I
remember the exact moment in sixth grade when I
realized an essay didn’t need to be five paragraphs:
Intro, body, body, body and conclusion. It didn’t
need to have topic sentences and transitions. I was always
taught an essay should be concise and clean. It must be
easy on the eye and straightforward — beautiful, even.
Those were the rules, but I remember when I realized
I was allowed to break them. I think this was one of the
moments that made me want to be a writer. I understood
how wonderful it is to write freely; how hallowed is a page
of words that breaks the rules, how terrifying and how
lovely.
Granted, I’m the copy chief at The Michigan Daily and I
spend six hours a night making sure each piece that comes
in adheres to our rules. I double check names and triple
check facts; truth is a rule of journalism we don’t break.
Truth is not easy on the eye, and it’s not always beautiful.
Like the rain, we can wish it away and it comes anyway.
Without warning, it removes that final layer of dust, part-
ing those last clouds in the sky. Sometimes, the sun shines
through.
I try really hard to do my job right. Ask me a question
about grammar, and
I’ll know the answer. I know
the name of every
city councilmember. I
know the way each
reporter writes. I
know
the cadence of
the
newsroom. I
try to make
sure what we publish is truthful, that we’re answering
the questions correctly. But I’m still looking for my own
answers, learning how to write the truth for myself. If
you’re reading this, I’ve probably lied to you. I’ve probably
told you I was okay when I wasn’t. I’ve probably said I’ll
be there soon, and never came. But who hasn’t? What are
the rules of telling our own truth? When do we know when
we’re holding too much back, or taking it too far?
You want my truth?
I’ll confess: I spend Monday night playing with words,
but can’t push past “Hey, how are you?” on Tuesday night
at the bar. Sometimes I still skip meals. I chew an entire
pack of gum a day. Am I really a writer if these are the first
words I’ve put on a page in months? I’m recovering from
an eating disorder — what do I know about breaking the
rules? What do I know about living the truth?
Is it as simple as just being myself? What is simple about
breaking our own rules, about ignoring the command-
ments we’ve laid out for ourselves? Don’t eat until you have
to, always say, “No, thank you.” Don’t ask for help. Don’t
take up too much space. Intro, body, body, body and con-
clusion. Do you know how hard it was to eat when I was
hungry? Do you know how hard it was to fill a blank page
with words?
Here’s my real topic sentence: Let’s break all the rules
and put them back together again. Every time I correct
your grammar, what I mean is thank you for your truth.
When I leave a note in your article, what I mean is that I
hear you. Journalism is about truth. Healing is about truth.
Topic sentence. … Transition. Loving yourself through
the rain is so hard. I’m tired of not talking about the hard
stuff. Am I allowed to write in metaphors? I can’t breathe
when I look at pictures of myself from a year ago. When I
ask you if you’re okay, you can tell me the truth. I’m telling
you to write as many paragraphs as you want. I’m telling
you to speak your truth. I’ll be there to break the rules with
you. I’ll be there to fix your commas and let you scream at
the top of your lungs.
I’m going to remind you to eat. I’m going to remind you
you’re a writer. Say, “Yes, thank you.”
I love what I do at The Daily.
I’ll confess: sometimes I complain to my friends, some-
times the work is so tedious and my name is so small in the
fine print. They’ll tell you no one reads the newspaper just
like they’ll tell you that skinny means beautiful. They’ll tell
you to skip the metaphors and just get to the point. Stop
writing about yourself; stop writing. These are the rules
I’m happy to break.
If I’ve learned anything at all — from being sick, from
healing, from copy editing, from writing, from sixth grade
— it is this: Make your own rules and break them.
How terrifying and lovely it is to tell the truth now. How
beautiful, even.
Copy That: Breaking the rules
3B
Wednesday, October 2, 2019 // The Statement
3B
BY EMILY STILLMAN, COPY CHIEF
ILLUSTRATION BY MAGGIE WIEBE