New writers seeking inspiration are often instructed to “write what you know.” I think that’s terrible advice because if you only write what you know, sooner or later (very soon, in my case) you’ll run out of things to write about.

Instead, I encourage writers to “write what you can find out,” just as I encourage readers to seek out books that will educate as well as entertain.

We live in the golden age of research, thanks to the internet and now artificial intelligence, which can help you discover all sorts of facts backed up with citations, if you provide effective prompts. For me, though, nothing beats what journalists, biographers, and the merely curious have always relied on: interviewing primary sources.

The reason my Southern historical novel Hardscrabble Road and its sequel Return to Hardscrabble Road ring true for numerous readers is that many of the stories related in those two novels really happened and were conveyed to me by the individuals (primarily Bud but also his two older brothers and older sister) who took action or survived the actions taken against them. In the case of Bud, I wrote down his stories for a decade and then interviewed him over the course of two more years so I could also capture his sense memories—the ways things smelled, tasted, felt, etc. I think these details are more important than the actions themselves, because sensory descriptions hold readers’ attention in a scene. They help us imagine what’s going on at a gut level. We experience those five senses while we’re reading as if we are there. That’s the magic of reading and why movies and TV can never duplicate the power of our imagination, no matter how hard they try (“Smell-O-Vision” anyone?).

Even for those writing sci-fi or fantasy set in mythical kingdoms or far-off planets, research is vital. We must ensure that readers continue to suspend their disbelief. Even invented worlds need to abide by consistent physical rules or magic systems. And interviews can play a role here as well—not only speaking with experts in physics, for example, but also talking with those who have experienced the kind of things you’re writing about. No one can tell you how they survived a starship dogfight or a melee with trolls wielding medieval weaponry, but veterans of combat can absolutely tell you what it feels like to fight for your life and see/hear/smell/taste/feel those around you lose that battle.

There is, of course, the danger of the research rabbit hole, that feeling that you never have quite enough details to write convincingly about anything. To retain momentum as they’re crafting scenes, many writers simply put brackets around some word prompts, like “[clothes]” to remind them to go back and figure out how someone in the designated place and time would be dressed. This technique keeps them from stopping every sentence or two to gather more facts: looking up one thing tends to beget researching something else. Thus, you can begin with a question about 17th century pants in New England and find yourself immersed in the tannery process and the art of dyeing clothing.

The writer must also resist including 95%-99% of all the research they did. We’ve all read books where the writer sacrificed the momentum of their story for a show-and-tell that revealed just how much they learned about a given subject. Save that stuff for the super-fan annotated special edition and get on with the show.

The point of all this research, of course, is to captivate readers. In my experience, there are two types of readers: a small minority who just want to escape into the same kind of story over and over and the vast majority who want to learn new things, discover surprising aspects of life, and encounter unexpected people and situations. This latter group delights in the research details writers sprinkle throughout their stories. These readers want to be transported to the writer’s world, be it an ultrarealistic recreation of an actual place and time or a fantastical land far from our reality.

In the end, the story is always more important than the research. But compelling details uncovered through diligent interviews or careful study can take a commonplace story and make it sing.