Most writers will tell you the unintentional mistakes are the most telling, the most embarrassing, the most illustrative of bad writing. The simplest errors such as the incorrect descriptions of actual locations, the lack of knowledge of a craft or sport, the contemporary slang used in period pieces, and many other types of potentially easily noticed mistakes make for deserved criticisms.
However, when it comes down to the nitty gritty style and language usage, the qualifications of what is right and what is considered wrong can vary like the desert compared to the tropics. Champions of flexibility and variations in style(s) of language go toe-to-toe with those of the unwavering "correct" grammar and the "acceptable" rules of writing camp.
I know this a frequent topic here for the simple reason that I find the more stringent rule-following fiction stalling out for me like a flooded carburetor. Sterile and unimaginative while being oh-so-correct bores me. Can't get the gumption to restart.
I used to read a lot. Maybe even too much. I haven't read a book since my last review. That's unheard of for me. Especially since I have a few I really want to read which I know won't employ the rules to excess. They'll be enjoyed I'm sure.
And . . . and I'm trying to finish one of the three novels I have started. So it's grumbling around in my head complaining and whining and daring and shouting: Write it already - even if it's wrong!
Father, I repeat: I'm desperate for you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.