she now realized, was entwined with her own. And somewhere, a darkness waited, a darkness that the necklace seemed both to warn her about and guide her towards. The quiet village of Oakhaven, with its familiar rhythms and predictable patterns, could no longer contain her. 



The seeds of her self-doubt had been sown in her early years. She'd been relentlessly bullied in school for being different, for her passion for gaming, which had been dismissed as a “boy thing.” That hurt had left deep scars. Creating Lemonade had been a shield, a way to deflect the negativity she faced in the real world. It was a safe space where she could be celebrated for her skills, her wit, and her personality, instead of facing ridicule.

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She traced the lines on her palm, searching for a familiar scar, a birthmark, anything to tether herself to a stable identity. Nothing. Even her own body felt slightly different, as if her reflection in the warped mirror across the room was an imposter. The subtle variations – the way her hair fell, a new freckle on her cheek, the faintest shift in her eyes – were enough to unsettle her further. It was as if she was perpetually teetering on the edge of a precipice, the ground constantly shifting beneath her feet.

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