No Yellow Brick Road in Writing

I love what Arthur Slade shared in his interview on Monday, especially his confusion about being a YA writer.  Discovering how prolific authors get headed in the right direction can help those who are just starting out or simply not making any headway.  YA, adult, genre, literary – how hard can it be to know what we write or which direction to go? As Arthur pointed out, it’s not always easy to tell.

Dorothy asked the scarecrow, "Which way do we take?"  His cryptic answers were  “Pardon me, this way is a very nice way,”  (points other way) “It’s pleasant down that way, too,”  and (points both ways) “Of course, some people do go both ways.” I’m surprised she didn’t leave him hanging in the cornfield.

We have to start somewhere, and there's no yellow brick road.  Some writers follow one road until it dead ends and their writing gets stalled.  Some branch off at the ‘Y’ in the road and add a few vampires or whatever is currently on the horizon.  Still others take the road less traveled and find success.

So, how far do you travel before you sit down in the dust and re-think your decision?  If you’re traveling alone, you may go far off course before taking stock and honestly considering your options.  It’s not smart to be a lone wolf in the writing community.  You can waste a lot of time trying to decide things on your own.  Writers are generally too close to their writing to see things clearly.  We all need honest feedback.

Sometimes we fall into a certain type of writing because we follow advice such as 'write what you know' or 'write what you read.'  The advice is neither good nor bad, just tricksy.  Sometimes the story gets a hold of us and we think it knows best.  Often a character will demand our full attention and we assume the story is theirs alone.  This happened to me when an insistent character, a 12-year-old girl, told me her side of the story and I bit.  Mean mommy + bad sisters X rotten luck = unjust circumstances.  I was sure I was a YA writer and that this was a YA story.  I read all the ‘how to’ books for YA fiction.  I read and dissected great YA fiction.  I was around kids every day and knew how they talked and what they cared about.  By gum, I knew what I was doing!

The story came together and stirred some interest at a conference, including an agent who went back and conferred with his colleagues about it.  His eventual response:  We don’t do YA.  If it had an adult perspective, we would be interested.

Great gnashing of teeth ensued on my part.  I railed to my family, "It’s perfect the way it is!" which translates to (a) I’m sick and tired of this story, and (b) I don’t want to rewrite it again and (c) how badly do I really want to be published?  I stamped and huffed and scowled, and when I was spent, my husband sagely said, “You know, it could really use the mom’s perspective.”

I stuffed it in a drawer for a week or more.  When I came to my senses, I realized he had something there.  The mom started talking to me.  And then the sisters.  And the grandparents.  Grief, like a spreading stain, had seeped into all their lives and done its damage.  How could I have missed it?  So, I picked it up again and told the whole story this time.

For my part, I had to set aside what I was so sure I knew and listen to what credible sources told me about the story and my writing.  It doesn’t mean I won’t write another story with a juvenile’s perspective.  Kids have such insight and tell it like it is.  But it will most likely be written from the standpoint of an adult reflecting on childhood experiences.

Some writers will insist that they have ALWAYS known what they were destined to write.  Oo-rah.  Good for them!  Even better if they have ever considered another way and had their original choice confirmed.

How did you come to realize what you were meant to write?  Was it a trial by fire or just the quiet affirmation of readers and colleagues?  Maybe you’re still in process.  We’d love to hear.

The Death of Genre, Really?

Welcome to our discussion of Donald Maass's book, Writing 21st Century Fiction. We're jumping into the second chapter, "The Death of Genre." Don't let a little thing like not having read the chapter keep you from speaking up. We love a lively discussion around here.

Don't cue up the band or buy the confetti yet. Genre isn't dead-dead, just mostly dead--and maybe not even that dead.

In other words, I had to read this chapter a few times to discover what Maass is really saying about genre, dead or otherwise.

The first challenge to this chapter is sifting through terms Maass has created to talk about fiction. Let's see if I can't get us all on the same page.

Out-of-category novels are written by genre novelists but sell better than most. These books are sold off of large piles in the front of the bookstores and warehouse stores, and the authors are no longer authors but "brands."

I don't fit in this category. I sure hope you do. (Would you like to endorse my novel?)

