Last week, I talked about whether it was possible to write about what you don’t know. I.E. what you haven’t experienced personally. And my conclusion was, no, it’s not possible. At least not with the story’s content.
But there are ways to write the things you don’t know. Of course, I’m talking about the craft of writing.
There are a zillion different aspects to the craft of writing. Plot, pacing, dialogue, characterization, voice, etc. Writers know what they’re good at, and what they’re not so good at. Laurie Halse Anderson is amazing at making her character’s emotions tangible. JK Rowling is fabulous at plot. And I haven’t seen anyone better than Neil Gaiman when it comes to voice.
Unless you’ve just started to write, you probably know what you’re good at. As well as what you’re not so good at. You could even venture to say there are aspects of craft that you know well, and there are aspects that aren’t as clear in your mind. These are the things you don’t know.
I’m good at plot and I know my characters like they’re my best friend. But getting all aspects of my characters onto the page doesn’t always work out the way I intend. Therefore, you could say that I don’t know how to siphon my characters from my head to the page. That I’m not very comfortable doing this. And that would sum it up quite well, because I’m not.
To me, the phrase ‘Write What You Know’ or ‘Write What You Don’t Know’ has nothing to do with the content of your story. It’s about your comfort zone as a writer. I’m very comfortable with plot, but I can’t just write a story that’s all plot. Much more is needed. So, I need to leave my comfort zone and work on the areas that don’t come naturally.
In other words, I need to write what I don’t know.
Basically, it’s the old saying ‘practice makes perfect.’ Take something you don’t know, and then work on it until you know it.
What aspects of writing do you know so well that it just flows onto the page? Now, what aspects of writing make you bang your head against the wall? Leave you scratching your head? That your critique partners always pointing out? These are the things you don’t know, and these are the things you need to write. Talk to other writers about it. And write. Read, read, read. And write some more. And keep writing until you know that concept like the back of your hand.
For me, this blog has really helped me to grow as a writer. Basically, it’s helped me take all those things I didn’t know, and sort them out until I knew enough to explain it to another person. And it’s something I’ll continue to do forever, because I can’t see the day when I’ll know all there is to know about writing. It’s much too big for that. And far too interesting. : )
What don’t you know? :)
Showing posts with label Write What You Know. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Write What You Know. Show all posts
Monday, June 29, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Write What You Don’t Know, Part 1
About a year ago, I wrote a blog post on that age-old writing advice, Write What You Know. Basically, I stated that writing what you know comes from your experiences, not from the inability to do research.
Today, I want to talk about writing what you don’t know. And I’m going to use my latest YA novel, ROYAL ROSE, as an example. The story is about an overweight girl who comes from a famously beautiful family, and must deal with judgments and public opinion based on her appearance.
I’ll bet you’re wondering if I’ve ever been overweight. Well, the answer is no. Never. Not one day in my life. In fact, I’ve always been on the opposite end of that scale. Stick. Beanpole. Can’t fill out her pants. That was me as a kid, and, with the exception of pregnancies, I’ve pretty much stayed that way.
So, why would I write about a girl who has far more weight than I’ve ever had in my life? What the heck would I know about it? What makes me qualified to write such a story? To be honest, not much. You could say that writing this story is writing about what I don't know, since I don't have the first clue what it's like to be an overweight teenager. But Rose grabbed me by the throat over three years ago, and wouldn’t let go. I had to either write her story or go crazy.
I chose to write it...which meant I had much to learn.
I started out by researching and interviewing people with weight problems, trying to get an idea of what it was like for them growing up. What they went through, how they felt, what other people thought of them, etc. I googled medical conditions, talked to doctors and personal trainers, and learned all about the Body Mass Index.
I spent a year gathering all of this information and letting everything percolate in my head. Then, finally, I sat down to write the first draft. And guess what? It was terrible. Everything sounded like a regurgitation of all the research I’d done. There was no life, no spark, in my words.
Since I’d had zero experience with being overweight, what was I supposed to do? Give up? No. That’s not in my vocabulary. But I was stuck stuck stuck, so I had to figure out something. And this is what I did.
I looked back at my own childhood and teen years, then cross-checked it with the information I’d gotten from interviews. Guess what? There were some similarities.
