August 2025 …
One common piece of advice given to authors is to ‘write what you know’. It usually means writing about those themes and settings that are most familiar to you. But it does make me wonder how authors of fantasy novels, for example, can claim to ‘know’ their dragons, wizards and fantastic creatures, firsthand. At best, these authors know these elements because of standards and ideas used by other authors in the genre. Widespread reading in the genre establishes a familiar standard and methods for describing settings, creatures and characters. The author is prompted to write what they would like to read. Other works in the genre also provide a guide as to what fans might expect; readers will be kept happy if they find many familiar elements, perhaps with a twist or new angle.
So are the writers of genres like this still writing what they ‘know’? Probably. Ultimately, great stories, no matter the setting, involve a conflict in some form, a moral dilemma that needs resolving, and/or ambitions to be achieved. Authors will still draw on their own experiences to portray how these challenges are identified and confronted. An author’s familiarity with their genre allows them to ‘know’ about the novel’s setting and environment, but the resolution of conflict, tension and ambition remains a common thread in novels of any genre.
Research also helps an author to ‘know’ the setting. Recently I attended a small seminar featuring three debut authors, presented by the publisher Penguin Australia. All authors had written historical fiction, set in the 1920s, late 1940s, and late 1990s. I was struck by how much time the authors had devoted to research. They couldn’t live in the 1920s or late 1940s, so they had to replace the lived experience with very detailed research. In some cases they had lived in the locations but in other instances they visited the places of the story settings. Research helped them to ‘know’ their setting and characters.
With Trials of Henry, my research centred on the published transcript of the trial, over 800 pages in total. To support that, I read biographies of the principal characters to understand their individual motives. Too often historical figures can appear grey and bland. I was even able to find newspaper articles that described Henry and the trial. Reflecting on many of my characters revealed that they were driven by individual motives – ambition to gain or retain power, pride to restore their reputation, embarrassment for past mistakes, or the need to move to a better, more secure state. Even the cold bland words of trial transcript revealed the tension and fatigue of the participants. Once I understood these motivations, writing Trials of Henry became much easier.
Often, when mapping the story arc, I stop and ask not only what a character would logically do next, but why? The more I ask this, the clearer and fuller the characters become; writing a whole draft reveals the whole character. In my contemporary crime novel, I developed a process whereby I write additional short stories featuring some of the characters – mini-prequels, in a sense. This has been especially fun. It’s allowed me to establish a character’s biography before the events of the novel occur, as well as allowing me to practise writing their voice and behaviours. When I come to editing the novel the characters are much more familiar and I can recognise that the way they appeared in earlier drafts was flat and cold.
The more time I spend with my characters, the more I come to ‘know’ them.