Long before I started writing and editing fiction manuscripts, I sat in many writing classes, starting in the late 1980s and continuing to today. I’m always learning. And in most classes, two phrases have stood the test of time:

1) “Show, don’t tell,” and,
2) “Write what you know.”

Sage advice? I agree with the first one, but I think the second is hogwash.

According to my online dictionary, Sage is defined as:

noun - Somebody who is regarded as knowledgeable, wise, and experienced, especially someone of advanced years revered for his/her wisdom and good judgment

adjective - having or showing great wisdom, especially that gained from long experience of life

I’ve loved books as far back as I can remember. Fond memories of my grandfather include the stories he read about magical castles and brave knights defending their fair ladies in days of olde. I never tired of the stories, so I was eager to learn to read, and I grew up with piles of books in my home.

When my husband and I owned a bookstore in the 1980s in Denver, I met several authors, and, since I’d previously been a proofreader in the aerospace industry, several asked me to proof their manuscripts. Some were well-written while others were obviously penned by beginners. But that turned out to be a wonderful, enlightening experience, because I’d always thought writing with hopes of publication was something I dared not try. WRITERS were those who had been born to literary families with Nobel Prize winners and who’d been educated in top universities. I, as a normal housewife and mother who’d never finished college, thought I could never attain that magical status.

Oh sure, writing had been a dream for years and, armed with the latest how-to book, I’d even begun a chapter or two of my own creation. But to me it was only a dream, something that I could never achieve, so I didn’t try very hard...

...until the bookstore experience with other writers. That gave me exposure to normal, everyday people who also had a dream. But they had something I’d lacked - the belief that the dream was a possibility.

That was a turning point in my life.

After that, I began a series of writing classes, locally and by correspondence, and I began writing a novel. As I gained knowledge and experience, I founded my editing company. And in all that time, during all those classes, the two phrases, “Show, don’t Tell,” and “Write what you Know,” were uttered with the utmost sincerity by instructors. Wannabe writers repeated the phrases as mantras, and I did as well – for a time.

“Show, don’t Tell” is a perfect phrase, a technique writers must master in order for the material come alive in the readers’ minds. It’s also one of the most difficult to learn, but it can be learned.

But “Write What You Know?” I’d swallowed that line just as surely as a sunfish swallows a worm on a hook. It would work if I, as a homemaker, wanted to write about taking care of a house, cooking, laundry, and washing windows. I could even throw in some pearls of wisdom about child rearing, and that book would be as interesting as watching grass grow. Even a book about starting a business would have more interest, but I wanted to write fiction. I wanted to write stories that other people would find interesting. I wanted to be a WRITER, but since I believed I could only write what I knew, I felt doomed. Everything in my experience was humdrum: raising a child, taking care of the house, even opening a business. While some may find some of my experiences mildly interesting, most would not. I didn’t know anything about an exciting life, so how could I write fascinating novels that other people would be willing to buy and read?

But I’d read and proofed manuscripts written by writers who frequented my bookstore and knew they were homemakers and mothers as well. They weren’t sailing off for The Bahamas with a stud on each arm or closing in with drawn guns on the latest serial killer.
 
I checked my bookshelves at home and found novels of many different genres, some written by the masters, but more written by ordinary people who’d developed skills as writers. Yes, Robin Cook was a doctor, but did those stories of medical murder actually happen? Of course not. Did Stephen King actually stay at the Stanley Hotel and go nuts and threaten his wife? I’d hope not. I’d been a fan of Don Pendleton’s series, The Executioner, and I doubt Mr. Pendleton actually invaded the mob’s lair and gunned them all down, or that Peter Benchley actually battled a giant shark to the death.

Did they write what they knew? It’s possible they may have started with an idea based on something they knew, but their stories evolved from something else - their imaginations - and their passion for adventure, for entertaining others.

Now that I could do.

Beyond the Quiet, my new novel just released, is about a grieving widow who discovers her happy marriage was a sham. I wasn’t a widow, so I couldn’t write from actual experience, but I did lose my husband of thirty years to divorce, so I knew all the emotions: loss, shock, grief, betrayal, and rage. Some of my character’s other experiences, such as meeting a man who made her toes curl, hasn’t actually happened yet, but I have an active imagination. I’d love to meet a Terry O’Neal in my own life.

So in all fairness, I think the phrase, “Write What You Know,” may not be all hogwash. As writers, we should take our own life experiences, discard the mundane, remember the emotions we felt in our lives, even the not-so-nice ones - especially the not-so-nice ones as they’re the juiciest - and use them for our stories. Then let our imaginations soar. Be the adventurer who discovers Atlantis or the long-long tomb of a pharaoh from the Middle Kingdom era. Be the first female astronaut who lands on a distant planet in the forty-third galaxy. Or be a fortyish widow who falls in love and finally learns to live.