It's time for yet another essay on the art and craft of writing, since there's nothing else going on around here. To recap our premise, this is number seven in a series of fifty essays based around my fifty thoughts on writing. The topics range from the deeply silly to the fairly serious, and that's probably why I keep doing them. That, and I don't like to leave things unfinished. As always, bribes are happily accepted, and since we're approaching Halloween -- the most wonderful time of the year -- suitable bribes are easily found. But enough about that. Here's a look at today's topic:

Thoughts on Writing #7: Write What You...Hell, No.

One of the first things most of us learn in classes on writing -- even high school-level English classes -- is 'write what you know.' We hear it from teachers, we hear it from other writers, we hear it from people who just want to help. 'Write what you know.' Well, here's my thought on the topic:

The phrase 'write what you know' is innately flawed. I don't know what it's like to be a changeling detective working the mean streets of San Francisco, or a hard-boiled journalist with a crazy twin brother, or a teenage lycanthrope with a serial killer problem. Write what you're willing to know. Everything will begin with a kernel of pre-existing knowledge -- I know folklore (Toby), zombies and blogging (Georgia), and coyotes and high school (Clady) -- and expand into a fabulous orgy of learning. Toby taught me San Francisco history and lots of ways to kill people. Georgia taught me virology and plagues. Clady taught me about snack foods. If you're not willing to write anything but what you already know, you're going to be restricted to autobiography, non-fiction, and writing the same plot ten thousand times. And that's just not fun.

I think it's pretty clear that I don't actually believe in 'write what you know.' So what does that mean? This time we're talking about writing what you know, writing what you're willing to know, and writing what you learn.

Let's begin.

( My thoughts are not your thoughts; my process is not your process; my ideas are not your ideas; my method is not your method. All these things are totally right for me, and may be just as totally wrong for you. So please don't stress if the things I'm saying don't apply to you -- I promise, there is no One True Way. This way for my thoughts on writing what you know -- when it's appropriate, and when it really isn't.Collapse )

I am enormously lucky in that there is a fabulous genre-oriented bookstore, The Other Change of Hobbit, within a reasonable distance of my home. (I'm also enormously unlucky in this regard, because I enjoy being able to pay my mortgage, but that's another story.) As it's basically a straight shot from OCoH to Kate's place, I tend to stop in once or twice a week to pet the cats and chat with the staff. Last time I was in the store, I noticed that they had a copy of Threshold, by David Palmer, on the used shelf.

Now, I've never read Threshold, and I've never particularly wanted to -- no judgment intended or implied, the concept just doesn't grab me and I have too much to read already -- but my housemate was looking for a new copy. So I asked him if he wanted me to snag it for him the next time I was in the store. He answered in the affirmative, and I stopped in on my way to Kate's.

Dave was at the desk. Dave tends to have an encyclopedic knowledge of what's in the store at any given time. Dave is scary like that. So I stopped, on a whim, to ask whether he thought there was a chance in hell of them having a copy of Emergence in the store. Emergence was David Palmer's first book. It's been out of print since it was first published in 1984, and used copies start on Amazon at almost fifty dollars (before shipping). Why?

Because it's damn good, that's why. I went to look at the book's Amazon page just now, and almost all the reviews are five stars. Not unusual, except that all the reviewers have so clearly read and loved the book. I think that the reviewer who says the science doesn't stand up is right...but this book was never about the science for me. This book was about being made of awesome. And it does a very, very good job of that.

Dave laughed at the foolishness of my question, but -- in a rare gesture of quantum helpfulness -- called down to the basement to see if they might have a copy.

They had a copy. Just one copy. Just one copy of that original 1984 printing.

I'd never even seen a copy of the original 1984 printing before.

I paid twenty-five dollars for a twenty-year-old paperback today, and I feel neither regret nor remorse at this action. Because now I have a copy of one of the most overlooked and under appreciated gems of speculative fiction, a book that makes me happy in every possible way, and I am consumed with joy. If you have the chance to read Emergence, you totally should.

What book fills this role in your personal ecosystem of the fabulous?