What Do You Know?

Write What You Know - that is one of the more commonly proffered pieces of writing advice that would-be authors encounter.  What does it mean?  Is it the truly profound advice that some claim it to be?  Is it a trite aphorism tossed off to hold more difficult questions at bay?

What do you "know"?  What is that I "know" that I can write about?  For those aspiring writers who feel, as so many people do, that the story of their own life is too ordinary to be worth writing about or from, that advice can feel like a door slamming in their face.  Many people take it to mean that they should be writing about the experiences of their own life; they look at the amazing stories already on the bookshelves and think "I can't compare to that"

The chances of that thought being correct are actually miniscule - you have lived, and loved, and feared, and had moments of courage and ecstasy - the thread of your life is woven with the lives of you friends, family, colleagues, teachers, schoolmates, and neighbours, into the larger tapestry of life.  Think "Six Degrees of Separation"  - it is likely that you have had a unique view of events and places and people that others would like to hear about, but you have failed to realize it because it seemed somehow commonplace or ordinary to you.

You may not know what you "know" but there are ways to discover that "knowing" - an exercise that I found interesting might also work for you. 

While trying to recall the name of someone I had known in a rural valley in which I had lived for a couple of decades or so, I realised that there were other names I had forgotten.  It was distressing - that community had been a big part of my life for a long time, and though I left there eighteen years ago, I felt I should still be able to remember those people.

So I started writing down the names of those I did recall, expecting, perhaps, to fill a foolscap page, but each easily recalled name evoked memories of incidents and occasions, which called up the names of others who had been in that particular story but whose names had, until then, escaped me. 

Those names had their own stories and memories, and the list grew, spreading onto the next page, and another, and another.  Before long, a threadbare list had begun to grow into a rich tapestry of memory - and I realised that a couple of hours had flown by, and there was still more to write down. 

Events and people I had quite forgotten turned out to be patiently waiting for their moment to rise to the surface, and thus remind me of other events and people who had faded into the mists of time. Try it - you might find the results quite interesting, and find all sorts of stories worth writing.  Even if you feel the real facts do not contain the makings of a famous biography, they might easily be embroidered into an interesting piece of fiction.

Another way to broaden your understanding of your own "knowing" is to listen to podcasts like the ones from Richard Fidler, on the ABC.  He and Sarah Kanowski present, each week-day, an interview with someone whose life has been deemed by others to be "interesting".  Many of those interviewees do not see their own life as interesting - but they are.  Some are quite amazing, and many will contain commonalities and congruences with your own life and the lives of your family and others you know.  They will give you a better sense of where your thread fits into the tapestry of human life, and where it might yet go.

Another source of encouragement and knowing can be in reading the history of particular periods in which you, your parents, or grandparents, have lived.  Again it is possible to discover that you were on the fringe of great events, and saw things that could add to the larger story if you were to write about them.  I have been reading a book called Radical Sydney and it is quite an eye-opener. 

Covering many crucial moments in Australian history, and relating them to specific locations within Sydney, it brings back to the surface many stories that officialdom would sooner we forget.  Some of those stories were about moments that I had been on the fringe of, or, sometimes, involved in, and showed me aspects that had not been visible from my viewpoint.  The seventies and eighties in Sydney were often lively times, populated by some wild characters - good and bad - and what made it into the papers or onto the evening TV screens was never the whole story.

Perhaps you are far to young to have experienced those times - but it is likely that you know people (parents, grandparents, aunts or uncles) who did experience it.  Have a look at the list of people you have been making - what do you know about them?  What do they know, and might they still be waiting for someone to listen to their story, to write it down and offer it to the world?  Think about your own times - you have a role in what is happening now, a point of view worth hearing about, and even if you don't think so now, down the track there will be questions asked that you might already have answered.

Stand back and look at your own life - it will be more interesting than you realised, and will be inter-linked with many other interesting lives, events, and places.  All you need to do is stand back far enough to be able to get a proper look at it and you will discover that your "knowing" is far greater than you realised.  Take out your pen - once the ink starts to flow onto the page, the memories and ideas will follow.