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Guest Post: Alvina Lopez on Writing Fiction

Please welcome my guest blogger today, Alvina Lopez.

The Golden Rule of Writing Fiction

People much smarter than I amEvery writer has their own set of rules and philosophies that governs their writing style and work ethic. For some writers, consistency in their schedule is key: these are the disciplined writers that work every day based on a very specific schedule. Other writers thrive on spontaneity, writing their work whenever they’re seized by erratic bursts of creativity. Most writers work under some hybrid of these two extremes, tempering methodical practice with sudden energetic jolts of inspiration. I tend to approach fiction and professional content with the same hybrid approach. I have a firm schedule that keeps my writing on track, but I’m also prone to write outside of my schedule when the mood seizes me.

There’s only one “rule” that governs my writing when I work on fiction. It’s a deceptively simple rule: write what you know. It’s a mantra that I repeat whenever I get too deep in the woods of the unknown, a gentle reminder that writing from a point of familiarity isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It might seem obvious, but your strongest writing occurs when you draw from personal experiences and well-researched material.

When I talk about my golden rule of “writing what you know”, I don’t mean that your writing can only be limited to the mundane experiences of your day to day life. There can only be so much fiction about the quiet life and domestic dramas. Writing from a point of familiarity shouldn’t limit your ability; rather, it should provide you with a compass that will help you navigate the wilderness of your imagination. In other words, you can write about outlandish settings and atypical characters, as long as they’re fleshed out in dimensions that you can fully understand.

Let me be more specific. Say that you’re trying to write a fantasy story set in another universe in the distant future. You can (and should) pour all your imagination into describing vibrant alien landscapes, exotic creatures and novel personalities.  But unless these fantastical settings are rooted in some sort of relatable conflict—whose nuances you can fully describe—your story will fall flat. If your tale covers some intergalactic war, be sure that you’re well versed in combat and armed conflicts either on a personal or a scholastic level if you want any of your story to ring true. If your fantasy story features an epic romance, even one between a fictional species, you had best be equipped to talk about the complications of love.

Essentially, to “write what you know” means that you must apply universal truths as you know them or have experienced them to produce fiction that will resonate with the reader. The more familiarity you have with a subject, the sharper and more descriptive your writing will be when you write about it. True, there are some writers out there who don’t need any point of reference in order to write a masterpiece. But for the rest of us, and particularly for those writers just starting out, this golden rule helps navigate the perilous waters of fiction.

Editor’s note: How does “write what you know” fuel your fiction?

Alvina Lopez is a freelance writer and blog junkie. She welcomes your comments at her email Id: alvina.lopez @gmail.com.
* photo credit: mpclemens on flickr.com
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Three Lessons for the Traveling Writer

Even though we knew we couldn’t get into the onsite events at AWP, Victoria Flynn and I went to Chicago last weekend anyway. We had a hotel. We had ambition. And, my goodness, we had a great time.

Lesson One: Whenever you can, take the train.

There’s something romantic about boarding the train, about climbing the narrow, metal stairs, suitcase in tow. About following the pull to your left and turning into a cabin full of rows and promise. You take your seat, gaze out the window, and float along with a landscape enveloped by the season. On this day, by a heavy snowstorm; the city streams by in a soft, white glow.

Quiet. Like a dream.

The conductor asks for your ticket. He punches twice, smiles once, nods and moves on. You take a picture to mark the moment.

Lesson Two: Whenever you can, take a friend.

Certain bits and pieces of life are best experienced in the presence of someone who puts you at ease, as you move through new spaces. Someone who’s traveling that same journey with you, who shares in your excitement about the future, about the things you want to do and the stories you want to write. Someone who looks you straight in the eye after you’ve said there’s no way you could apply for that two-week writing residency. Ever. Life would never allow for such extravagance, you say. To which she says, Maybe not right now. Reminding you that now isn’t the same as never.

