Write What You Know

Thanks to a wonderful friend I’ve been refocused on and pondering this idea of writing what I know.  The person in question often asks me to tell a story and, of course, I am not shy about talking about myself and soon I’m swept up in the humor or the humility or the horror of the tale.  But for some reason I’ve always thought it cheap to write a story so closely related to real life.  But still…

Ernest Hemingway’s first novel is a seemingly autobiographical account of him and his group of friends living as ex-patriots in Paris and venturing into Spain for the bullfights.  Throughout his career, however, he would get into a fair deal of trouble for so frequently dipping his quill in that ink.  Reading a biography enforced what I already knew, that his friends weren’t particularly keen, for the most part, about their literary portrayals.  Perhaps he was painting too accurate a picture of them or not flattering them enough or just so completely off about their intricacies that they became incensed but it was enough of a ruckus to cause delays in publications and potential litigious showdowns.

A Farewell to Arms as well was essentially his experience driving an ambulance in Italy during World War I and getting injured and falling in love with a nurse in an Italian hospital.  In real life the nurse left him.  In the book (sorry to ruin it but still read it) she dies during childbirth, a small and petulant ‘fuck you’ to her.

Eric Blair, better known as George Orwell, wrote one of my favorite books of all time, which just happens to be very closely related to his time as a dishwasher in Paris in the earlier parts of the 20th century, Down and Out in Paris and London.  For Down and Out he would tour around the poverty stricken parts of London and record his thoughts and in Paris he actually embraced the role of his character by taking menial jobs, like his dishwashing gig, to gain experience to write about.

Some authors aren’t so blatant as Hemingway or, say, David Sedaris but it’s a tool often used and it seems odd to me that I hold some undeniable prejudice against flexing that muscle myself.  The whole point of this article is this: Fuck that.  I’ve decided that the stories I truly care about are about the people I truly care about and to completely disallow them to have any influence of my writing may have been a touch on the extreme side.

So… I am going to give it a shot and see what comes out.  Who knows?  Countless authors have just needed to get that first book out there before really starting to experiment.  (*cough*, Norman Mailer)  Who’s to say that I am any different?