How To Write What You Know

Have a question? Agree, disagree, with me?
Leave me your opinion.

You looked at the title, eyes rolled around
the room. "What?"

Settle on a topic that really cranks up
your creative side. It should have mass
appeal.

"Yeah, I've been there, not goin' back."
A few confirmed.

"This puts a new light on writing for
me." Someone mentioned.

How do you write what you know? Listen
to what friends, relatives, are saying.
Tap on information learned at forums.

The ideas can shape-up into fiction or
non-fiction. It depends on what you
decide to create.

First, you have to enjoy writing it.

Now, I'll discuss the fiction idea.

Start the action on page one. Two
characters, for example, share a
misconception. Each feel their way
is right. Conflict invites itself
with thinking like that. How the
situation is solved forms plot.

Story people hold the reader's
attention, to the end.

Throw in obstacles, confusion, on
practically every page. The main
character faces a hindrance, which
keeps him/her from agreeing, seeing,
the opposing point of view.

Give the impression that circumstances
are going to explode. Build it up.
Allow the tension to escalate, and
then the main character almost succeeds.
He/she falls prey to unforeseen event(s).
Happiness is snatched away.

As with any failure, a lesson is learned.
So, too, the character grows from not
reaching his/her goal. Also, the reader's
interest heightens.

The following example is off the top
of my head.

Weird Bill's neighbor found fault with
everything he did, and tried to start
trouble for him. She thought it horrible
how he yelled at his mother.

One day, the shouting stopped. His mother
disappeared. Weird Bill claimed his
mother was on, a much needed, vacation.

The neighbor gave her opinion.

"I didn't sleep well, up off and on,
during the night." She shifted her
weight on the porch chair. "I'm lookin'
out the winda all the time, neva saw
Gail leave." Mrs. Stout explained to
Mrs. Garry.

"Neva trusted him," Mrs Garry said.

"His girl-friend been there eva since
Gail been gone." Mrs. Stout pointed
next door.

Weird Bill headed up his porch steps.

"Old biddies need to mind their business."
He stabbed his eyes at them.

"Ain't nobody scared." Mrs. Stout made
clear.

"An accident can happen to nosy, old,
buddies."

The two ladies scurried inside of Mrs.
Stout's house.

Screaming was heard from Weird Bill's
house, late that night.

Neighbors concluded, it was his girl-
friend, and ignored the cries for help.

Still, they were concerned about his
mother. Or, if, in fact, she was among
the living.

Mrs. Stout lightly knocked on Weird Bill's
front door.

The door slowly opened. Weird Bill's
girl-friend stood behind it. Her eyes
were black.

"Oh, child," Mrs. Stout said. "Ya should
see a doctor."

"I'll be all 'ight. Whatcha want?"

"Just wanted to see if Martha was back."

"Nope. I gotta clean."

Mrs. Stout left.

A couple days passed.

Mrs. Stout saw Gail at the market.

"Where did Martha go?" Mrs. Stout asked.

"Don't know." She hurried away.

Mrs. Stout baked a cake, took it to
Weird Bill's house. She knew he would
be at work.

Gail opened the door.

"Feel like eating, my special recipe,
cake with me?" Mrs. Stout asked.
"You're eyes look better."

"I hate him."

"Why do you stay here?" Mrs. Stout
sat on the couch with the cake.

"He tricked me, Miss Martha, and everybody."
Gail stood at the door.

"What do you mean?"

"Bill told me he ran his own
business. His mother isn't on vacation,
but in the basement."

"Let's get her help."

"Too late.

"I'll call the police from my house."
Mrs. Stout opened the door.

Weird Bill rushed in.

"Whatcha doin' here?"

"Wanted to share my cake
with Gail." Mrs. Stout coughed.

"Yeah, right." Weird Bill grabbed
for Mrs. Stout's neck.

The cake rolled one way, and they
toppled to the floor.

"Stop it." Gail tried to pull him
away from Mrs. Stout. "Not again!"

"Shut up." Weird Bill jumped-off
Mrs. Stout to smack Gail.

Mrs. Stout eased over to the cake,
grabbed a chunk, and smashed it in
Weird Bill's face.

It further angered him. He reached
for her throat, again.

Gail pushed him. His head rammed
through the window, and he landed
on the porch.

Mrs. Stout crawled over to the
telephone, dialed nine-one-one.

It simply, takes imagination to
curve fiction out of what you
know.