Most people live in the real world, but writers, well, we have an excuse to live in make-believe worlds. We create people, places and conflicts. We throw our characters into sticky situations with no hope of reaching their goals. On their journey, they learn about their deficiencies, how to adapt, and what they’re made of. Not-so-nice people or natural forces tend to make things difficult for them, preventing them from getting from point A to point B. It’s a messy existence, if not totally depressing. How could things get this bad? What did they ever do to deserve misery? We writers can be downright mean sometimes, but we can also be their cheerleader.

As with any profession, a writer must always refresh, recharge, and revisit nuances of honing his writing skills. It’s not enough to take a class or two, write a bit, and then assume he understands everything there is to creating stories. Nor is it enough to read a blog or two, attend seminars at a writing conference, or just read.

My many bookshelves house as many books about writing as they do novels I’ve collected. I consider writing part of lifelong learning. I’ve read every instructional topic from cover to cover, sometimes more than once, just as anyone would reread a favorite book.

The runner poses at the white line, breathes deeply, has stretched and stretched, and is raring to sprint ahead of his competitors once the signal says “go.” Gaining the lead and attracting the audience’s cheering and whistling, he races through the first lap, maintains his lead during the second and third, then picks up speed to charge across the finish line for the win.

What is the first word that comes to mind when you see or hear the word spinach? Does it stir childhood memories and revive your mother’s words, “Eat your spinach. It’s good for you?” 

Or does it remind you of Popeye, the sailor man, whose spinach consumption produced superhuman powers? Popeye may not have been the most refined fellow, but his strength supersedes perceived shortfalls.

When instructors recommend writing what you know or advise a person to write from life experiences, the idea would seem to contradict the purpose of fiction. Or does it?

If I were to draw upon my measly life experiences to tell stories, we’d have a better time in Snoozeville. The reason for writing is to create a false reality, a world in which you may or may never want to visit, a world as far away as possible from mundane, boring, and uneventful events in an ordinary person’s life. Isn’t that the reason people read? To be entertained and transported to a place they’ve never been? To meet exciting characters—heroes and villains, confidants, instigators and problem solvers, jokesters, optimists and risk-takers?