People often
advise aspiring fiction writers that the best thing to do is “write what you
know.” Writing about what you know
conveys authenticity. Realism. It’s one of the so-called cardinal rules of
writing. However well-intentioned, it is
not only misunderstood but has somehow become the standard by which many
stories are too often judged. There is a
belief that real authenticity in writing can only be expressed by someone who
has shared the same experiences as characters in that writer’s story. But if you’ve never robbed a bank, how do you
write a realistic scene involving a bank robbery without first walking into a
nearby Wells Fargo wearing a mask, carrying a forty-five, and shoving a note
across the counter at the teller demanding all the money in the drawer (except
the dye-packs which can be problematic)?
Writing
what you know can not only be boring, but creates an impression that readers
should care less about characters and more about their surroundings and the
things that inspired them. The story
becomes less about fiction and more about reporting.
As
writers, we use imagination to create worlds populated by fictional
characters. Many of us who write crime,
mystery, and suspense have never robbed a bank, spent time in lock-up, or been
involved in any number of the violent crimes committed by characters in our
stories but it doesn’t stop us from writing.
Most of us lead boring lives. One
day looks like all the others. That’s
not the kind of realism readers want.
The challenge in finding an authentic voice is to be exciting,
interesting, and different. We use
imagination to give voice to characters and create not only the realism but the
authenticity editors, publishers, and most importantly, readers demand.
I faced a
number of challenges with Still Black Remains.
One had to do with marketing a book that had no clearly defined genre –
no vampires or zombies or love-struck college sweethearts doomed by a
combination of fate, bad luck, and rare disease. But it was the story I wanted to write, and
that was more important than everything else, no matter what’s popular in
bookstores. That is the true cardinal
rule of writing: write your story. It doesn’t matter what your friends, your
college professor, or even other writers think you should write – you need to
write the story you want to write.
But the
biggest obstacle had to do with telling a story through the voice of characters
completely unlike me. Still Black
Remains is the story of a street kid turned gangster named Twist, his
drug-dealing gang called the Skulls, and an out of control turf war that
escalates with the kidnapping of a mafia capo.
The kidnapping was supposed to provide a bargaining chip in negotiations
to end the war; it was never intended to be anything more than that. But like most great ideas, the plan doesn't
turn out as expected. Most of the
characters in Still Black Remains are black, and as any number of agents,
publishers, and even other writers pointed out, my characters could not be
authentic because I am not black.
According to them, I could not write this story because I am nothing
like the characters in the book.
Really.
As if a
writer cannot write about someone who doesn’t resemble themselves in the
mirror.
The
implication was that only a black writer can capture the perspective of a main
character who is part of a drug-dealing street gang. A thug. A killer. How could I know anything
about the grittiness of the Skulls’ Newark, New Jersey neighborhood? How could anyone like me understand the
nuances of a gangster’s life, capture their voices accurately, know the ins and
outs of street level drug deals, or understand the terror you feel when someone
has a forty-five pointed at your chest?
How could a white man write a novel from a black man’s point of view?
That kind of belief not only dismisses creativity but
diminishes the skills and abilities writers need to imagine. I couldn’t “write what I know” because I
didn’t know any of the experiences I was writing about.
Which is bullshit.
That would mean that only cowboys can write westerns. And only CIA or FBI agents could write
thrillers and espionage. And that any good zombie apocalypse novel can’t be
believable if it hasn’t been created by a zombie writer. If any of that were true - if authentic
writing is truly defined by writing about what you know - how do you explain
anything written by Stephen King?
Good writing pulls you into a world where characters live
and makes them believable. Imagination
is essential – not experience. Writers bring out the attitudes and feelings of
those characters and give them emotional integrity. Good writers research locations and ask
questions – not just of themselves but of the characters in their stories. They ask “what if” questions, developing
their characters realistically and getting them into and out of problems. They
listen because authenticity comes from listening to people and how they talk.
Elmore Leonard’s writing sounds the way people talk and rings true because he
captured the rhythm and cadence of conversations, and I’m reasonably certain he
never did half the shit his characters did.
Gillian Flynn effectively told “Gone Girl” from both the male and female
point of view. She understood her
characters and knew their emotions, as well as the things that drove them –
being a woman had nothing to do with it.
Realism is important even in science fiction, which needs
elements of existing life, technology, and culture. But writers can write about
things they don’t know firsthand.
Writing requires letting our imagination sprawl into the unknown – not
just staying with what we know. Writers have to be open to what we want to
know, what our characters understand, and their experiences.
If you’re a writer, it’s never about writing what you know.
It’s about writing what you can imagine.
Originally
published at Sirens of Suspense - April 3, 2017