BY KIRSTY MACDOUGALL
‘Write what you know, Kirsty.’
This advice stayed with me for well over a decade. At 17, I wrote an essay about an alcoholic. As you can imagine, my English teacher was less than impressed. In her defence, she was probably right in that context. But is it great advice in every context? I think not.
Don’t get me wrong,
writing from first-hand experience can be very effective. It can lend credibility, authenticity and accuracy to your writing. But it can also be incredibly limiting. Not everything you know sparks passion. Sometimes, you get excited about things you haven’t experienced or don’t have expert knowledge on. Sometimes, this zest for newness is exactly what your writing is missing – mine included.
In its simplest form, writing is
the act of creating. Writing what you know is a process of re-creating, which is quite different. For example, if I were to write just what I knew about the French Revolution, my historical retelling would probably not be something most people would find interesting or memorable. They could also find more factually correct and in-depth information elsewhere. So, what’s the point, then?
As onerous as it was,
I followed my English teacher’s doom-and-gloom advice for a long time. The whole of my twenties, in fact. But, as a person growing older naturally does, I became wiser – and more sceptical. I started reflecting on the substance of my work and what was shaping it.
This introspection had me thinking,
if I wrote a blog about the French Revolution, what value could I add to my rehashing of events? What would separate my content from a riveting grade nine history essay? Why would someone read my 1,500-word post instead of a neat bullet-point summary churned out by ChatGPT?
The good news is,
these aren’t philosophical questions I don’t have answers to. My response to all of the above is: Don’t write what you know. At least, don’t only write what you know. Rather, I propose you do one or all of the following:
1. Write what you feel.
Dig down, unearth and describe your honest emotional response to the subject matter at hand. In other words, write how you feel about what you know. While not objectively true, this approach yields an emotional truth that can be more powerful than the former.
2. Write what isn’t.
Write about things that aren’t true. There’s no need to limit yourself to what’s real or possible. Take your existing knowledge, put it through the blender of creativity and take your readers on a journey they haven’t travelled before.
3. Write what could be.
Ask critical questions and contemplate new possibilities. Based on the information you have, speculate on what could have or should have been, or discuss what the future might hold. We can use our knowledge of the world and its shortcomings to dream up new realities and solutions. After all, ‘You cannot find a solution to a problem until you imagine that solution first.’ Wise words from sci-fi writer Nnedi Okorafor.
Having said all this,
don’t discard what you know. Let your lived experience and inside knowledge shine through your work. But, at the same time, don’t fear writing about the unfamiliar or unknown. Whether drafting a novel about an alcoholic or blogging about the French Revolution, let your lack of knowledge and experience be your guide. Follow them to places of new discoveries, emotional poignancy, rich possibilities and imagination-driven solutions. Create your own personal brand of knowledge and share it with your readers. Now that makes for some good reading.
About the Author
After retiring from the English teaching profession at 30, Kirsty MacDougall found her vocation in full-time writing and editing. She enjoys dabbling in creative non-fiction, flash fiction and poetry as a creative balance to her nine-to-five demands. Kirsty’s writing frequently follows a stream-of-consciousness process, the outcome serving as her mirror to understand the world – and herself. She lives at the beck and call of her cat in Johannesburg, South Africa.