I was underweight and teased horribly for it. Overweight kids were also teased in unspeakable ways. I was shy and quiet, and therefore picked on mercilessly. Overweight kids were also picked on mercilessly. I had very low self-esteem. Most overweight kids also had very low self-esteem. My parents were divorced during a time when that wasn’t common, and therefore I had trouble relating to other kids. Overweight kids have this extra weight that the other kids didn’t understand, and therefore they had trouble relating to other kids.
See a pattern here? :)
I laid all this out, using my experiences as a kid to imagine how someone in completely different shoes might be feeling. And it worked. A single spark appeared in my next draft, and I just knew I was on the right track. I kept working, sifting through my own experiences and coupling them with the information I’d gotten from interviews. When I finished my next draft, I cheered!
In writing this book, I essentially took the things I knew and applied them to the things I didn’t know. Which, technically, means I didn’t write what I didn’t know. The heart of this story is very much what I know, and what I’ve experienced first-hand. It’s just been applied to something different. Without my own experiences in it, the story was flat and lifeless. I had to write about what I knew.
This presents another question... If the author’s experiences must be in the story, then is it even possible to write what you don’t know? No, not really. Unless you’re talking about......
But that’s the topic for next week. : )
Today, I want to talk about writing what you don’t know. And I’m going to use my latest YA novel, ROYAL ROSE, as an example. The story is about an overweight girl who comes from a famously beautiful family, and must deal with judgments and public opinion based on her appearance.
I’ll bet you’re wondering if I’ve ever been overweight. Well, the answer is no. Never. Not one day in my life. In fact, I’ve always been on the opposite end of that scale. Stick. Beanpole. Can’t fill out her pants. That was me as a kid, and, with the exception of pregnancies, I’ve pretty much stayed that way.
So, why would I write about a girl who has far more weight than I’ve ever had in my life? What the heck would I know about it? What makes me qualified to write such a story? To be honest, not much. You could say that writing this story is writing about what I don't know, since I don't have the first clue what it's like to be an overweight teenager. But Rose grabbed me by the throat over three years ago, and wouldn’t let go. I had to either write her story or go crazy.
I chose to write it...which meant I had much to learn.
I started out by researching and interviewing people with weight problems, trying to get an idea of what it was like for them growing up. What they went through, how they felt, what other people thought of them, etc. I googled medical conditions, talked to doctors and personal trainers, and learned all about the Body Mass Index.
I spent a year gathering all of this information and letting everything percolate in my head. Then, finally, I sat down to write the first draft. And guess what? It was terrible. Everything sounded like a regurgitation of all the research I’d done. There was no life, no spark, in my words.
Since I’d had zero experience with being overweight, what was I supposed to do? Give up? No. That’s not in my vocabulary. But I was stuck stuck stuck, so I had to figure out something. And this is what I did.
I looked back at my own childhood and teen years, then cross-checked it with the information I’d gotten from interviews. Guess what? There were some similarities.
I was underweight and teased horribly for it. Overweight kids were also teased in unspeakable ways. I was shy and quiet, and therefore picked on mercilessly. Overweight kids were also picked on mercilessly. I had very low self-esteem. Most overweight kids also had very low self-esteem. My parents were divorced during a time when that wasn’t common, and therefore I had trouble relating to other kids. Overweight kids have this extra weight that the other kids didn’t understand, and therefore they had trouble relating to other kids.
See a pattern here? :)
I laid all this out, using my experiences as a kid to imagine how someone in completely different shoes might be feeling. And it worked. A single spark appeared in my next draft, and I just knew I was on the right track. I kept working, sifting through my own experiences and coupling them with the information I’d gotten from interviews. When I finished my next draft, I cheered!
In writing this book, I essentially took the things I knew and applied them to the things I didn’t know. Which, technically, means I didn’t write what I didn’t know. The heart of this story is very much what I know, and what I’ve experienced first-hand. It’s just been applied to something different. Without my own experiences in it, the story was flat and lifeless. I had to write about what I knew.
This presents another question... If the author’s experiences must be in the story, then is it even possible to write what you don’t know? No, not really. Unless you’re talking about......
But that’s the topic for next week. : )
Monday, March 16, 2009
Why I Write What I Write
I’ve talked before about why I write – that is, why I put pen to paper. But I’ve never talked about why I write the kinds of stories I write.
Why does one gravitate toward fantasy? Science fiction? Chick-lit? Christian? Who knows. It’s just what we want to write about, right? That’s what I thought, until recently.