Lesson Three: Whenever you can, take risks.

Say Yes to a late-night dessert. Order the gelato drizzled in salt and olive oil and find yourself saying, “Oh, my. Who knew.” Stay up until two-thirty in the morning, even though you know what “tired and over forty” feels like.

Soak up the fancy of a hotel you might never have visited before, except by the random choice of an online reservation site. A hotel dressed in straight lines and sharp angles and silver and lights and – somewhere in your room – hidden disco balls. A hotel with mirrored tiles that fracture your image and make you believe for a second that you really are living out a dream.

Make a list of all the things you will do this year, ignoring the committee in your mind that presses you with “impossible” and “come on!” and “who do you think you are?”

Write about “gasp-able moments”, sage advice learned from a writer friend’s young son.

And on the ride home, when you realize the train will travel backwards the whole way, sink into your seat and take in the irony of it all, how you’re being pulled out of the dream and back into the day. As if to say, Grab hold: of the energy, of the inspiration, of the call to take risks. Why not, you think. Here we are, only once, There’s no guarantee you’ll succeed just by trying, but there’s promise to fail if you don’t.

 

 

 

 

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Lost and Found in Writing

LOST

It’s always on the weekend when the panic strikes. A few self-induced deadlines I set in the days before loom over my shoulder, half-done or not done at all. I start eying up the clock, wondering how I can stretch out the day so that I can write something. Anything.

It happened as such last Saturday, but it wasn’t until after 10pm when I finally sat down with an open document. For almost an hour, my fingers clipped across the keyboard. I wrote with one eye open so as not to force it, cranked out “garbage” and then “decent” and – “finally!” – the good stuff. I was going to call it at 11:00. Then, seconds before I saved my work, I blinked. Maybe I shifted my weight.

Whatever, my hand hit a rogue key and the document vanished. All those words, all the good stuff, disappeared somewhere in cyberspace.

When it’s that late at night and an hour’s worth of writing flitters off into the vapors, all you can do is laugh. “Okay,” I said, to my muse or to the ghost who roams our house late at night or to whomever might have been listening. “I get the hint.” Maybe the words read well, but the timing was wrong. Could be, that I was writing too much drama (I’ve been known to be quite dramatic in first drafts). Either way, the message was clear: got to bed, sleep on it.

FOUND

I won’t lie, I half hoped I’d wake up the next morning with full memory of the prose I lost. While that didn’t happen, I did uncover a gold mine of ideas later in the day.

Digging into research for a historical novel I aim to write, I zipped through microfilms of a newspaper dated in the late 19th century. This was my first foray into the research (and my first microfilm experience since, say, 1989), so I read through the sheets aimlessly, not sure of what I needed. A few things jumped out at me, though, and soon enough, I discovered more than just details about a particular time and place.

  • Personals: The personals in 1885 read a lot different than they do now, with news like Edward Gaynor, Esq. is down again with his old dyspepsia. There’s no fear of his passing — he’s too ugly to die. While entertaining, what’s even more great about the personals is that they’re full of names. Great names for characters that are in line with the times. My pencil went crazy making lists.
  • News Summary: This section reads much like an early form of gossip magazines, and hints at domestic life and odd characters. A woman named Hattie Thorton sets fire to a hotel, “so she might have the chance to use the firescape.” And, a doctor, accused of attempting to poison his wife, “skipped out. The evidence was too direct and conclusive.” How’s that for prompting ideas that could add spice to your story?
  • Weather: The microfilms I searched were full of simple charts about temperatures an wind gales and brief accounts of unusual meteorological events during that time. I could probably find information on climate in other resources, but, because weather will likely play an important role in the story I want to write, reading about those events from the perspective of the people who lived through them is even more exciting.

Writing is often a give and take, depending on your perspective. What I’m reminded of, again and again, is that all I have to do is show up. Bad days turn to good days soon enough.

What do you think? Tell me about your week of great finds.