Write What Nobody Knows

As a writer, write what you know.

Tell me about that time the soda came out your nose because your friend made you laugh so hard.

Tell me about the burning nose sensation that you didn’t care about because you were too happy.

Tell me about the burning you did care about, that time when he broke your heart without ever knowing your name.

Write what you wish you didn’t know.

Tell me about your grief, the grief that most will never have to understand, and most don’t give a crap about.

Tell me about your bitter laughter that turned into the glimmering kind when the one person who can always make your heart smile walks into the room.

Tell me what you wore that day.

Write what you can’t know.

Tell me what happens after we die, where the spirit goes, what color it is, what kind of cheese it likes to devour.

Tell me about the planet you created with nothing more than a glass of wine and your keyboard.

Tell me about the dream lover you imagine, the one with the unpronounceable name that never needs to be said to be heard.

Write what others know.

Tell me about that jerk in the grocery store, the one who rolled a cart over your foot, the one we’ve all freaking met, and who we wish would get a bag of marshmallows upside the head.

Tell me about your cat.  Yes, all the things about your cat.  Wait–I’ll get some noms to share.

Write what you don’t know.

We’re all making up this stuff as we go along, anyhow.


This piece originally appeared on my publisher's site.