The novel I just finished was the hardest thing I’ve written to date. It’s not a novel I gravitate toward when I’m skimming shelves, it’s not about anything I’ve experienced personally, and the style is way out of my comfort zone. But, now that it’s done, it’s also the best thing I’ve ever written. And I’m convinced that’s because it was so far out of my comfort zone. It forced me to stretch myself into the unknown, which meant I flopped on my face more than once. And, with each flop, I learned not to make that mistake again.
The project I’ve just started working on is turning out to be similar. Again, it’s not a novel I gravitate toward. It’s not about anything I’ve experienced personally. And the style and subject are way out of my comfort zone. Does that mean I shouldn’t write it? Nope. I’m still going to. And I’m going to flop on my face along the way. And that’s okay.
Agent Elana Roth wrote a great post about the craft of writing, which she compared to making pottery. It is brilliant and everyone should go read it. :) It illustrates exactly what I’ve been experiencing for the past few years.
I’ve been working on selling my first novel for quite some time now. It came really close last year, right down to the wire, but the house ultimately said no, and now it’s back in my hands. If you’d asked me a year ago how I’d feel about this, I’d have said “devastated!” But, I’m okay. In fact, I won’t be heartbroken if it never gets published. Not because I don’t think it’s publishable – I think it is, and that it would do fairly well – but because I know I can do better.
Everything about that book was well within my comfort zone, yet it didn’t produce my best work. I didn’t have to do anything in order to write it, except for writing it. Clearly, that doesn’t work for me. I need to be able to stretch and grow, and I can’t do that if I’m always working on projects within my comfort zone. This may not work for everyone, but it’s working so far for me, and I expect it to keep working. So much that when I eventually have an agent and editor, I want them both to feel free to look me in the eye and say "you can do better," and then send me off to do just that.
A year ago, I wrote about writing what you know, and what it meant for me as a writer. It still means the same for me now, but I would add to it: Start out by writing what you know, then move on to writing what you don’t know. Otherwise, how are you going to grow?
So, why do you write what you write?
Why does one gravitate toward fantasy? Science fiction? Chick-lit? Christian? Who knows. It’s just what we want to write about, right? That’s what I thought, until recently.
The novel I just finished was the hardest thing I’ve written to date. It’s not a novel I gravitate toward when I’m skimming shelves, it’s not about anything I’ve experienced personally, and the style is way out of my comfort zone. But, now that it’s done, it’s also the best thing I’ve ever written. And I’m convinced that’s because it was so far out of my comfort zone. It forced me to stretch myself into the unknown, which meant I flopped on my face more than once. And, with each flop, I learned not to make that mistake again.
The project I’ve just started working on is turning out to be similar. Again, it’s not a novel I gravitate toward. It’s not about anything I’ve experienced personally. And the style and subject are way out of my comfort zone. Does that mean I shouldn’t write it? Nope. I’m still going to. And I’m going to flop on my face along the way. And that’s okay.
Agent Elana Roth wrote a great post about the craft of writing, which she compared to making pottery. It is brilliant and everyone should go read it. :) It illustrates exactly what I’ve been experiencing for the past few years.
I’ve been working on selling my first novel for quite some time now. It came really close last year, right down to the wire, but the house ultimately said no, and now it’s back in my hands. If you’d asked me a year ago how I’d feel about this, I’d have said “devastated!” But, I’m okay. In fact, I won’t be heartbroken if it never gets published. Not because I don’t think it’s publishable – I think it is, and that it would do fairly well – but because I know I can do better.
Everything about that book was well within my comfort zone, yet it didn’t produce my best work. I didn’t have to do anything in order to write it, except for writing it. Clearly, that doesn’t work for me. I need to be able to stretch and grow, and I can’t do that if I’m always working on projects within my comfort zone. This may not work for everyone, but it’s working so far for me, and I expect it to keep working. So much that when I eventually have an agent and editor, I want them both to feel free to look me in the eye and say "you can do better," and then send me off to do just that.
A year ago, I wrote about writing what you know, and what it meant for me as a writer. It still means the same for me now, but I would add to it: Start out by writing what you know, then move on to writing what you don’t know. Otherwise, how are you going to grow?
So, why do you write what you write?
