Write What You Know for Great Storytelling by Lisa Malice

New writers are always told to “write what you know,” whether it’s a favorite genre, or some special knowledge or interest. John Grisham and Lisa Scottoline turned unsatisfying careers in law into brilliant legal thrillers. The cozy mystery genre is chock full of amateur sleuths who share with their authors a host of hobbies and interests (cats, dogs, and cooking are popular).

But “write what you know” goes much deeper than this. It is a truth I realized after reflecting on the writing assignments for my online creative writing class. Great writers put so much more of themselves into their work than their familiarity with a genre or topic. They connect on a deeper level with their readers sharing their personal visions, experiences, thoughts, desires, fears and other emotions.

The opening assignment–a 300-word flash fiction piece—offered prompts for our first foray into fiction writing. Among them were “Mary was fed up with Bob . . .” and “They called it a near miss.” Since the situations were vague, each student had to find a plot line or word and run with it. As a middle-aged woman fond of chick flicks, I quickly chose “Looking at Paris in this light . . .” and crafted a romance with a plot not so far from my own life.

My flash fiction piece—about a middle-aged married couple looking to rekindle the romance they once had before jobs and family responsibilities overwhelmed them—drew a few positive comments, mostly from fans of the genre. More importantly though, was the welcome surprise I felt reading the writing of my fellow classmates, many of whom saw “Paris” in a different light (Texas or Tennessee) and wrote distinctly unromantic tales. This assignment demonstrated to me that no two writers are alike. Given the same prompt, vastly different stories will always emerge with respect to character, setting, plot, description, and tone.

Our second assignment was to pick a color and write about it in first person point of view, an exercise designed to get each of us to step outside our comfort zone. Many struggled, but the students who found the assignment the easiest put themselves on the page, taking an inanimate color and reflecting their own beliefs and impressions about what it meant to be red, blue, or gold. Each piece was clever, beautifully descriptive in word and insight, illuminating the unique perspectives and experiences of its writer. A piece on haze gray—“the color of a warship of a mighty maritime nation”—flowed boldly from a navy veteran. One student made white come alive with rhyme, meter, and metaphor.

The poem I submitted, “Seeing Red,” flowed from the tips of my fingers to my keyboard as I looked around at the reds in my life–faded red Valentine hearts constructed long ago by my children, life-giving blood, blazing sunsets, a feast of delicious, soul-nurturing foods, and more. My readers appreciated the vivid descriptions that helped them “see red” as I saw it as “The Color of Life.”

Our third lesson introduced my class to the “bubble method” as a way to brainstorm story ideas and elements, and then challenged us to see the stories all around us - in print, on the screen, from the people we meet, and the music and conversations we overhear. An inspired Dear Abby fan created a charming, humorous, but conflicted advice columnist fed up with her own work and reaching out for help from her editor. A news story on an island of wild horses inspired a classmate to craft a heart-thumping story about a U.S. Park Service Ranger protecting the herd from threats, both man-made and natural.

As a psychologist, I was intrigued by a Yahoo article posted by Match.com on the keys to a successful first date and driven to bubble up a rom-com. The story I dreamed up involved a young student, using her friends—and other hapless students—as research subjects for her doctoral thesis: “The Six Keys to Getting a Second Date.” My first chapter words flowed. I wrote more than 1,700 words for a 350-word assignment. I posted the first few paragraphs and a synopsis of the rest of the story. With that bit of writing, my instructor and classmates could see the energy in my characters, their story, the setting and the plot, the love and the laughter that would ensue. I left them wanting more, the greatest compliment a writer can get.

There is more to come on this topic, continued reflections about this class and how it helped me understand the depth to which “write what you know” can drive storytelling. Look for part two August 12. In the meantime, please share a few thoughts on “write what you know” and how this key to successful storytelling has impacted your writing.