I am Professor Write-A-Lot and I now possess this corner of The VERB because I know everything about writing. See, I have a stick. Only those who know everything about writing are allowed a stick.

Do come in. Please ignore the scattered manuscripts, step over the stacked books and avoid the dog's bone. You have a question, do you? Very well. Ask away, and I shall share my brilliance!

Dear Professor Write-A-Lot,
Is it stupid, as my friends say, to put a page of poetry at the beginning of each chapter of my novel?

Stupid? Perhaps one's friends should read more. See to it, however, that a correlation exists between the extended epigraphs and the story itself. Is the lead character a poet? Are these poems supposedly written by him or her? Do they advance the plot? If one has but a negative response to these three questions, one should save the poetry for a poetry book.  

Dear Professor Write-A-Lot,
I say the first page is the most important page in a novel. My writing partner says it's the last. Which of us is right?

Both are vital. In a well-written novel, the first page lures, the last page lingers. Now cease your bickering and get back to work.

Dear Professor Write-A-Lot,
Recently I read from a chapter in my novel-in-progress the following sentence: "He saw Sam's gun on the floor, kicked it out onto the porch, backed out through the door, closed it, picked up the gun, grabbed Sam and the two of them ran through the rain as fast as their old legs would go to the car, and drove away."

I deliberately wrote it as a run-on sentence to (1) illustrate the rapidity and flowing motion of the events described and (2) contrast it with previous short sentences describing slower, more distinct events.

The sentence was roundly criticized by others in the group who contend that run-on sentences are a "no-no" under any circumstances. I tried breaking it up. "He saw Sam's gun on the floor. He kicked it out onto the porch. He backed out through the door. He closed it. He picked up the gun. He grabbed Sam. The two of them ran away as fast as their old legs would go. They ran to the car. They drove away." It is terrible. All chopped up like a bunch of croutons. I still like the baguette style better for this narrative.

Is there a rule now that run-on sentences are always bad? If not, under what circumstance are they acceptable?

First, a correction. This is not a run-on sentence. This is a series of actions, properly separated with commas. Structurally, it resembles the play-by-play one might hear during a ballgame.

An energetic approach, yes, but one that quickly grows tedious when used to illuminate every little move. For while it is imperative to clearly communicate that which is taking place, it is also nice to leave some things to the reader's imagination.

For instance, if the character kicks the gun to the porch, one presumes he initially sees it on the floor. Therefore the first action can be eliminated. If he grabs Sam, one presumes he does so only after he goes through the door. If the two run to the car, one presumes that, barring interruption, they drive away. Whether he backs out or closes the door behind him are also things the reader can usually handle without instruction.

The important actions—fleeing the building, securing the weapon and reaching the vehicle—are the focus. Communicate those without resorting to run-on sentences, which are indeed always bad, and your reader is sufficiently informed.

Dear Professor Write-A-Lot,
What is a run-on sentence?

This oddity may be likened to conjoined twins: two entities that were not separated at the time of creation. She is getting married at the Methodist Church on Elm the reception will be held at her parent's house. Read aloud, one should naturally pause after the word Elm. One will then move food and drink and, in some cases, small animals to insert either a conjunction, a transitional word, a semi-colon or (my favorite) a period behind it. Thus ending the run-on dilemma. She is getting married at the Methodist Church on Elm. The reception will be held at her parent's house.

Dear Professor Write-A-Lot,
My manuscript has been rejected eleven times now, but no one has said why. I feel that if I just knew what I was doing wrong, I could fix it. But how can I learn if agents won't tell me why?

There, there, shun inadequacy. Let us remember, writers write and agents sell. Although they may jot the occasional note on one's rejection letter, agents are not in the business of critiquing manuscripts.  

Others are, however, and one should take full advantage of them. The knowledge one acquires, from peering at one's work through the eyes of others, is positively priceless.

For the introvert, one might pay a reputable editor to read one's entire manuscript and evaluate each chapter. For the extrovert, one might join a free writer's group where the general procedure is to submit a portion of one's work, receive critiques and do likewise for the remaining members. Choose the one that best fits your needs.

Dear Professor Write-A-Lot,
Now that I've finished my novel, I feel really depressed that it's over. Is this normal?

Quite common, actually. Over time, one's fictional world becomes, shall we say, non-fictional. Naturally, when one no longer interacts with it, one feels a sense of loss. The remedy is to begin a new story as soon as possible.

Ask Professor Write-A-Lot!