Take a moment to appreciate the beauty of this excerpt (Cormac McCarthy's All the Pretty Horses):
The candleflame and the image of the candleflame caught in the pierglass twisted and righted when he entered the hall and again when he shut the door. He took off his hat and came slowly forward. The floorboards creaked under his boots. In his black suit he stood in the dark glass where the lilies leaned so palely from their waisted cutglass vase. Along the cold hallway behind him hung the portraits of forebears only dimly known to him all framed in glass and dimly lit above the narrow wainscotting. He looked down at the guttered candlestub. He pressed his thumbprint in the warm wax pooled on the oak veneer. Lastly he looked at the face so caved and drawn among the folds of funeral cloth, the yellowed moustache, the eyelids paper thin. That was not sleeping. That was not sleeping.
Now take a gander on this one (Ian McEwan's Atonement):
m doing my own thing, yo. Stuff none of them will ever do.
up the diversity we've got in writing right now - the rules are virtually no more. Whole novels are being published in verse. Authors are starting sentences with conjunctions. Commas are being omitted left and right for voice purposes. I mean, damn, it's simple - find how you want to say stuff and say it that way. You never know - maybe the way you say things will give someone else Writer Envy. Now there's a nice, comforting, affirming thought... but you'll never find out until you get yourself out there. So hurry up.
All the best,
P.S. This post was going to have fun illustrative images, but Blogger changed their picture uploading thing and now everything sucks and is impossible to work with. Gah!