Should You Write What You Know or Aim to Experiment?

Savannah Cordova suggests ditching writing what you know for the new and improved version: Know what you write.

Show-don’t-tell! Kill your darlings! Don’t use adverbs! Sound familiar? Most writers will probably recognize the long list of industry sayings that seemingly crop up in every single writing space. And the one that’s arguably the most famous is: “Write what you know.”

Of course, it’s easy to roll your eyes at this old adage, even to view it as a creativity-killing limitation. But is there some truth to it?

I’ll dive into what it really means to “write what you know” and compare it to its alternative (i.e., “write what you don’t know.”) Let’s start from the top!

The Case for Writing What You Know

Despite its fame in writing circles, the phrase “write what you know” is often used incorrectly. Some writers can take it too literally, limiting themselves to stories drawn solely from their personal experiences. But in reality, “knowing” covers far more than just your personal life. It can also incorporate…

• Emotional experience: Ever felt the pain of heartbreak or the joy of a great achievement? Every emotion is a little nugget of truth — so take inspiration from your own to make any character more authentic.
• Observations: Extend your gaze to the people around you. Your best friend’s tragic love life. Your dad’s borderline-illegal stories from the 80s. Your grandma’s tales of the pre-television era. Every single one of these falls under what you “know”!
• Professional knowledge: Have you ever worked in a grimy nightclub or a gossipy office? Taking inspiration from real-life professional events or accomplishments is a brilliant way to add grit to your writing.

So how exactly does “writing what you know” work — and why do some authors tout it so much? Well, it’s simple: writing about familiar topics increases your authority and overall confidence as a writer. In practice, this means you’ll spend less time second-guessing the facts, and more time perfecting important craft elements like tone of voice or character arcs.

Additionally, tapping into personal emotional experiences can yield deeper, more compelling characterizations. Readers will recognize immediately when a character’s emotions feel genuine vs. when they ring false.

Needless to say, the advantages are strong — but sadly, writing about what’s familiar isn’t always sunshine and roses. I’ll talk about this in the next section.

The Case for Experimentation

Despite these advantages, some writers believe that sticking to what you know can lead to dull storytelling. On the matter, Kazuo Ishiguro wrote:

‘Write about what you know’ is the most stupid thing I’ve heard. It encourages people to write a dull autobiography. It’s the reverse of firing the imagination and potential of writers.

Whilst this view does read kind of harsh, it highlights some relevant concerns:

• Creative constraints: Many writers stick to using their own stories out of fear of failure — but in doing so, they keep their imagination trapped behind a wall, preventing their writing from reaching exciting new territories.
• Using writing as therapy: Whilst writing can be cathartic for some, it shouldn’t be used as an opportunity to trauma-dump. Stories can touch on niche feelings or events, but the most important factor is making sure that a wider audience can connect to them. Broadening your horizons means you’re less likely to get tunnel vision about your own (possibly painful) experiences and alienate readers.
• Excessive exposition: Do you know a lot about astronomy? That’s great! But readers don’t really want to read five pages on the history of the Hubble Telescope every time your protagonist looks wistfully up at the stars. Avoid bogging down the narrative with unnecessary details that don’t serve the story.

And what’s the alternative to writing what you know? Just as you’d expect — and as Ishiguro touches on — it’s experimenting by writing what you might not know.

After all, Ursula K. Le Guin and J.R.R. Tolkien didn’t live in fantastical worlds of wise wizards and enchanted objects — but after reading their vividly imagined stories, you might think otherwise. Leaning into your imagination can unlock a much broader range of characters, more diverse and exotic settings, and more interesting conflicts. Elements like these produce brilliantly dynamic and varied narratives that readers absolutely love.

More than that, writing too much within your comfort zone may result in predictable patterns — and therefore bore your readers. Trialing new genres, perspectives, and ideas can help you challenge yourself, sharpen your skillset, and keep your work fresh and exciting.

That said, writing outside your experience also presents its own challenges. It’ll require additional research; you’re at risk of misrepresenting an experience or a character if you fail to execute your story right; and too much imaginative license might sometimes make the entire story feel unrealistic. Which leads us to…

The Verdict: A Necessary Balance

Both of these approaches obviously have their pros and cons, and I strongly believe that both can work — depending on your circumstances. The key is knowing when to use either of them. Here’s a handy guideline of best practices to follow if you ever find yourself unsure:

• Call on your experience when scenes require emotional depth: For example, when discussing deeply personal themes, or if you think your expertise will add authenticity to the story. Experience should be used as a foundation — from there, you can apply real emotions or events to characters or situations you’ve otherwise made up.
• Use your imagination, but not without credibility: The best fiction gets readers onboard with storylines that make the factually impossible seem feasible. Make sure that every far-fetched idea is somewhat tethered to an anchor of precedent or fact.
• Research well, but recognize its limitations: Research is vital for factual accuracy, but there’s no replacement for lived experience — research can undoubtedly fall short when it comes to achieving emotional authenticity.
• Seek out feedback to confirm accuracy: Above all, to avoid making false claims in your writing, seek feedback from sensitivity readers to verify whether your portrayal of outside perspectives is authentic.

Indeed, depending on your story, it’s important to recognize that sometimes you might not be the best person to tell it (this is partly what gave rise to #ownvoices). I do strongly believe that certain perspectives should be represented only by the marginalized individual themselves. Supporting #ownvoices authors and lifting them up will ultimately produce more authentic stories and bring awareness to the relevant communities — and isn’t that a win-win for us all?

I hope that by analyzing these approaches, you can see how writing what you know should be viewed less as a rule and more as a “tool.” And as with any tool, it’s important to know when to use it, and equally, when another tool is better for the job!

My advice? Ditch writing what you know, for the new and improved version: Know what you write. Going the extra mile to make your writing personal and well-researched will take it from good to genius in no time.

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Savannah Cordova is a writer with Reedsy, a marketplace that connects authors and publishers with the world’s best editors, designers, and marketers. In her spare time, Savannah enjoys reading contemporary fiction and writing short stories. You can read more of her work on Litreactor and the Reedsy blog.