Writing advice is like underwear--certain styles work for certain people, but it's really there for support.
Man. I feel like that should be a meme, like with flowers or something. Y'know, an inspirational Instagram photo. Hold on a sec.
Just like you probably shouldn't try on every type of underwear simultaneously, not all writing advice is useful at the same time. And some doesn't work at all for the individual.
One piece of writing advice that always requires a little bit of tailoring would be the "Write what you know" advice. Taken too literally, it makes it seem as though the only thing people should write is a journal--after all, what one knows is what one has done. I think there's some value to that. Some people lead interesting lives. I'm not one of those people, so I prefer my fictional stories to be a little bit more than recitation of my minutia.
One thing that I believe about writing fiction is that the stories are wrapped up in the characters who are a part of it, and that character fits better in one skin over another. For example, I'm working on a "horror" novel (I don't read a lot of the genre, but that's never stopped me from going in and trying to figure it out) in which one of the characters I was writing ended up a redhead on the page. The thing is, she isn't a redhead. Just...nope. I can't seem to get my imagination to fit in with her being one, so she's now a blonde--what she was supposed to be early on in the creative experience, but I ignored.
That's a superficial example, but it applies to other characters, too. I once thought of a character in a new story I was writing, but there was something wrong with him. Then I realized that it was because he was supposed to be a she. Not only that, but she needed to be a woman of color. Why? Well, it ended up being a way for me to empathize with a minority. That choice led to different narrative decisions that would have to be made with a Black woman as the protagonist, decisions that are informed by her past, gender, and race.
I don't think I write one gender better than any others, but I do know that I've trained myself to consider a minority and female as the new default. My feminism dictates this, but I find it refreshing. So much of the media that I consume is already white cis-het, so this behavior helps me to broaden my horizons, as it were. Additionally, I find that there's a beautiful texture and nuance that having someone from a different philosophy or life experience on the page makes my stories richer.
What about the axiom, though? Well, I can't confess to having experienced the difficulties--or joys--of being a person of color, to say nothing of being a Black woman, but I can, fortunately, read. That means I can see what WoC have to say about their experience and I can attempt to understand it through the stories I choose to write.
Does this mean that I'm talking from PoC and WoC voices, using my white privilege to capitalize on a fad of diversity? First of all, that's a very pointed question with a lot of assumptions, but the basic answer to this is no, of course not, and yes, of course I am. I don't think diversity is a "fad" or anything but a deliberate choice to expand the exposure of other human beings. Incorporating other ideas, lifestyles, and histories generates a fabric and richness of human experience, and the concept of acknowledging other people--even of different races, backgrounds, and orientations--as somehow being a fad is insulting.
So, no I'm not capitalizing on a fad because it isn't one. And, setting aside that, as an unpublished author, I'm not capitalizing on anything, I think that I absolutely am in a privileged position. I'm not writing about the Black experience; I'm writing about my White experience thinking about the Black experience. This is probably why I put so much effort into fantasy and science fiction in which the characters don't look like me: There, everyone's experience is filtered in a different way than our own experiences here.
But, yes, there's definitely a danger of coming across as trying to be multicultural or progressive and, by virtue of the fact that I as a white, cis-het male have a systemic bonus for anything I try to do, I am, in a very real way, encroaching on space that works better for the voices out there that are speaking about experiences that I can't even imagine.
I've thought about this a lot, actually, because there's a worry there. At this point, it's academic: I'm not published and, so far as I can see, there aren't any really significant chances of that changing anytime soon.
But I rely on this simple fact: No matter who it is, there is no one on the planet who knows my characters the way I do. No one. They can't, because they've spent way more time in my head than in anyone else's. So when I write about them, I'm following that advice: I'm writing what I know.
Man. I feel like that should be a meme, like with flowers or something. Y'know, an inspirational Instagram photo. Hold on a sec.
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| Yeah, that's more like it. Source. |
Just like you probably shouldn't try on every type of underwear simultaneously, not all writing advice is useful at the same time. And some doesn't work at all for the individual.
One piece of writing advice that always requires a little bit of tailoring would be the "Write what you know" advice. Taken too literally, it makes it seem as though the only thing people should write is a journal--after all, what one knows is what one has done. I think there's some value to that. Some people lead interesting lives. I'm not one of those people, so I prefer my fictional stories to be a little bit more than recitation of my minutia.
One thing that I believe about writing fiction is that the stories are wrapped up in the characters who are a part of it, and that character fits better in one skin over another. For example, I'm working on a "horror" novel (I don't read a lot of the genre, but that's never stopped me from going in and trying to figure it out) in which one of the characters I was writing ended up a redhead on the page. The thing is, she isn't a redhead. Just...nope. I can't seem to get my imagination to fit in with her being one, so she's now a blonde--what she was supposed to be early on in the creative experience, but I ignored.
That's a superficial example, but it applies to other characters, too. I once thought of a character in a new story I was writing, but there was something wrong with him. Then I realized that it was because he was supposed to be a she. Not only that, but she needed to be a woman of color. Why? Well, it ended up being a way for me to empathize with a minority. That choice led to different narrative decisions that would have to be made with a Black woman as the protagonist, decisions that are informed by her past, gender, and race.
I don't think I write one gender better than any others, but I do know that I've trained myself to consider a minority and female as the new default. My feminism dictates this, but I find it refreshing. So much of the media that I consume is already white cis-het, so this behavior helps me to broaden my horizons, as it were. Additionally, I find that there's a beautiful texture and nuance that having someone from a different philosophy or life experience on the page makes my stories richer.
What about the axiom, though? Well, I can't confess to having experienced the difficulties--or joys--of being a person of color, to say nothing of being a Black woman, but I can, fortunately, read. That means I can see what WoC have to say about their experience and I can attempt to understand it through the stories I choose to write.
Does this mean that I'm talking from PoC and WoC voices, using my white privilege to capitalize on a fad of diversity? First of all, that's a very pointed question with a lot of assumptions, but the basic answer to this is no, of course not, and yes, of course I am. I don't think diversity is a "fad" or anything but a deliberate choice to expand the exposure of other human beings. Incorporating other ideas, lifestyles, and histories generates a fabric and richness of human experience, and the concept of acknowledging other people--even of different races, backgrounds, and orientations--as somehow being a fad is insulting.
So, no I'm not capitalizing on a fad because it isn't one. And, setting aside that, as an unpublished author, I'm not capitalizing on anything, I think that I absolutely am in a privileged position. I'm not writing about the Black experience; I'm writing about my White experience thinking about the Black experience. This is probably why I put so much effort into fantasy and science fiction in which the characters don't look like me: There, everyone's experience is filtered in a different way than our own experiences here.
But, yes, there's definitely a danger of coming across as trying to be multicultural or progressive and, by virtue of the fact that I as a white, cis-het male have a systemic bonus for anything I try to do, I am, in a very real way, encroaching on space that works better for the voices out there that are speaking about experiences that I can't even imagine.
I've thought about this a lot, actually, because there's a worry there. At this point, it's academic: I'm not published and, so far as I can see, there aren't any really significant chances of that changing anytime soon.
But I rely on this simple fact: No matter who it is, there is no one on the planet who knows my characters the way I do. No one. They can't, because they've spent way more time in my head than in anyone else's. So when I write about them, I'm following that advice: I'm writing what I know.