The Pitfalls of 'Write What You Know'
'Write what you know' is one of those pieces of writing advice that gets repeated so often it's become gospel. And like most gospel, it's more complicated than it appears, frequently misinterpreted, and—if taken at face value—actively harmful to developing writers.
Let me be clear: I understand the intent behind this advice. It's meant to encourage authenticity, to ground your writing in genuine emotion and experience. But the way it's commonly interpreted? That's where the problems start.
The Literal Interpretation Problem
When new writers hear 'write what you know,' they often take it literally. They think they can only write about their own direct experiences, their own identities, their own lives. And that's limiting in ways that go beyond just narrative scope.
I grew up on a farm in West Virginia with limited internet access. If I'd taken 'write what you know' literally, I'd only be writing rural Appalachian stories. Which, fine—those are valid and important stories to tell. But I'd never write about rock stars, record shop owners, pirates, princes, or any of the dozens of characters and worlds I've created over seventeen years of writing. I'd never write fanfiction about wizards or Jedi or hunters fighting monsters. I'd never step outside my own limited experience.
The literal interpretation of 'write what you know' confines us to autobiography. It suggests that a cis writer can't write trans characters, that someone who's never been to Japan can't set a story there, that you need to have personally experienced space travel to write science fiction. It's absurd when you actually think about it, but it's the message new writers internalize.
The Emotional Truth vs. Factual Experience
Here's what 'write what you know' should mean: write what you understand emotionally, even if you haven't experienced it literally. You don't need to have been a pirate to write about a character who feels trapped by their circumstances and yearns for freedom. You don't need to have been a rockstar to understand the tension between public persona and private self, or the way fame isolates you from authentic connection.
I write about a lot of experiences I haven't had. I write characters across different identities and backgrounds, and while some align with my own experiences, many don't. But I do understand what it feels like to have your identity dismissed or questioned. I write about class conflict, about characters who don't fit into the worlds they inhabit, about people trying to reconcile who they are with who they're expected to be. Those emotional truths are universal, even when the specific circumstances aren't.
This is where research comes in. You can learn the facts—how a record shop operates, what it's like to perform on stage, the mechanics of sailing a ship. But the emotional core? That comes from understanding human experience, which you already have access to through empathy, observation, and your own inner life.
The Identity Trap
'Write what you know' can also become an excuse for homogeneity. If everyone only wrote their own identities and experiences, we'd have far fewer diverse stories. We'd have fewer characters of color, fewer queer characters, fewer disabled characters—because the publishing industry has historically been dominated by straight, white, able-bodied voices.
Now, this doesn't mean marginalized writers should be expected to educate or represent their entire community. And it definitely doesn't mean writers should approach identities outside their own carelessly. But 'write what you know' shouldn't be used to discourage writers from including diversity in their work. It should encourage them to do the work—the research, the sensitivity reading, the listening to marginalized voices—to write those characters well.
I write primarily M/M and M/F romance with trans and POC protagonists because those are the stories I want to see in the world. Some of those identities align with my own, some don't. But I'm not going to let 'write what you know' limit my cast of characters to carbon copies of myself. That would make for boring fiction and contribute to the lack of representation that already exists.
The Imagination Problem
Here's the thing that 'write what you know' fundamentally misunderstands: imagination is a skill. The ability to envision experiences outside your own isn't some mystical gift—it's something you develop through practice, through reading widely, through empathy and observation.
If we only wrote what we literally knew, we'd have no fantasy, no science fiction, no historical fiction, no thrillers about serial killers (hopefully). We'd have no myths, no legends, no transformative works. We'd lose the entire purpose of storytelling, which is to explore the human experience in all its complexity—not just our own narrow slice of it.
Writing is an act of translation. You take what you understand emotionally and translate it into different circumstances, different identities, different worlds. You connect your character's experiences to emotions you already have access to—loss, joy, fear, longing, anger—and you let those emotional truths guide you even when the specifics are foreign.
Where This Advice Actually Fails
'Write what you know' fails when it:
Discourages new writers from taking creative risks
Reinforces the idea that fiction should be autobiographical
Limits representation by suggesting writers should only write characters identical to themselves
Treats imagination and research as less valid than lived experience
Ignores the fact that all writing is, to some degree, an act of transformation and empathy
It's not inherently bad advice, but it's been interpreted in ways that confine rather than liberate, that discourage rather than inspire.
Final Thoughts
Writing is transformation. It's empathy. It's the act of becoming something other than yourself, even if just for the duration of a story. It's about finding the emotional truth that connects all human experience, even when the circumstances differ wildly from your own.
So write what you know, sure. But also write what you don't know. Write what you're curious about. Write what you're afraid to write. Write what you dream about, what you wonder about, what you've never experienced but somehow understand anyway.
That's where the real work happens. That's where you grow as a writer.
Ευοι!
