Write What You Know

When I was in college, I took a creative writing class and we were told to write a short story. I wrote a story about a family living in Harlem. Now, mind you, I had never been to Harlem before but, I had read so many novels by black writers that was set in Harlem that I thought I knew the place. When my assignment was given back to me, it had a grade of "C" on it. Of course, I protested the grade. In those days, I protested everything. If it rained too hard... I protested.

The professor gave me a side-eye and asked me where I was from. I said, "I'm from Philadelphia." He then asked me if I had ever been to New York City. I looked at him like he was crazy. I replied (like it was a forgone conclusion), "Of course I have." Then, he asked me if I had ever lived in Harlem and I told him no. He asked me if I'd even set foot in Harlem. Once again, I told him that I had not. Then, he took a deep breath and gave me one of those looks that I was accustomed to getting from adults and other authority figures back then. He asked me... "So, where are you from? (Didn't I just tell this guy I was from Philly?) I mean, what part of Philly are you from? Me, myself, I'm from South Philly. How 'bout you?"

I never pictured this guy to be from the same part of the world as myself but, once I listened to him talk, I could hear it... the accent. My grandfather used to tell me that he could tell if someone was from South Philly or another part of Philly by the way they talked because the accent was different. He taught me how to listen for it and I heard it in this guy. I responded, "West Philly". He said, "Then, why didn't you write about West Philly? The first rule of good writing is, write what you know."

Up until then, I didn't think anybody would care about my life, where I was from, etc. Then, I thought about all of the women, the things I'd been through, seen, or heard about in the streets, and as a result of that, I realized that I had a wealth of stories to tell, as this blog and my other blog can attest to. I was hard-headed though. I turned in another short story about the first gay heavyweight champion of the world and his trials and tribulations. The result was another "C". So, the professor asked me, "Are you gay?" I said... "No, of course not." Then, he said... "That's right, you're writing about something you know nothing about. What did I tell you? Write what you know."

Next, I turned in a short story called "Haywood". It was about a guy who returned from Vietnam to his West Philadelphia neighborhood with a heroin addiction. This was something I had seen quite a bit and I earned my first "A". I also turned in some poetry that was based on some personal pain I felt following one of my many break-ups and the result was another "A". I was on my way. This teacher, who I can never forget, also told me to live... to have experiences... and that the more experiences I had, the more I would have to write about. I have certainly done some living. I have done so much living that I can fill up two blogs on a daily basis.

So, every time I sit down at my computer to write, I think about my college professor's words... "write what you know" and it spurs me on. This thing called blogging has challenged me and others to create the new literature... to make this a new art form... to make history.