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

