Writing what you know is widely considered a best practice, and, in my humble opinion, it’s one of the most common pieces of advice young writers are often given.
Of course, the great orator, Mark Twain, is quoted as saying: “When writing, it’s best to focus on subjects in which you possess some personal knowledge. If you’re going to expand beyond those boundaries, do your research.”
In other words, write what you know.
Twain also had some pretty interesting wisdom about writing, which he expounded upon when critiquing James Fenimore Cooper’s Leatherstocking Tales. (see, we’re all critiques). Professor Charles Stratton boiled some of Twain’s other writing down to ten notable quotes on writing. (You can read the article by clicking HERE.)
Nathan Englander, an author of short fiction and the book What We Talk About When We Talk About Anne Frank, said that writing isn’t always about what you physically know but what you’ve experienced, such as jealousy, love, loss, or longing. It’s not always the events but the emotions.
Of course, if we look at Stephen King’s wide range of works, we get the feeling that we should write whatever the hell we want to write since his work is horror, ghosts, and creepy cars that come to life. But he also weaves things he knows intrinsically well into his stories, like teaching, his near-fatal car accident, addiction, and rock and roll.
Now, suppose I wrote about what I know. In that case, you’d read an incredibly dull book about me staring at a computer screen, or out the window, or cleaning the garage, or fishing, or playing some stupid game on my phone ... waiting for the details of the story to sort themselves out so I can get them on the page. Yeah, BORING!
Okay. Let’s get to it. Writing what you … well, you know.
Oh, you’re writing a memoir, and you’re screaming, “But Evan, I know it all. I lived it!”
Good for you! It ain’t that easy. You’re telling your life story, but again, no matter how you experienced it, there must be elements in the writing that a reader can relate to, those emotions that we connect with on basic levels. Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs—motivation (don’t know what those are? You simpleton? Did they teach you nothing in high school? Click HERE to learn more about those needs) What motivates the character to act in a certain way, or maybe use those needs and desires to create conflict when those goals oppose each other. And you’re gonna have to dig deep and experience those emotions you already lived through all over again because, baby, we want to see you bleed on the page.
Two cases in point. Hemmingway, an infamous drunken brawler who spent his life on the sea or in the field, could expound endlessly on those things much in the same way that Hunter S. Thompson could write a drug-fueled epic like Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
But what about science fiction, where the worlds are created in an author’s head? The writer of that world knows them better than anyone. They invented it. They live within the world and just need to put it all down on paper (pixels?). And again, the writer has to infuse their epic tale with the emotions or conflicts that we see on a daily basis and can identify with. How do we seek shelter, put food on the table, and deal with the loss of a loved one or a breakup?
Don’t believe me? Ask best-selling author Andy Weir. He was a stickler for details and even posted his early chapters of The Martian on forums where scientists would critique his work and offer suggestions on how to stay within the parameters of the Martian environment. Was he writing what he knew or doing research to create a book that launched his writing career and, ultimately, another movie where Matt Damon needed to be rescued from space? I think he would say it was research mingled with knowing fear and anxiety, things we can all relate to.
Now we get to my ranting and raving on, well, writing what you … researched. (What the hell, Evan, that’s not the topic at all!)
No. This falls under the category of research. I have to be able to explain to you, the reader, what the setting looks, smells, sounds, tastes, and feels (touch) like—the five senses. Diane Gabaldon, the writer of the Outlander series, says she likes to incorporate at least three of those senses into a paragraph when she’s setting the scene, thus drawing the reader deeper into her work and helping them to identify with both the character and the setting.
I also read widely among the authors from the Tropical Authors website. My fellow authors are usually well-versed in sailing and diving, but sometimes I read their work and just wonder how well-versed they are.
Let’s dig into this statement.
Many of the TA authors have diving as a central topic in their books, either freediving or scuba diving. Some claim to be instructors in these specialties. Now, I started diving in 2006 and have over three hundred dives under my belt (I like deep wrecks, and I cannot lie). I also work in a scuba shop. While I am not an instructor, I am around them. I always hear them teach the open water course, and I help set up divers who are moving to sidemount, my favorite style of diving. I tell you this so I can explain my pet peeve when I read others write about diving (aka not doing your research).
The number one rule in diving is: don’t hold your breath. Your lungs are a balloon. At depth, they are compressed, and as you rise back to the surface, you must exhale to keep from causing an overexpansion injury or rupturing a lung. Think about that balloon. The more air you put in it, the bigger it gets, and it will eventually burst. Holding your breath while scuba diving is a sure way to cause an injury.
The second rule is: never use the power inflator to inflate your BCD when heading for the surface. If we stick with the theory that your lungs are a balloon, then the air in the BCD that was keeping the diver neutrally buoyant at depth will expand, just like the lungs as the diver rises. As one ascends through the water column, the diver becomes more buoyant because of the expanding air. If not released, the expanding air will cause the diver to shoot to the surface (think decompression sickness here. You know, the bends).
When I see my fellow TA writers expound on how their characters use the power inflator to help them surface, I have to question their expertise. I also read other scenarios that make me question when and why best diving practices are not adhered to. Diving is an inherently dangerous sport, and the rules must be followed to ensure the diver can safely return to the water again and again. I have to wonder if, when writing these scenarios, the author is not current with best practices or just saying, “It’s fiction. It doesn’t matter.”
Well, it bloody well does matter!
Let’s wrap this up.
I know. I can hear you whispering, “Oh, thank God!”
Writing what we know is inherently dangerous. There will always be someone (like me or Mark Twain) who will question the writing, the scenario, how the writer strung the words together, or even where you put that damned comma. (There is a difference between “No more tequila” and “No, more tequila”)
In conclusion. (Do I have one? Or was this a thinly disguised rant against using a power inflator to ascend?) Write what you want. Write what makes you happy. Write anything that pleases you. You don’t have to stick to just the things you know, be it technical, emotional, or something you’ve physically done, but please, IF you don’t know what you’re writing about, do the hard work. Research the subject online, ask an expert, sit in a bar and eavesdrop on conversations, take a class, or just go out into the wild and do it yourself.
Just don’t expect everyone to enjoy how much you bled on the page (or in real life). Someone will always point and laugh.