“Write what you know” is probably the most common piece of writing advice in circulation. Sadly, this is often interpreted as “write only about things that happen in your backyard.” Writing isn’t only stringing words together into a story; it’s projecting the reader into another time, place, and point of view, and making them experience it as real. That takes a lot of work, even when writing about something you know as well as your backyard. Which is why it’s easier to stay in your backyard and never venture elsewhere. Don’t get me wrong. Writing about your personal experiences is as valid as any other subject. It’s your choice, but the world is wide, the universe is wider, and there’s no law that says you have to stay put. (By the way, which post was it where I said I wasn’t going to use extended metaphors to make a point? Obviously, I’ve forgotten...)
Do your homework. Write what you know means you have to know the subject well and to write it well, you have to do some research, usually a lot. But your writing will be better for it. Ideally, you should have comprehensive knowledge of your subject, but the depth of your knowledge should be gauged according to the impact of each element on the narrative. Facts (dates, events, customs, laws, etc.) should always be verified. Mistakes do happen, but make sure they’re minor. A minor mistake can be ignored or forgiven, but big ones can ruin a story.
Find an expert. Or at least someone who knows the subject well enough to give you some pointers – what books to read or other people you can talk to. One hour of conversation with a knowledgeable person can save you hours of fruitless research.
Specific settings. Even if the time and place aren’t particularly important to your story, it still influences the way your characters think, speak, and behave, as well as the way the plot can develop. You’ve probably read criticism such as: “That could never have happened in New York City because everyone knows there’s a strict law...” or “They don’t talk or act like British colonists...” or “The feminist attitude of the heroine is anachronistic and therefore unbelievable...”
Occupational hazards. A character’s job is also usually worth some research. That’s not to say that if you have a character who’s a surgeon, you need to know anatomy, but it might be useful knowing what their daily routine is like.
Generic conventions. A genre’s conventions can define a character, place, or time without your having to crack so much as a pamphlet. But these are only archetypes in a template setting. Ultimately, you’ll still need to research the genre in order to give more than a formulaic rendition.
The genre loophole. Despite what I just said, there are certain cases where a genre makes research unnecessary simply because it’s beside the point. In certain cases of Sci-Fi, for example, you don’t need to explain how a spaceship would actually fly, how a teleporter operates in order for a story to work, because the actual mechanics are beside the point. People are simply supposed to assume in advance that these futuristic items could work, or that aliens are out there, or that time travel is possible. In Children of Men, the operating assumption is that humanity has lost the ability to reproduce. It doesn’t matter whether or not this is possible or likely – it’s merely the backdrop for larger existential issues.
The other genre loophole. In the case of Fantasy novels, what with all the magic and alternate realities, you can do whatever you want from the color of the sky to the language of the characters. But though Fantasy frees you from the restraint of realism and historical accuracy, it forces you to explain many things for the benefit of the reader which, in other cases, you might not have had to explain.
So much for the concrete. As for handling the abstract: love, death, depression, happiness, existence, etc. Given that we’re talking about abstracts, what can I say other than try to look at it from as many angles as possible? You don’t have to write about all of it. Actually, it would be pretty much impossible to write everything about an abstract subject. The point is not to have a narrow perspective. I’m always surprised when I read other interpretations and opinions; even when they coincide with mine, they often highlight things which didn’t occur to me.
Next time on Technical Saturday... Originality and Style.
Do your homework. Write what you know means you have to know the subject well and to write it well, you have to do some research, usually a lot. But your writing will be better for it. Ideally, you should have comprehensive knowledge of your subject, but the depth of your knowledge should be gauged according to the impact of each element on the narrative. Facts (dates, events, customs, laws, etc.) should always be verified. Mistakes do happen, but make sure they’re minor. A minor mistake can be ignored or forgiven, but big ones can ruin a story.
Find an expert. Or at least someone who knows the subject well enough to give you some pointers – what books to read or other people you can talk to. One hour of conversation with a knowledgeable person can save you hours of fruitless research.
Specific settings. Even if the time and place aren’t particularly important to your story, it still influences the way your characters think, speak, and behave, as well as the way the plot can develop. You’ve probably read criticism such as: “That could never have happened in New York City because everyone knows there’s a strict law...” or “They don’t talk or act like British colonists...” or “The feminist attitude of the heroine is anachronistic and therefore unbelievable...”
Occupational hazards. A character’s job is also usually worth some research. That’s not to say that if you have a character who’s a surgeon, you need to know anatomy, but it might be useful knowing what their daily routine is like.
Generic conventions. A genre’s conventions can define a character, place, or time without your having to crack so much as a pamphlet. But these are only archetypes in a template setting. Ultimately, you’ll still need to research the genre in order to give more than a formulaic rendition.
The genre loophole. Despite what I just said, there are certain cases where a genre makes research unnecessary simply because it’s beside the point. In certain cases of Sci-Fi, for example, you don’t need to explain how a spaceship would actually fly, how a teleporter operates in order for a story to work, because the actual mechanics are beside the point. People are simply supposed to assume in advance that these futuristic items could work, or that aliens are out there, or that time travel is possible. In Children of Men, the operating assumption is that humanity has lost the ability to reproduce. It doesn’t matter whether or not this is possible or likely – it’s merely the backdrop for larger existential issues.
The other genre loophole. In the case of Fantasy novels, what with all the magic and alternate realities, you can do whatever you want from the color of the sky to the language of the characters. But though Fantasy frees you from the restraint of realism and historical accuracy, it forces you to explain many things for the benefit of the reader which, in other cases, you might not have had to explain.
So much for the concrete. As for handling the abstract: love, death, depression, happiness, existence, etc. Given that we’re talking about abstracts, what can I say other than try to look at it from as many angles as possible? You don’t have to write about all of it. Actually, it would be pretty much impossible to write everything about an abstract subject. The point is not to have a narrow perspective. I’m always surprised when I read other interpretations and opinions; even when they coincide with mine, they often highlight things which didn’t occur to me.
Next time on Technical Saturday... Originality and Style.
4 comments:
Writing for me always follows the same pattern. I start off with a character, sometimes it's only a disembodied voice, which I place it a situation and then watch –through the writing process – what enfolds. I never know what's going to happen or how it's going to happen.
An unfamiliar setting can do a lot to focus you. My last book was set in Ireland in the thirties. The story was easy enough to write, what they said and what they did, but how they said and did things took a great deal of research. You can't just stick "Begorrah" and "Top o' the mornin'" in every now and then or turn all your statements into questions and expect it to convince people.
Jim - That's an excellent point which I forgot to mention. Though in some respects research can make it seem like you'll never cram everything in that you want, it can also narrow down your choices to very specific things.
Good advice as always, Stella. Sometimes I attempt to write counter-intuitively, by creating interests and outlooks for the protagonists that are outside of my ken or that I'm not particularly sympathetic to, and enjoy how that changes my view of the world (in every respect). And sometimes I deliberatly use objects which have a significance to me, but provide them with a different significance for the characters. It's just part of the fun of playing, I guess.
Paul - I don't do it so much out of fun as trying to distance myself as much as possible from the characters. If I give them my interests and tastes, then they usually end up sounding like a version of me - which means the characters tend to blend into each other. It's something I'm working on.
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