It’s funny the random things we learn from. Last night, while watching supplements for the first Harry Potter movie (I think I’m one of the few who watch supplements, thanks to my film-loving husband), one of the writers said something that got me thinking. While adapting the book to a screenplay, he was impressed by the wealth of information J.K. Rowlings had about the world she’d created. He said that the book was like a tree that only those above the ground got to see, while Rowlings knew every detail of every root.

What a great way to describe the relationship between research and writing of any capacity. After all, you’ll never get a tree without the roots. And, even though they’re essential to a tree’s growth, the majority of roots stay underground, where no one would ever suspect how far down they reach, or how much they ground the tree. My first thought was that this is how crafting a character works in fiction—authors should know details about their lives that readers might not ever learn, but they’re the details that shape them.

But then I realized everything we ever write starts with a seed (an idea) before it spreads its roots (the research) and then branches out into a tree (the writing).

Like when I write articles and web copy. People are often surprised by how many questions I ask in my research stages, and how much of that information actually makes it onto a page. I’ve always felt that in order to write about something really well, we have to become mini-experts on the topic. There’s a difference between knowing the basics of what you need to know and understanding why things are the way they are. If a writer only knows the basics, chances are they only know one way to explain it, and it may not be the best way.

So how do we dig (funny how the tree thing works) deeper? I like to call it “playing dumb.” In other words, imagine you’re a blank slate and ask questions. Ask questions even when you think you know the answer. Ask questions even when the answer is implied. Ask questions even when someone else might call it a stupid question. Ask  the same question in a different way. Ask questions born out of other questions and often times, kind of like a child, ask “why is that?” And always ask if there’s anything you haven’t asked, just in case you missed something.

When you get to the writing, maybe 20% of that information will end up in the final product, at least that’s what I’ve noticed in my work. This doesn’t mean I don’t use it—I use all of the information I get, just not in the way most people would expect. I use it simply by absorbing it, so that I have something better than a bunch of scribbled notes to work with. When I have a real knowledge of a topic, the writing comes organically. See? There’s that tree thing again, going just a step too far…