Writing What You Know

If you’re a writer, you’ve no doubt heard that old saw, “Write what you know.” I’ve been writing since I was quite small, and now that I’m quite not, you’d think I’d know a lot more.

Well ... sort of.

That is, I know quite a bit more about world history, American literature, good grammar, the subway map of New York City, and a few other things. But in the Great Ocean of Knowledge, it doesn’t amount to a whole lot more than I knew at age five. A few drops, at most.

But perhaps the old saw refers to life experience, not knowledge. In other words, don’t write about life aboard a 19th-century whaling ship. Write about your life.

Here’s my life:

18 years living in the suburb of a midsize American city

4 years living as a student in a bustling American university town

3 months living as a student in Paris (France)

6 years living as an editor in New York City

18 more years living in the suburb of a midsize American city

20 years of marriage

17 years of parenting

46 years of companionship to dogs, cats, hamsters, budgerigars, white mice, goldfish, and parrots

Sure, there are a lot of interesting experiences in those years, but are they all I want to write about? No.

So I’m amending that old saw:

Write what you can get to know.

My mother is a deceptively wise woman who, like Mark Twain’s father, gained a lot of wisdom after I turned 21. She always told me that smart isn’t what you know; it’s whether you know how to find out what you don’t know.

So, educate yourself. Learn your research tools.  Read read read. Listen to people talk. Master the internet and yes, even your local library. Study old photographs, read biographies, learn history. Make up your own world.

Then write about it.