It seems…disingenuous…to post this article, which was written at the start of the week when I thought things were going to go differently, without saying anything about the US election results. However, I’m not from the USA, and I’m not sure what my voice has to add to the discussion. So I just want to repeat that this isn’t the result I expected, anymore than I expected the UK to vote for Brexit, and I don’t know what is going to happen next, but I hope everyone is able to stay safe.
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This month am going to talk about learning new things. In part because I think it is almost as important as the ability to craft a well turned phrase for a writer. Mostly though it is so I can whine about the particular thing I am learning right this minute. I am on holiday and I am having to learn to drive a bus. A small bus, admittedly, but still bigger than the Nissan Juke I usually drive.
I am, not to put too fine a point on it, wetting myself a wee bit.
Which, and here’s the segue, is kind of like being an author. The human experience has some universal commonalities: heartbreak, the giggle when a baby farts and scares itself, the itch at the back of your neck when you think something in the dark is following you, and the like. It is easy enough to extrapolate from your experience, and apply it to another character. Even if you are a not wildly adventurous Northern Irish writer and the character is a weredog, for example.
Sometimes, though, you need to have the concrete experience if you are going to write about it. Not always. If you are going to write two sentences about a character knitting a jumper while talking about a murder, you don’t have to get some Aran jumper patterns and get to work. At most, hit the internet and check out some knitting clubs (if you can avoid getting dragged down the sinkhole of discovering they can be really dramatic). When you need immersion though, there is nothing as effective as experiencing it yourself.
I used to ride horses a lot (I wasn’t good at it, but I loved it), and if I am writing a scene with a horse I can still feel the tug of rough leather of the reins against my palms and the feeling when the horse decides to go ahead and jump a six foot hedge without checking in with you first. Like I said, I enjoyed riding but I wasn’t a natural.
You can read about archery online, but seeing a bow string snap and slice a man’s forearm open to the bone is an entirely different, messier, experience. That was very gross. Also, although less useful in M/M romance, the pain of forgetting your chest guard and catching your boob with the bow string remains vivid to this day (a: very sore, b: bruise looked a bit like Jesus).
Obviously, those are things I spent a lot of time doing. That sort of commitment isn’t really necessary. You don’t need to be an expert martial artist, just attend enough classes to be able to convey the feeling of a flip or hitting the mat. Then extrapolate.
Or, go on holiday with friends and learn to drive a bus.