Monday, January 26, 2009
There Is Only One Me
So, I’ve found my Voice, and it’s still with me. It’s changing, but still there. And last week I talked about the things that became less complicated as a result of my newfound Voice. This week, I want to delve into the things that seem more complicated.
In general, writing is complicated. Very. Everything is connected, so everything must be in balance – all the major pieces that go into a novel must balance each other out, plus everything within those pieces must balance. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle made out of a zillion scales, all depending on each other to create the big picture. Complicated. Voice is no different, in that it’s just as complicated as all the other pieces. In finding my Voice, I’ve learned the pieces that need to balance within Voice. I.E., *how* it’s complicated .
I’ve always said that I’m not an interesting person. I’m not, really. When I walk into a room, no one notices. When I speak, not many hear me. I don’t command attention. I blend into the woodwork really well. And yet...if I were really so uninteresting, I wouldn’t have any friends. But I *do* have friends, so there must be something in me that sparks a connection with others.
This is where my Voice was hiding – the interesting and unique parts of me. The things I think but don’t say aloud, except to my closest friends. And they are unique to me, because we all have our own way of saying things. Just as we, writers, have our own way of telling a story. That is our Voice, and that is why no story can be told the same way twice.
My Voice lends originality to my stories. If my friends hear of something I’ve said, they can usually guess I’ve said it before they’ve been told. If someone else tells them the same story, it’s not the same. The idea and events may be the same, but the flavor is different.
Caroline Meckler said it well when she said all writing has Voice. It may not be the right Voice, so we have to keep searching until we find it. Once we do, then what? I’ve finally found the right Voice for my work, but hanging on to it is sometimes difficult. It’s like walking an overgrown, narrow path, with my more familiar paths within sight. It’s easy to drift toward those familiar paths, then realize I’ve gotten lost and have to find my way back.
Finding your Voice is only the first step. You also need to learn how to keep it, then use it to its full potential. Knowing your Voice, where it comes from, and how to use it are what make your story strong and marketable.
Succeeding as a writer comes from a similar place – it’s not about the story I tell, it’s how I tell it. And, the pieces of myself that I put into it are what make it truly unique. All of this is related to Voice. The pieces of myself that I choose to share, to weave into my story, will be saturated with my Voice. How could they not? They come from me. Deep within me. Those are the most powerful stories a writer can tell, and that power can be harnessed through your Voice.
This is strongly connected to Write What You Know. I said in an earlier blog post that I believed writing what you know comes from your heart and experiences. I believe that even more now. The more you know and understand yourself, the more you’ll have to share in your stories. And your Voice can harness this, hand the reigns to the reader, then take them on a wild ride.
That said, knowing and understanding yourself is probably the most complicated thing ever.
In general, writing is complicated. Very. Everything is connected, so everything must be in balance – all the major pieces that go into a novel must balance each other out, plus everything within those pieces must balance. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle made out of a zillion scales, all depending on each other to create the big picture. Complicated. Voice is no different, in that it’s just as complicated as all the other pieces. In finding my Voice, I’ve learned the pieces that need to balance within Voice. I.E., *how* it’s complicated .
I’ve always said that I’m not an interesting person. I’m not, really. When I walk into a room, no one notices. When I speak, not many hear me. I don’t command attention. I blend into the woodwork really well. And yet...if I were really so uninteresting, I wouldn’t have any friends. But I *do* have friends, so there must be something in me that sparks a connection with others.
This is where my Voice was hiding – the interesting and unique parts of me. The things I think but don’t say aloud, except to my closest friends. And they are unique to me, because we all have our own way of saying things. Just as we, writers, have our own way of telling a story. That is our Voice, and that is why no story can be told the same way twice.
My Voice lends originality to my stories. If my friends hear of something I’ve said, they can usually guess I’ve said it before they’ve been told. If someone else tells them the same story, it’s not the same. The idea and events may be the same, but the flavor is different.
Caroline Meckler said it well when she said all writing has Voice. It may not be the right Voice, so we have to keep searching until we find it. Once we do, then what? I’ve finally found the right Voice for my work, but hanging on to it is sometimes difficult. It’s like walking an overgrown, narrow path, with my more familiar paths within sight. It’s easy to drift toward those familiar paths, then realize I’ve gotten lost and have to find my way back.
