Breaking the Rules: James Joyce Did It All The Time
On the campus where I spent most of my college career, the English department was housed in one of the oldest buildings there. It featured stone-surfaced stairs with grooves worn into them from thousands of students trudging up them with the grit of salt and sand of a Minnesota winter on their shoes.
Because I majored in English, I practically lived in Riverview and grew to love it in its neglected charm. I still associate that musty smell and the clunking of radiators with 19th century British literature and it’s drafty windows distorting the sun with forcing the angst-ridden poetry that only a 19 year old can write into sonnets and pantoums.
And, in nearly every one of those memories is one of my favorite professors and my advisor: Steve Klepetar. Wildy gesturing, his curly dark hair flopping about onto his dark-rimmed glasses which slid down his nose as he explained for the 1000th time how the English ballad’s meter combines iambic tetrameter together with iambic trimeter.
He’d climb on the desk in the front of the room and sit, cross-legged as he’d expound on the deep significance of early 20th century poetry, clearly as excited to be talking about it as he had been the previous semester and the semesters before that.
Dr. Klepetar is the kind of professor I can only hope for other college students to have somewhere along their journey. I was blessed to benefit by spending 3 years taking classes from him regularly.
While lots of things from those classes have stuck with me, one thing has come up over and over on the job and elsewhere in my life.
See, Dr. Klepetar had a novel way of approaching written assignments. While the assignment itself was typed, students could add the kinds of notes that he would be adding later himself to the margins before handing it in.
One of the things that was to go in those margins, if you felt it was appropriate, was a series of capital letters: JJDIATT. It stood for “James Joyce Did It All The Time”.
If the last time you saw an English class was in the rear view mirror after your freshman year as you ran away, that may make absolutely no sense.
James Joyce is an Irish author who’s most famous book, Ulysses, is a shining example of someone breaking the rules. Grammar, punctuation, and literary convention were all open to some breakage when Joyce put pen to paper.
The most obvious example is that Joyce has run-on sentences that go on for PAGES (including the ending, which is a sentence that goes on for 40 pages). Yet, despite (and some would say because of) that rule-breaking, it’s considered one of the greatest literary works of the 20th century.
Thus, Dr. Klepetar advised us that we were free to break the rules. Start a sentence with “And” or “But”. Slap Grammar across the face. Make up our own spelling of a word. But, you had to put JJDIATT in the margin to indicate that you did it on purpose.
If you started a sentence with “But” or “And” (one of my favorite things to do, by the way) out of ignorance, you weren’t some rebel out to make an artistic statement. Rebellion isn’t something you do accidentally. You need to actually know what rule you’re breaking and have some goal in mind for it to “count”.
To do that, you need to actually have an understanding of the rules in the first place.
When students were bristling at the rigid structure of the sonnet, and would ask to be allowed to write free verse instead, he’d point out that your free verse gets considerably better when you have mastered writing within the confines of the rules. The confinement of 140 characters on Twitter has spurred some of the biggest growth in my ability to write since those English classes in college.
Beginners always seem to want to leap right past the rules without learning them. Yet the Dreyfus Model makes it clear that rigid following of rules is exactly what you need to do when you are new to something. Only when you move into competency and into proficiency does the rule breaking become a viable strategy.
Many people who haven’t studied art look at one of the cubist paintings of Picasso and comment something along the lines of how it’s too bad he couldn’t paint things the way they actually look. However, if you go and look at Picasso’s earliest work, it’s clear that he actually learned the techniques in drawing and painting representationally. He then spent the rest of his life breaking those rules in an effort to discover the essence of how images work and are recognized.
If JJDIATT ended there, it would be a worthwhile technique. However, Dr. Klepetar took it one step further and here’s where I think his technique was genius. Putting JJDIATT in the margin wasn’t a “get out of jail free” card you could use to write a sloppy paper. If you wrote a bad paper, had your friend proofread it and just slapped JJDIATT next to all of the mistakes, that wouldn’t fly.
That’s because JJDIATT was actually an invitation to Dr. Klepetar to have a conversation. It was waving the cape at him to examine what you were trying to accomplish in that instance of breaking the rules. And, he wasn’t one to hold back when he thought that the result didn’t accomplish the goals that launched the rebellion.
In this whole process, he taught me the importance of understanding the rules, recognizing when they are in the way of my vision, breaking them and evaluating whether the result was actually better than if I’d followed the rules in the first place.
For that, Dr. Klepetar, I am deeply grateful.
PS: It looks like I’m not the only one of his students who has a high opinion of Dr. Klepetar. His ratings on one of those "rate your professor” sites is nearly 100% positive, despite his “easiness” indicating he isn’t handing out A’s like candy.





