I really think more fledgling novelists - and many current and

"I really think more fledgling novelists - and many current and even established novelists - should get out into the real world and cover local politics, sports, culture, and crime and write it up on deadline." These words from C. J. Box carry with them a profound truth about the foundations of writing and the value of immersing oneself in the real world. Box is not simply advocating for experience in the external world; he is urging writers to engage with the gritty, often untold stories of everyday life—stories of local politics, sports, culture, and crime. These elements, so deeply woven into the fabric of human existence, form the rich soil from which authenticity and depth can grow. Writing, like all art, is not simply about crafting worlds in isolation, but about engaging with the world around us, feeling its pulse, and translating that truth into something that resonates deeply with others.

In the ancient world, the great storytellers—whether they were poets, philosophers, or playwrights—did not remain cloistered in ivory towers, distant from the world they sought to describe. Homer, the legendary poet, did not simply weave tales of gods and heroes from imagination alone; his epics were rooted in the realities of the human experience—war, love, and the struggle for survival. The Iliad and the Odyssey are full of human conflict, not just between gods and mortals, but between men and the harshness of the world. Homer’s words carried with them the truths of life as he had experienced it, rooted in the flesh of the world. So too, C. J. Box advocates for the writer’s return to the root—to the world outside the mind, where stories are lived and felt.

Consider the great Roman historian Tacitus, who did not write history in the comfort of his study, but in the turbulent heart of the Roman Empire, bearing witness to the rise and fall of emperors, the corruption of power, and the struggles of the common people. Tacitus did not merely recount events from a distance; he lived them, breathed them, and wrote with the fury of a man who understood the weight of history. His works—particularly The Annals—offer insights into the political landscape of Rome, not from the perspective of the elite, but from the eyes of a man who saw both the great and small in the same light. Similarly, Box suggests that a writer must get out into the world, to see the ugly and the beautiful, and to witness firsthand the pulse of life that they would later capture in their words.

The art of writing, as Box reminds us, is not a matter of idle fancy, but of engagement. In the same way that the ancient sculptors shaped their masterpieces from the stone, so too must the writer shape their works from the raw material of the world. Writing about local politics or crime is not about romanticizing or sensationalizing—it is about understanding the intricacies of life. To write well, one must observe deeply and engage with the real, often uncomfortable, undercurrents of society. The writer, like the sculptor, must chip away at the rough edges to reveal the truth that lies beneath. It is through this deep engagement with the real world that stories gain the gravitas they need to endure.

Let us turn to the example of Virgil, whose Aeneid was not just an epic about the founding of Rome, but a reflection on the struggles of war, identity, and the journey toward home. Virgil’s writing was not a mere act of imagination; it was an attempt to understand the human condition during a time of great political turmoil. The stories of Aeneas and his band of survivors were shaped by Virgil’s keen sense of the real world around him. Through Virgil, we see that great writing is often born out of a confrontation with the harsh realities of the world, an understanding of the interplay between fate, duty, and human will.

C. J. Box’s call for fledgling novelists to immerse themselves in the world around them, to write on deadline, is a reminder that the craft of writing requires more than just talent; it requires a deep engagement with life itself. Writing is not a detached exercise of the intellect; it is an active participation in the world, an attempt to understand its complexities, to find truth in its contradictions. To live in the world, to witness local politics, sports, and crime, is to witness the full spectrum of human experience, and only by doing so can a writer truly capture the essence of life.

Thus, the lesson for us is clear: as writers, artists, or creators, we must engage deeply with the world around us. We must not retreat into isolation, but must observe, experience, and live the stories we wish to tell. Like Homer, like Tacitus, like Virgil, we must walk among the people, the places, and the events that shape the world, and from those experiences, we must craft our own stories. By doing so, we will ensure that our work is not just a reflection of our imagination, but a truthful portrayal of the world as it is—raw, real, and full of complexity.

In practical terms, this means that each day, we must find the time and space to engage with the world. We must step outside of our own thoughts and observe, whether it be through writing, journaling, or reflection. Engage with your surroundings, listen to the voices of others, and immerse yourself in the details of the world that shape society. Only then, with a deep understanding of the world, can we write stories that not only entertain, but also enlighten, inspire, and reflect the human experience in all its complexity.