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Why “Write What You Know” Shouldn’t Be Taken Too Literally
It’s not necessarily bad advice, but it’s often misunderstood.
I’ve come across the phrase “write what you know” many, many times since grade school. It’s a phrase often attributed (maybe correctly, maybe incorrectly) to Mark Twain. It’s also one of the most misunderstood and misinterpreted pieces of advice writers receive.
The main problem is that lots of people take this phrase far too literally. To the extent that some teachers will give you a bad grade when you don’t write what you know. Yet, realistically, the literal interpretation of this phrase would make creating sci-fi, fantasy, and other genres outside of reality impossible.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t know any aliens from outer space, elves from any fantasy world you can imagine, or mythological or fantastic beasts. Yet I’ve written about these over the years. So how do you reconcile the spirit of versus the letter of write what you know?
Fantastic but plausible
In many fantasy stories, epic battles occur. You might or might not have experience with war or combat. But even if you do, chances are there were no dragons, 9-foot-tall trolls, or swift, underfoot halflings altering the flow.
Likewise, the closest thing we have to space battles in real life is submarine warfare. Still, action in the depths and pressures of water is not the same as the zero-gravity of outer space. And lasers, even laser-based real-world weapons, work nothing like they do in sci-fi.
Yet you can learn about the real-world equivalents and apply them to fantasy and sci-fi. In this way, you maintain plausibility. To gain plausibility, you need to learn about the mechanics of certain things. This is where applying “write what you know” can come in.
For example, I’ve read stories where the writer included combat of one stripe or another, but I couldn’t visualize it. The movement of the fighters made no sense, or the order of combat was wonky, the way a weapon was employed defied magical or sci-fi physics, or something else showed they wrote something they didn’t truly know.
I’ve been doing medieval fencing for over 30 years. In that time, I’ve learned how to use a variety of weapons, including spears, two-handed swords, sabres, katanas, rapiers, knives, and more. Ergo, I have a general understanding of one-on-one combat with and without weapons and the mechanics therein.
Additionally, I’ve participated in and led battles of 10 on 10, 20 on 20, and even 100+ on 100+. This, too, has taught me things I can apply to things I couldn’t possibly know, but can still make sense of for the reader.
Hence, write what you know can be applied to even what you don’t actually know.
Learn and write what you know
Another interpretation of this phrase would be to learn something new. I’ve gone down a few rabbit holes doing research for stories. From that, I’ve learned things about quantum mechanics, biology, cloning, physics, and other sciences. But I’ve also pored over various monster manuals, fables, and myths to create fantastic creatures and such in my own stories.
Am I an expert? Hell no. When it comes to a lot of the science, my understanding is passing, at best, and by no means expertise. I’ve read elves as created by Tolkien versus those in Dungeons & Dragons, but I’m no expert on their differences. Even with all my years of combat experience and using a variety of weapons, though I have a degree of mastery with some, I am far from an expert and ALWAYS learning new things.
To me, “write what you know” is an invitation to learn. I spent a lot of time researching the Alcubierre drive to create a plausible idea of faster-than-light travel for one sci-fi series of mine. But then, for another, I took into consideration what I learned of hyperspace from multiple sources (such as Star Wars, Stargate, Babylon 5, and The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy) and created my own variant.
You can “write what you know” when you learn something new, even just to apply it to your writing. To me, that’s more in the spirit of the idea. The literal interpretation can stifle, lessen, and even kill imagination.
There is never One True Way™
Pick a topic, any topic. Someone is likely to claim that they have the definitive, end-all-be-all, One True Way™. Only on the very rarest occasion will this prove to be true. More often than not, there is no One True Way™.
Write what you know is not meant to be taken at face value. Why? Because if any writer only wrote what they knew, we’d seldom learn a damned thing. Writers often create new things, and that means they don’t just write what they know; they come up with a new idea.
Shakespeare created wholly new words and phrases. Tolkien invented a language. There are countless examples of made-up swear words that nobody could have known until someone wrote them for the first time.
It all comes down to the fact that because there’s no One True Way™, no advice you receive is set in stone. For example, when I teach new people fencing, I make it clear that not only will others teach them things I don’t or can’t, but even I could teach differently than I do. One True Way™? That’s a lie someone makes up, more often than not, to sell you something,
Write what you know isn’t meant to be taken at face value, wholly literally. It’s meant to be an invitation to learn something new, possibly even create something utterly new. When you approach writing from this place, you open yourself to nearly endless potential and possibilities.
Thanks for reading. As I share my creative journey with you every week, please consider this: How are you inspired and empowered to be your own authentic creator, whatever form that takes?
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