Experience: Food for the Pen

I don’t remember when it was that I started to collect images, but it was probably some time in high school. I remember traveling with my parents, and noticing the way the light shone from the underside of white oak leaves. I thought, “If I can remember this, I could put it in a story.” And I did, in college, when I was working hard on a novel that still might get dusted off and re-worked someday. After that, I started actively noticing things around me, and wondering how I would describe them. I found out that if I really looked at something, and didn’t just shorthand what I was seeing into somethingI’veseenamilliontimesandIknowwhatitlookslike that what I saw would surprise me: I would see details I’d never imagined were there, colors that I didn’t expect, and I would notice things like the play of light, or movement that went contrary to my expectations. It was quite a revelation to me, and has improved the visual quality of my writing immensely.

I learned to collect experiences.

And not just visual ones. Once I started noticing, that noticing began to carry over to other areas of my life. I began to notice sounds, the voice tones of others, the little ways people betray thoughts, the nervous movement of someone’s hands when they don’t want to talk about something. Things like the sour twist of someone’s mouth as they recall things that disturb them or the tapping of a toe when they are impatient feed into the realization of a character in a way that exposition can’t touch. I also think that studying people has made it easier for me to understand them in a lot of ways as well, and that’s helped me both personally and in my work.

In other words, every experience of daily life, every event, every new piece of information, become part of an integrated whole that feeds into my writing and enriches it with textures of real, daily life. And when I’m trying to anchor fantasy firmly in reality, that’s something I need. Fantasy isn’t believable unless the world and the characters are grounded in the same reality as the reader. It’s a tricky balance, and one that needs to be carefully handled.

I’m not neglecting the part actual events play into my writing, either. Not all of my writing is simply description. It’s not just the static visual or even audio effects that make it into my writing. Probably every writer has an eye to cannibalizing events into storytelling, whether fiction or not. The tense encounter with an angry neighbor can become a stand-off between warring tribes, or the car accident where no one is injured can become the miraculous salvation of a small family in a wagon. Translation of experience into writing isn’t always that straightforward, either; it may be the sensation in your stomach when you see that accident that works its way into writing, rather than the accident itself. It may be the irritation and your own reaction to it that trickles into the work, rather than the annoying neighbors who can’t get along. The important part is the real, human interaction that creates a picture others can relate to.

Experience also counts into those things I learn. When I was in college, I knew that I had a good course if the cross-pollination with my writing sparked ideas. The courses needed to have nothing to do with my actual writing, but elements of one would creep into the other, and eventually I would incorporate something inspired by one into the other, regardless of actual connection. As a result, readings assigned in Middle Welsh and Old English would give me ideas for the fantasy novel I was working on, or the linguistics class I was taking made me think about how to create linguistically consistent names for my characters. And even when there weren’t specific elements that could transform from class to writing, the act of studying, of thinking, of making connections, kept my mind sharp and working, and would bear fruit in the form of ideas.

That interaction between mind and creativity is the bottom line of collecting experience. I count reading into this as well, because when I read a good book, I experience it, not precisely in the same way as my own personal experience, but in a way that is analogous, and which has the same effect on my writing. I was asked, “How did you become a writer?” and I found myself answering, “By reading.” It also helps in showing me different ways to use words, and how different authors create different effects. I have developed my own distinct style, and a lot of it has been studying what my favorite authors do. One of them, for instance, has a lush, lyrical style which makes me soar into the stratosphere; another creates beautiful imagery out of prosaic words, showing me what is hidden behind the ordinary. Both of them are brilliant authors, and they are very different.

I know one writer, and have heard of others, who refuse to read because they feel it will somehow “taint” their writing, and cause them not to have their own ideas. I think this is a mistake. Interacting with ideas is, in my view, the best way to elicit your own. No matter how little you read, you will still be dipping into the same well of human experience. It’s not how shockingly original your ideas are that will, in the end, captivate a reader; it’s the way in which you tell the story you have chosen to tell.

So collect experiences. Watch. Listen. Feel. Think. In the long run, what makes writing good is that firm connection with your readers. You’re showing them a piece of your heart and mind. Make sure that piece is something they can understand.