How many times have we heard the phrase “write what you know,” and wondered: how is this possible for most fiction writers? Let’s explore the meaning behind this advice and see if it still holds true.
Why it Sounds So Crazy
At its core, “write what you know” encourages authors to draw from their own experiences, emotions, and observations to make their writing authentic. It asks writers to dig deep into their own lives to create engaging characters, settings, and plotlines that resonate with truth. But the simple truth is applying write what you know to my writing would curtail it tremendously. My writing focuses on science fiction and mystery. I have not served as a starship captain, a police officer or in the military, nor have I been a woman. Yet two of my protagonists are women, so should I even be writing what I write? were I to write what I knew, I’d focus almost solely on college teaching, martial arts, volleyball, and sailing. These aren’t the topics I normally write about. In writing about stuff I don’t know, am I making a mistake?
What Does the Advice Mean?
When I sit down to write my first drafts, I sometimes get that sense of “do I really know what I’m talking about? This is when write what you know hits me in the face. There are writers who say the advice is an invitation to find aspects of your story and characters that others can relate to. This is how I often answer the question of how I came up with a crime novel having no experience in crime detection. (Apparently, reading every Sherlock Holmes short story and novel multiple times doesn’t count!) I suggest to folks that in the case of my male starship captain, I’ve come to a similar crossroads in my career and got through it. Or, I can talk about having experienced failure the way other characters have.
A Little Deeper
Writing what you know is also a way to tap into universal themes that resonate with a broader audience. Writers can explore themes like love, loss, identity, and redemption in their writing and apply them to characters who don’t share all their experiences. These themes and others such as failure, struggle and accomplishment all speak to the shared human experience, regardless of individual background or circumstance.
What Other (Bigger) Authors Say
Many authors stick by the write what you know mantra and give their own perspectives on it. Nikki Barthelmess, for example, suggests that writers should write what they know, then ask “what if?” This allows them to take the basic nugget of something they’re familiar with, then twist it around to something they don’t know, but have an idea about.
On the other hand, many have reported this quote from Japanese-British novelist and screenwriter Kazuo Ishiguro who said: “‘write about what you know’ is the most stupid thing I’ve heard. It encourages people to write a dull autobiography. It’s the reverse of firing the imagination and potential of writers.” Mind you, that’s kind of what I would have said, but I’m not Kazuo Ishiguro.
He isn’t the only one who feels this way. Ursula K. Le Guin believed in write what you know, but also suggested that “you may know dragons,” so feel free to write about them.
The Downside of Write What You Know
There are also pitfalls to writing only what you know. We all have perspectives that are shaped by our previous experiences, relationships, and where we’ve lived. Writing only from those direct experiences isn’t likely to reflect much diversity, imagination or novelty. And of course, the writing process craves imagination and innovation. To be honest, as fine as my life has been, it hasn’t been chock-full of exciting derring-do. Yet, I can create stories that include danger, conflict, tension and joy, and have my characters experience those in settings I’ve never been to.
Perhaps if we focus on writing what we know in terms of shared human experiences, but also allow ourselves to write about the dragons that only we know about, we’ll find the right balance.
