Anyone who has dipped even a toe into the world of writing, editing, and publishing has likely encountered at least one staunch grammarian in their lives. Maybe it was your third grade teacher, who always answered requests to visit the restroom with a smug, “I don’t know, can you?” Or perhaps it was a college professor who slashed every sentence that started with “and,” or — heaven forbid — a copy editor who inserted an awkward “for which” into a perfectly lyrical sentence to avoid ending on a preposition.

An editor’s job is to improve language in a way that promotes clarity and enhances the author’s message. The goal is always for the author to be understood, and while grammar and usage are an essential aspect of this, the message itself is more important than the technicalities of the language. So why do we continue to allow conventions that ultimately overcomplicate and drag down the prose to creep into the editing process?

Linguist Arnold Zwicky coined the term “zombie” rules to describe these grammatical beliefs that just won’t seem to die. The key insight is that these “rules” aren’t really rules at all and don’t serve a justified purpose, but have nonetheless been passed down as “correct” by teachers, editors, and writers alike.

The good news is, now that you know what zombie rules are, you’re under no obligation to follow them. So in honor of spooky season, let’s go over a few zombie grammar rules that are better off left in the grave.

More than vs. Over

This “rule” was practically beaten into my brain when I was a budding journalist. The rationale, as I recall, was that the word “over” should be used only when referring to something’s position in space, while descriptions related to quantity, on the other hand, should use the term “more than.” For example, “The painting hung over the fireplace,” but “The painting cost more than $20,000.”

But as respected editor John McIntyre (no relation) writes on his blog, this so-called rule is “illogical, illegitimate, and illiterate.” In fact, the use of “over” to talk about quantities is incredibly common in verbal speech and dates back to at least the 14th century in written language. You could use it over 1,000 times in one book and it still wouldn’t be wrong (though it might get repetitive).

Ending a sentence with a preposition

I’m sure you’ve heard the rule about which I’m now writing. That sentence sounded pretty stilted and awkward, didn’t it? But devotees of the “no prepositions at the end of a sentence” rule would argue it’s the most correct way to write it. (In all fairness, “I’m sure you’ve heard the rule I’m now writing about” isn’t a great sentence either, but you get the point.)

Scholars have traced this rule back to the 17th century, when it was apparently promoted by a poet and grammarian who were both interested in bringing English more closely in line with the syntactical rules of Latin. But beyond preference, there’s no logical reason you can’t use a terminal preposition as long as it flows and makes sense. If you’re still skeptical, just ask Merriam-Webster.

Splitting infinitives

If you’ve ever studied a second language, you’ll know that an infinitive is the form of the verb that includes “to” — I like to walk. I need to eat. I’m learning to sing. And there is a certain school of grammatical thinking that says one should never “split” an infinitive by inserting an adverb between the to and the verb. Perhaps the most famous split infinitive is Star Trek’s “to boldly go where no man has gone before.” Were the infinitive not split, that sentence would be “to go where no man has gone before boldly.” Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it?

This is another zombie rule that appears to come from a past devotion to the mechanics of Latin, but in today’s oral speech, split infinitives are actually increasingly common. What’s more, split infinitives sometimes communicate the point of the phrase more clearly than if the modifier is placed elsewhere. The Modern Language Association’s take on it is that “words should always be arranged in a way that makes the meaning of a sentence clear.” If that means sticking an adverb between your “to” and your verb, then have at it.

Starting a sentence with “and” or “but”

You may have noticed that I’ve broken this “rule” several times already in this blog post. I’d wager a lot of the great writing you’ve read breaks it, too. The typical reasoning given for avoiding “and” and “but” at the beginning of a sentence is that these words are coordinating conjunctions, which means they’re intended to link two dependent clauses rather than stand on their own. But if that’s the case, why weren’t most of us taught not to start a sentence with “so,” “or,” or “yet?”

One reason teachers might hold onto this rule is because it helps discourage the overuse of transitional words that can become filler words if repeatedly used at the beginning of a sentence without a defined purpose. Avoiding excessive repetition is good, but it certainly doesn’t make the use of “and” and “but” wrong.

Like vs. Such as

The idea of this rule is that one should use “like” to make a comparison, while “such as” is used to offer a specific example. So, “Kids don’t watch wholesome shows like ‘Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood’ anymore,” but “Classic children’s series, such as ‘Sesame Street,’ ‘Arthur,’ and ‘Blue’s Clues,’ have declined in viewership.” (I actually have no idea if they have — this is just an example.)

In practice, though, the average person makes no distinction between the two, and plopping such as into a sentence can often lead to wordy, awkward phrasing. You could just as easily say or write “Classic children’s series like ‘Sesame Street’ and ‘Arthur’ have declined in viewership,” and the listener or reader would know exactly what you mean. As John McIntyre has pointed out, Merriam-Webster actually lists “such as” as one of the definitions of “like.” It doesn’t get much more interchangeable than that.

Using passive voice

Writers and editors commonly recommend using active voice, in which the subject actively performs the verb, as much as possible, because passive voice can become wordy or unclear. There are absolutely situations in which active voice is preferred, such as when you’re trying to illustrate a sense of agency or responsibility. But passive voice also has its place. It’s especially useful when you don’t know the subject or the subject is irrelevant (“A convenience store was burglarized late Saturday night”), when you want to convey something abstract or a sense of authority (“Rules are made to be broken”), or when you want to emphasize the action or the target of the action over the subject (“The eerie, empty street was lit by the moon”).

In my opinion, that last point is particularly relevant when thinking about descriptive writing in fiction. Let’s look at an example. Which sentence do you prefer?

• Active voice: An icy wind swept away the smoldering remains of the campfire.

• Passive voice: The smoldering remains of the campfire were swept away by an icy wind.

I personally prefer the latter, but whichever you choose, the takeaway is that you have a choice. As long as you approach your sentence construction with balance and intention, passive voice is more than welcome at the party.

One of the most beautiful things about language is that it is constantly changing. We shape it ourselves every day just by speaking and communicating with our fellow humans. So don’t let anyone tell you there’s just one “correct” way to speak or to write, and feel free to leave these zombie rules where they belong: buried six feet under.