Experience
An Element of Fiction

Reading about what white-bearded scholars in ivory towers wrote about what other and earlier white-bearded scholars in other ivory towers wrote about even earlier white-bearded scholars… you get the drift.
Unless you are indeed majoring in the history of ivory-tower-bound white-bearded scholars, you might be in for a dull ride.
Reading a warrior’s account of war, however, or an organist’s account of Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D-Minor — that’s another story, and one that will most likely keep you awake.
The obvious difference is experience, and as a writer, this is a very hard and very valuable currency.
Flannery O’Connor, in her oracle mode, once observed, “I read some stories at one of the colleges not long ago — all by Southerners — but with the exception of one story, they might have all originated in some synthetic place that could have been anywhere or nowhere. These stories hadn’t been influenced by the outside world at all, only by television. It was a grim view of the future.”
Today, O’Connor’s prediction rings ten times as true.
Hemingway’s likely most famous advice to writers fits very nicely right here: “Write about what you know and write truly.”
Which brings to mind another great (anonymous) advice: “Always tell the truth, then you don’t have to keep track of your lies.”
If you have experienced what you write about, you know of what you write. This is reflected (shines through, even) in your prose: readers sense this and believe they can trust you. And a reader’s trust is something every writer should aspire for. It is gold.
Hemingway elaborates on his pithy advice above: “Good writing is true writing. If a man is making a story up it will be true in proportion to the amount of knowledge of life that he has and how conscientious he is; so that when he makes something up it is as it would truly be.”
John Fowles, one to not mince words, suggests, “I sincerely believe the best thing for a young writer to do is to get the hell off the campus and go and work it out on his own.”
William Sloan, both author and publisher, offers this experience-grown advice: “The first requirement of a writer is that he knows something. The second requirement is not remarkably different. The wise writer writes about what he knows and never about what he knows nothing.”
S.I. Hayakawa, linguist and senator, has given experience a lot of thought. Here is one of them: “The differences between actual and symbolic experiences are great — one is not scarred by watching a moving-picture [or a television] battle, nor is one nourished by watching people in a play [or on YouTube] having dinner. Furthermore, actual experiences come to us in highly disorganized fashion: meals, arguments with the landlady, visits to the doctor about one’s fallen arches, and so on…. The novelist, however, abstracts only the events relevant to his story and then organizes them into a meaningful sequence.” [my comments]
Let’s round this out with a beautiful observation by Salman Rushdie: “No other Western writer has ever known India as Kipling knew it, and it is this knowledge of place, and procedure, and detail that gives his stories their undeniable authority.”
In other words, go climb a mountain, go sail a sea.
© Wolfstuff
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