GETTING TO KNOW WHAT YOU KNOW

By Sharon May

“Write what you know.” That’s maybe the most important and oft repeated advice for writers. Sounds easy, right?

While in graduate school, I tried to explain what it meant to be a woman in Appalachia to an acquaintance who was also born into an isolated, disenfranchised, impoverished minority. I gave examples of behaviors, and she responded that women from her culture were the same, no differences.  

I realized I had failed to find the words what distinguished Appalachians from other minorities. Basically, I didn’t know what I was supposed to know. After all, I’m an Appalachian woman, so I should know what it means to be one.

I had moved to Columbia the year prior to this discussion. Though I had been thinking about what being Appalachian meant for years, I had no perspective. I had not seen enough of the world, except through the media, to make comparisons and to help understand the complexity of my home.

Years in South Carolina have given me some perspective, but there is some overlap in Southern and Appalachian ways. I’m not moving away from Columbia, so I have to learn the distinctions via travel. Believe me, Peggy loves nothing better than traveling, which gives plenty of opportunities to explore the world beyond Appalachia and the South.

While seeing the world, I don’t act like a cultural anthropologist asking silly questions. I’m not writing a textbook. Obviously, the people I meet and the places I see give me ideas for characters and help with describing scenery. At times, I hear interesting phrases. All fodder for future works.

But to connect to my current work of Appalachian fiction, I need something beyond the obvious experiences associated with exploring new places. I need distance from my subject and time to reflect. I find the mountains relaxing but they are too much like home.

Like Herman Melville, I am more inspired by the sea. Unlimited free time to relax and pamper myself. I can reflect, take notes, read, write, and simply think. Best of all I can do this while staring at the water. It’s fine to take a few days at the beach to relax and come up with new ideas for writing.

But I discover much more about myself and what I know and what words to use to convey what I know when at sea on a ship with a waitstaff. I have no desire to actually work the seas as Melville did as a youth.

The open seas calm me even in rough weather. My mind can drift into the deep recesses of my memory, subconscious or unconscious. Imagination soars toward the unending horizons. My childhood home comes into focus, the tenor of Appalachian speech crystalizes, and I discover what I know.