Writing What You DON’T Know

This past Friday, I stepped into a crowded, raucous room the size of a large dance studio at the Loft Literary Center. People clamored for seats and volunteers pulled chairs out of a closet as quickly as rumps could fill them. In a synchronized hush, the crowd turned its attention toward the front of the room and lent its full attention to the woman at the podium who introduced the night’s main event: Charles Baxter.

Charles Baxter is the author of 12 books, a faculty member at the U of MN’s Creative Writing MFA program, a National Book Award finalist, and, recently, the editor of the Art Of Series. This series explores the nature and craft of writing and includes such books as The Art of Syntax and The Art of Time in Fiction. Mr. Baxter’s contribution was The Art of Subtext and he paired this topic with a discussion of “The art and importance of writing what you don’t know.”

Writing what you don’t know? Sounds like a terrible idea, doesn’t it? Maybe so, but Baxter makes a case for it.

He argues that after a certain point–after a writer has been taught all the mechanics and basics of crafting a story–they reach a level that cannot be articulated or taught. They must simply dive in and define their writing for themselves. Baxter admits that he had several false starts when he reached this point and it took him a long time (and four unpublished novels) to find his voice. And then it’s smooth sailing after that, right?

…Right?

Not so, according to Baxter. He asserts that even (or maybe especially) the most accomplished writers and poets struggle with their next story or the first words on the next page. Even literary greats (Baxter used T.S. Eliot as an example) question their abilities and worth. “After learning the basics,” Baxter says, “there is not much that can be taught. You are free and you become an amateur. And that’s scary.”

So, how do we master this fear of the unknown? How on earth do we forge ahead with writing when we are shackled by our fears?

“It takes a great deal of bravery and courage to be a writer,” Baxter says. You have to go about it like Don Quixote and Sancho. Your Quixote side is your visionary side. It is unabashedly creative; it doesn’t care what others think or if your works will glide by deaf ears. This side is necessary, but it needs to be balanced by Sancho, the shrewd, realistic, and practical side that will help you organize your writing and (hopefully!) pay the bills.

Baxter also warns us against over-critiquing or over-analyzing our work in the early stages. “You don’t want to be Phil the Reviewer,” he jokes, referring to a college friend who used to rate everything from his lunch to his feelings on a grading scales (i.e. “I’m feeling very C- today.). Instead, embrace some mystery in your writing. Let it go where it needs to go (and realize that you don’t always have utter control of its direction).

Lastly, be confident. In the words of William Maxwell, “You know so much that you don’t know you know.” You’re carrying a wealth of knowledge and experience–loosen the reins and let it guide you a little. It’s okay to dance, even if you don’t know all the steps.

Author: KateBitters

Kate Bitters is a Minneapolis-based author and freelance writer. She is the author of Elmer Left, Ten Thousand Lines, and He Found Me. One of her proudest/nerdiest moments was when Neil Gaiman read one of her short stories on stage at the Fitzgerald Theater.