Write what you know. It’s advice that’s shelled out to aspiring writers as ubiquitously as ‘read’ or, more infuriatingly, ‘write every day’ which is right up there with ‘just fold it in, David.’ Like most overused pieces of advice there’s some elemental truths to this one.
I actually love what I don’t know. Research, diving into the rabbit hole, following the crumbs, dancing from concept to concept makes me almost giddy, so it was no surprise to find out that my top five clifton strengths are all around getting my resting thinking face on.
There’s so much I don’t know, it’s actually scary. Like, since when don’t cars have alternators that blow up, or why am I the only person in my household of four that can put an empty toilet roll in the recycling bin rather than leave it on the floor?
Here’s what I do know: teenage angst.
I know it from my own experience of being a teenager (back when dinosaurs ruled the earth). I know it from the freaking wonderful YA literature that I’ve inhaled for decades, and continue to inhale, I might add. And I know it from being the mother of two daughters, as well as from the experiences relayed by my mum friends over the years.
My main character in Summer, in Between is a teenager on the cusp of Year Twelve. I remember the pressure of this time that’s both self-imposed and external to the point of coming out in hives. I lived that pressure, and I’ve observed it in my own children and their friendship groups. I grew up in a small country town on the beach, the setting of my novel, and it was a space of casual racist misogyny. That setting I knew intimately, but what I didn’t know particularly well was if a respectful, romantic relationship could develop in that setting. I wanted to explore that, and imagine a world where it could.
I don’t think personal experience can be underestimated as it can give such rich material. BUT personal experience can also feel suffocating and limiting, and let’s not forget potentially legally problematic. My memories of my experience of teenage angst, of writing what I know is a knowing that’s dynamic and ever-evolving, and one that I really can’t solely rely on to craft a rich story of complex characters.
As a writer, I love research. I love a deep dive into the nitty gritty of what, why, where and how tf of emotions and actions. For me and my writing process, the research generally comes after the frenetic first draft, and it’s what I use to shape and layer and add texture and cull as I move through second drafts and beyond.
Here’s some of my favourite ways to research setting, character and plot:
Ask the experts:
In my rom-com, the inciting incident is a workplace mishap with a hose that’s put on one of the social platforms and goes viral, and the main character’s board is involved in the ensuing consequence of notoriety. Given I’ve worked for myself for fifteen years, in my own home office, I have a very shallow knowledge about contemporary workplaces and so I spoke to my fabulous friend Ali who works in People and Culture/HR to see what influence a Board could actually have on an individual employee.
Observation to the point of creepy:
I’m an eavesdropper from way back. Can’t and shan’t deny it. I can’t help but listen to conversations on the tram, taking in turns of phrase as well as mannerisms. One of the best things about being over 50 is the invisibility cloak that I somehow developed, which means people talk right in front of me as if I’m not there, particularly in shops. I’m also quick to put my hand up to do cherub pick ups from parties because these kids seem to forget that the mum is not an uber driver, and their conversations are illuminating. And hilarious, but mostly illuminating.
Dive into the details:
One of my favourite things to write is the details in settings, such as the feel of sand under your toes after a swim, the feel of sweat trickling down your spine, of salt-encrusted eyelashes, the condensation on the glass of a drinks fridge. I believe it’s the details that makes a scene come alive and I go hard on all the six senses and emotional reactions to places and spaces. It’s not always possible to go to a setting and soak up the atmosphere. My romcom is set in Italy, a place I haven’t visited for over twenty years, so I couldn’t spend an afternoon at Villa Borghese, but I could go to the Royal Botanic Garden in Melbourne, find some of their European tree collections and plant myself on the grass, close my eyes and inhale. I also dove into my own photo albums from my trips to Italy as a woman in her thirties and leant heavily on my own memories for the first flush of detail, and then I turned to ye olde Instagram, searching hashtags for villages similar to the location of my fictional one. I try to look beyond the general so instead of focusing on cobblestone laneways, I look for something a bit quirky, like the stacked tins of tomatoes that could be a work of art.
In terms of characters, the research isn’t much different to that of settings. Even if a character ‘lives’ in a world completely different to mine, we still have commonalities, such as the importance we place on our female friendships, and while our jobs might not be the same, I can find the similarities to craft a compelling picture. I often choose the interests or jobs of characters for symbolic reasons, or for their potential for metaphors. If I need to know more about what it’s like to work in a specific field to have a decent knowledge of a character’s job, I find someone in that field and pick their brains so I can find details that bring that character to life, such as the words or vernacular they use in their everyday life.
I’m a natural born sticky beak and love to ask questions and dig holes in things. Is it possible for a fig tree to live for over one hundred years and keep bearing fruit? What subjects does a kid need to do to get into medicine? What holiday homework do year twelve students need to complete over summer?
Not a lot of what I write in a first or second draft I keep. In my first drafts I go hard with boring, intricate details. For example, I describe a market scene in excruciating detail across all senses, with tables and cats, noise and food. If I can see the space, I can write it, and then in subsequent drafts I polish it to add or embellish the interesting, necessary details, and remove all the boring or distracting elements. Most of my ‘research’ is stripped back to let the story take centre stage. Nobody needs to know about the brand of secateurs my character prefers!