Finding your Voice is only the first step. You also need to learn how to keep it, then use it to its full potential. Knowing your Voice, where it comes from, and how to use it are what make your story strong and marketable.
Succeeding as a writer comes from a similar place – it’s not about the story I tell, it’s how I tell it. And, the pieces of myself that I put into it are what make it truly unique. All of this is related to Voice. The pieces of myself that I choose to share, to weave into my story, will be saturated with my Voice. How could they not? They come from me. Deep within me. Those are the most powerful stories a writer can tell, and that power can be harnessed through your Voice.
This is strongly connected to Write What You Know. I said in an earlier blog post that I believed writing what you know comes from your heart and experiences. I believe that even more now. The more you know and understand yourself, the more you’ll have to share in your stories. And your Voice can harness this, hand the reigns to the reader, then take them on a wild ride.
That said, knowing and understanding yourself is probably the most complicated thing ever.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
It's funny, what you know
Last week, I posted about writing what you know, and it's funny how the things you know can crop up without you knowing it. :)
I read through some of my YA novel yesterday, and discovered something about the parents of my main character (Rose). Their relationship is exactly like the relationship my parents had when I was growing up. Rose's mom is nothing like my mom, and Rose's dad is not like my dad. But the way her mom and dad interact with each other is very similar to how my parents interacted when I was growing up.
So, I took a piece of my childhood, something I know very, very well, and unconsciously put it into my story. I'm sure I'm not the first person to have done this, so it makes me think that we all know more than we think we know. :)
I read through some of my YA novel yesterday, and discovered something about the parents of my main character (Rose). Their relationship is exactly like the relationship my parents had when I was growing up. Rose's mom is nothing like my mom, and Rose's dad is not like my dad. But the way her mom and dad interact with each other is very similar to how my parents interacted when I was growing up.
So, I took a piece of my childhood, something I know very, very well, and unconsciously put it into my story. I'm sure I'm not the first person to have done this, so it makes me think that we all know more than we think we know. :)
Friday, March 07, 2008
What Do You Know?
One of the most common pieces of advice for writers (that I've heard, anyway) is "Write What You Know." But, what does that mean?
I know that 6x4=24. I also know the sky is blue. And if I didn't know these things, I could easily learn them.
So is that what it means to write what I know? I'm not so sure. I think it means something deeper: Write What You Know In Your Heart.
But what does that mean? Simply put, it's what you know that can only be learned through experience. For example, my parents divorced when I was three, and neither remarried. So I know what it's like to be raised by a single mom. Conversely, I don't know what it's like to be raised by a two-parent family. I can do research on this and make an educated guess, but I'll never truly know because I didn't experience it growing up.
Another example. When I first learned I was going to have a baby, I was thrilled. I love kids, and spent my high school years babysitting. I thought I knew what I was getting into, but I still did lots of research so I'd be well prepared. After my son was born, I learned that no amount of research could have prepared me for this experience. It's baffling, frustrating, and rewarding - all at the same time. I had no idea how much it would change me and my view of the world. And I wouldn't give it up for anything. But it's something I had to experience in order to really know.
I think that we, as writers, can take our experiences, expand them with research, and then put them on the page. I also think it works the other way - expand the research with experiences. In either case, I think it will give us something truly amazing.
I know that 6x4=24. I also know the sky is blue. And if I didn't know these things, I could easily learn them.
So is that what it means to write what I know? I'm not so sure. I think it means something deeper: Write What You Know In Your Heart.
But what does that mean? Simply put, it's what you know that can only be learned through experience. For example, my parents divorced when I was three, and neither remarried. So I know what it's like to be raised by a single mom. Conversely, I don't know what it's like to be raised by a two-parent family. I can do research on this and make an educated guess, but I'll never truly know because I didn't experience it growing up.
Another example. When I first learned I was going to have a baby, I was thrilled. I love kids, and spent my high school years babysitting. I thought I knew what I was getting into, but I still did lots of research so I'd be well prepared. After my son was born, I learned that no amount of research could have prepared me for this experience. It's baffling, frustrating, and rewarding - all at the same time. I had no idea how much it would change me and my view of the world. And I wouldn't give it up for anything. But it's something I had to experience in order to really know.
I think that we, as writers, can take our experiences, expand them with research, and then put them on the page. I also think it works the other way - expand the research with experiences. In either case, I think it will give us something truly amazing.
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