And why I think that advise is bullshit.
If we could only write what we have personally experienced, we wouldn't have fantasy or sci-fi as genres. Because (as far as you know) those things don't exist in our world. I've never fallen in love, but I recently wrote a sci-fi romcom script. While it needs some polishing, I did it without having experienced that young romcom love before. Same for the first script I wrote, a pilot episode about a psychic detective. I've never had visions (at least not yet) and I've never been to a homicide crime scene (not yet, though working as a detective does sound interesting, if you remove the corruption within Five-0). While these are things I haven't personally experienced, I've watched a fair amount of crime drama and romcoms. I understand the format to some degree, and I can write based on what I know. If I was limited to just things I've experienced I'd be stuck writing non-fiction, and I've written plenty of non-fiction for classes, mainly the same 2-3 stories of an abusive step-father I wanted to murder but couldn't figure out how to get away with it, and the time at twelve, or thirteen years of age and wanting to die. (I'm okay now, these events were some time ago, and I've processed that pain. Hence why I can write about those events without batting an eye. They helped inspire a number of short stories, fiction and non-fiction and some poems). In fact, I believe I have a poem or two about this very topic laying around somewhere. Excuse me while I look for it.
I’m Not a Big Fan of Nonfiction Writing Classes
Life is fairly dull day after day
Class after class, sit in silence
Only speak when spoken to
I struggle in non-fiction
Write about yourself, and personal histories
to discuss with strangers
There’s not much to tell
the only interesting stories
about me are the time
I wanted to kill myself at twelve years of age
How I stood in the kitchen and wondered
just how painful a knife in the throat would be
By fifteen, I wanted to kill my shitty step-father
I plotted a variety of ways but I never
could find a way to get away with it
couldn’t cut his brake lines
he barely went anywhere alone
Couldn’t poison him easily
the State adds a bitter taste to anti-freeze
couldn’t grab a knife, and swiftly fillet him
sadly biology class doesn’t teach proper kill-craft
I had no choice but to let the bastard live
I’ve written, and re-written these tales
I’ve heard the praising professors
“How impactful” like a hammer to the head
“This digs deep” six-feet deep
They sometimes earn me a concerned email
But for me, they’re just old stories
of a Hell I once lived
I’d rather write new stories of
whimsy and the pain of others
I have worlds within me
Let me write about magic
Let me craft characters from the aether
with lives more interesting than my own
My own trauma is boring to me
Add comment
Comments