"There are no rules for writing a book", I was sombrely informed today by a published writer.
To which I can only respond: okay, write a kids' book set in 1976 with Pol Pot as the hero, or a crime novel about a snail which sits on a rock for four hundred pages monologuing in phonetic Farsi and Serbo-Croat, then falls off. Now, take it to a publisher.
I'm not saying the guy was wrong, of course. He's the writer and I'm a chump. I'm just saying, maybe that little maxim shouldn't be taken too literally.