Growing up in the Caribbean, I spent plenty of time at the beach. At least once a week, we’d unwind on one of St. Thomas’s many bays, ready for a day of sand and sun. Although I loved spending time in the water, I was never as adventurous as my cousins and friends who swam way out past the safety buoys marking uncharted waters. Rather than swim around peninsulas or snorkel far out where aquamarine shallows turned into sapphire depths, I preferred to stay in my safe harbors, where I could see everything swimming around my toes. I liked the predictability of a bay I knew and understood.
The advice to write what you know felt a lot like that to me at first. We’ve all read books set in places the author had clearly never visited (or even researched), or featured characters that felt more like caricatures, or included enough bungled details to make a knowledgeable reader want to pitch the book across the room! It seems like a wise recommendation to make sure one’s work feels authentic and believable by sticking to what’s safe. At first glance, I appear to be the poster child for this piece of writerly advice. After years of trying to write the kind of book I saw making headlines—stories about big cities and women with lifestyles (and wardrobes!) wildly different than my own, I finally found success when I embraced writing about my Virgin Islands culture and upbringing. My short stories and debut novel-in-stories all lean heavily on that link to the place I write fluently, like a comfortable language. My safe little bay was working for me beautifully. Why wouldn’t I want to stay in a space I knew intimately and navigated with ease? Well…
… if we’re sticking with the metaphor, I guess, I got caught in an undertow and pulled out to sea when I found myself interested in calls for short stories, invited to submit to anthologies, or dragged by my characters to places that were very much unlike the topics and characters I understood. How could I explore these interesting new horizons while still writing stories that felt authentic? This was when I realized that write what you know didn’t have to be a command to stay in one’s lane. Instead, it could be an invitation to learn more so I could know more…and therefore, write more.
So how exactly does a writer who likes the familiar feel of safety learn to stray from her comfortable harbors? Here are some ways that I did.
I hit the library.
Internet research is convenient, but it can often yield results that are just plain wrong…and while short articles are helpful, sometimes a whole book about an unfamiliar subject offers perspectives and details that an author might not have even considered. How did I submit a story to an anthology about poker when my own poker skills were miserable at best? I started by reading several books about the game before I started writing…and I found them all at the library. Librarians have helped me to find books with diverse child narrators, about diving equipment, and about different weather patterns of the south. With a deeper knowledge of the subject, I felt empowered to write stronger stories.
I asked the hive.
We’re part of a vast community of writers, each of whom has their own wealth of knowledge. When I wanted to know more about tarot readings, cigars, and the organization of the National Guard, I skipped Google and went straight to my message boards. I’m a member of many different groups (the Short Mystery Fiction Society, Crime Writers of Color, the SinC Guppies, etc.), which meant that the writers I could ask were varied and diverse. They didn’t disappoint. I got detailed answers from other crime writers who were eager to share their expertise on these subjects, which helped me to make my story details realistic and believable to those in the know.
Reaching out to individual writers with a specific area of expertise yields helpful results as well. When writing a story set in Dallas-Fort Worth, I asked writers from the area about targeted details like the names of wealthy neighborhoods, iconic fast food places, and fastest routes between certain places. The details may be small ones, but knowing I was “getting them right” helped me feel more confident as a storyteller.
(Of course, be ready to share your own expertise generously if you’re ever in the position to do so!)
I talked to experts.
Two years ago, I needed details on a subject that couldn’t be answered quickly by my immediate network of writers—the architectural history of downtown Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas. My grandmother’s collection included a few books on the subject, but I’d never written fiction with historical details before, and I was struggling with the sheer amount of research I needed to do. Talking with an expert—in this case, my cousin Sean, who is the director of the Virgin Islands State Office of Historic Preservation—for the morning was exactly what I needed. Sean was able to direct me to resources as far back as Danish colonial records. He also took me on a quick architectural tour and clarified a ton of my very specific questions. I was able to use the historical details in a variety of stories, not just the one I’d come to talk about. Suddenly, a style of writing that previously felt inaccessible now felt like something I could manage.
I jumped right in!
Of course, reading widely and speaking to writers can do wonders for increasing what you know. Sometimes, though, experience is the best teacher—and this is exactly what happened to me a couple of years ago, when my characters took a detour from the story I’d planned and decided to interview a suspect at a shooting range.
One of the first pieces of advice I received about writing mysteries was to get the guns right, and since I knew next to nothing about guns, I decided I’d simply never write about them. That decision worked out wonderfully until I found myself writing a scene about my sleuth and her best friend heading off for a shooting lesson with one of the main suspects. I knew how important it was to get the details in this scene correct, so I skipped the books, the hive, and the experts and took a lesson at a local range for the afternoon.
Away from my comfortable harbor? You bet. More like being out in the middle of the open ocean! As a teacher and mom, I’ve always had conflicted feelings about guns, and wasn’t sure what to expect at the range. It turned out to be a great afternoon of focused education and respectful support, and I learned plenty that I was able to use in my writing even beyond the scenes I’d been planning.
Jumping right in has helped me to learn how to make mango ice cream and saltfish fritters, play Texas Hold ‘Em poker, shoot several types of guns, and learn about many new genres of music. It infuses my work with a level of authenticity that only experience can bring.
This doesn’t mean that I’ve left behind the subjects I love best. Each of my stories still has some link to St. Thomas and the characters and settings I understand intimately. But by adding to what I know so that I could write about it, I’ve been able to explore new depths and other harbors while keeping my comfortable bay in mind.
I am planning a story that takes place on a cruise ship, though—and I’m already thinking about the rich research I should be doing to make the story as realistic as possible. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself as I browse itineraries and eye my suitcase closet.
What about you, fellow writers? What was the most interesting subject you’ve learned about for a novel or short story, and how did you go about your research?
