Write what you know...or fake it

Write about what you know, says the familiar mantra. That implies that we should all be experts, or at least quite well versed, in something. Like a lawyer would write legal thrillers, and a doctor would write medical mysteries. Ex-football or basketball players could pen novels in the sporting realm.

That sort of leaves me out. If I was ever an expert, or at least reasonably proficient in some particular endeavor, it was so long ago that I’ve either forgotten how all the good stuff worked or things have changed so much in the interim that I’m way too far out of date.

Take newspapering, for example. I started out as a reporter in 1947 and departed the field in 1959. That was back when everybody typed their copy on sheets of newsprint with old Underwood typewriters and stuck the pages together with goopy paste from a jar. Newsrooms were as open as the corner drugstore, and anyone could walk in off the street. Try to get past the reception desk at a newspaper now. I have no idea what goes on in newsrooms, but I’m sure it’s all done by computer.

Bottom line, I’ll not be writing a contemporary reporter story.

I wrote copy for an ad agency back in the late sixties. I’m not sure how agencies operate now, but no doubt it’s eons removed from what we did back then.

My last job of any consequence was executive vice president for a statewide trade association. I worked at that for eighteen years and was pretty proficient at it. I was one of the early Certified Association Executives accredited by the American Society of Association Executives. But I retired in 1989 making a salary in the $50,000 range. You got any idea what they make now? It would make me cry.

So I’m twenty years out of date on that score. The only thing I’ve done that hasn’t changed over the years, except for the implements used, is writing. Sentences are still put together pretty much the same as when I was in grammar school (only they don’t have grammar schools anymore, do they?). Nouns and adjectives and, yes, even the dreaded “ly” adverbs, are still the same as they’ve always been.

I suppose that means I should be writing about writing, or writers. But I’ve learned to cheat. For the past several years, I’ve been writing mystery novels about a pair of private investigators. I’ve never been been a PI or anything approaching it. But I’ve learned a lot about the field and seem to have knack for creating believable situations for my fictional investigators. I was really flattered when one reviewer wrote:

“If you’re interested in seeing how a real private detective works, try Chester Campbell’s Deadly Illusions.”

And another wrote:

“The Marathon Murders is a skillfully woven tale that shows detective fiction wannabes how it’s supposed to be done.”

So I guess I’ll just keep on writing about a subject I shouldn’t really know. What about you? Do you write about what you know? Or do you fake it, too?

To learn more about my PIs, go to my website.

My fascination with murder

My fascination with the subject of murder began back in 1948, during my early days as a newspaper reporter. I had gone to work for The Knoxville Journal the previous fall, at the start of my junior year in journalism at the University of Tennessee. It would make a lot more interesting story to say I was involved in writing about murder cases back then, but no such luck. My assignments were on the order of reporting on dog shows. However, I read a couple of books by Horace McCoy—They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? and No Pockets in a Shroud—during that time, firing up my imagination. The latter featured a reporter covering a murder case.

I sat down at my little portable typewriter in the dank depths of my fraternity house and banged out a murder mystery. It featured (what else?) a reporter helping solve a homicide. The editor at a Philadelphia publishing house declined, saying he had too many manuscripts already. Yeah. And though it was twenty years before I tried my hand at another novel, I was hooked on murder and mysteries.

I’ve often thought about what gets us all, writers and readers alike, so jazzed up on murder. To most of us (with the exception of those mentioned below), taking a human life is the ultimate crime. The damage done by thieves and robbers can be overcome, but death is as final as it gets. We love to delve into the motivations of a killer, peel away the layers of cunning behavior and rash activity that lead to the inevitable outcome. And we stare through voyeur eyes at how the crime affects those around the victim.

Serial killers have been a staple of crime fiction for several years now, but I’ve found few who could match the real thing we encounter occasionally on TV. There’s one type of killer who hasn’t appeared much in fiction yet, or maybe I just haven’t read enough books. That’s the unconscionable youth who kills without remorse. The news in Nashville, my hometown, deals too often with a teenager who robs a clerk and then shoots him or her for no apparent reason. We may see more of that in fiction soon.

Writers flock to murderous subjects since that’s where the action is. The mystery genre, taken in its broadest context, ranks second to romance in terms of book sales. I suspect man’s inhumanity to man will keep mystery writers busy at their keyboards for years to come, and as long as I’m around, I’ll be right there among ‘em.

If you’d like to read the long version of how I got started and where I’ve been, check out “Reflections on the Writing Life—my 60-year odyssey with the written word” at http://www.chesterdcampbell.com/Reflections.htm.