But we all want to know how to get to this magical place of hardcovers with pallets of our books on display. Maass explains how our novels might earn this out-of-category status:

Deconstrust out-of-category novels and certain common factors emerge: characters we immediately care about, unique worlds, universal human experiences, high tension, plot layers, parallels, reversals, symbols, strong themes. But there's also an X factor: such fiction is personal, meaning that it directly reflects the author's own experience. p. 8

In that case, any novel directly reflecting my life would be sorted into the snooze category (I was born a poor white girl in the Hog Capital of the World), but that's not what he means. Maass doesn't intend for us to write memoirs disguised as novels. He intends for us to mine our preoccupations, our fears, lessons learned, flaws we find impossible to conquer and give them to our unsuspecting characters.

This is what makes our novels personal, our struggles in the skin of someone who's way more interesting than we are. (Maas doesn't actually say the part about the characters being way more interesting than us. That's a Patti Bonus Nugget.)

You've all probably done this--either consciously or not--when deciding what to write about. My newest novel--Goodness & Mercy--comes from my questions about the character of God, specifically His mercy. Can His mercy feel like a knife to the heart or come at an inconvenient time? My characters wrestle with the question in their story world, but so do I. The stories in this way are very personal.

Just to be clear, out-of-category novels are still genre novels, but "they use their category conventions merely as a framework. [Writers] erect inside them stories that express that which defines not their characters, but their authors." I can't help but think of Latayne's Later-Day Cipher, a murder mystery a la Dan Brown (if he were a better writer) within the culture of Mormonism. For Latayne, this novel is deeply personal as she draws on her own life and study in Mormonism. Not only is the story personal, it's highly redemptive, poetic, and chilling. The story also confirms Maass's point that "high-impact fiction requires high courage."

Another distinction Maass makes is between genre blending and genre transending. Genre blending will sound familiar to you because it's nearly the norm. We find  literary crime, historical espionage, and paranormal anything on bookstore and library shelves everywhere. Add to that time-traveling historical romance and urban fantasy. Oh, and sci-fi westerns. It's all out there. Transcending genre, I think, (this is where his distinctions muddy a bit for me) is another way to say out-of-category fiction results (impact and sales) that is not genre bound. These are tough to classify novels that connect powerfully with readers.

This is why Maass thinks so:

Perhaps in part because they have fewer rules to follow, they must rely more on universal techniques and stay truer to their inner compasses. Without genre crutches to lean on they must walk the walk of true novelists. You can call them genre-bending if you like, but I call them genre-transcending. while they may establish a new category, that are genuine fiction masters. p. 12

Fiction master. I like the sound of that. In the end, Maass is saying that it really doesn't matter where we land on the continuum between genre fiction and literary. What matters is fulfilling the purpose of fiction, taking the reader to a story world that immerses them in a new reality, characters that are relatable with dreams and desires not too distant from ours, answers to truths sought by the reader and truths that rock an unsuspecting reader's world, and lastly, a story that captures our age but manages to be timeless.

I don't think Maass meant to confuse us with terms but to cheer us on to slay the genre monster with our writing: "The death of genre will come for you on the day that you cut yourself loose from your fears. When you stop writing like you think you are supposed to and start writing in the way that only you can, then you will discover the impact you can have." p. 16

And so, genre may be a thing in our minds that we either cling to or cast off. But Maass in no manner letting  us off the hook as novelists. I hear a call to excellence. I intend to answer.

Discussion Questions:

• Why do you believe genre fiction is here to stay...or not?
• In what ways have you made your fiction personal?
• What great mystery dogs you? How could you explore it in story form?
• What's your favorite line from this chapter?
• Invent a genre blend you haven't seen yet.
• What will you take from this chapter to improve your storytelling?

Audience, Purpose, and Voice

WE HAVE A WINNER!! Connie, please contact me with your full name and mailing address at novelmatters@gmail.com. Empty your calendar to read Latter-Day Cipher!

Oh my, this is the last Friday of the month! It's time to give something away. Earlier this month, Latayne gifted five of her debut novels, but she's too generous to stop there. At 4 pm MT today, I'll draw a name from today's commenters for yet another copy of Latter-Day Cipher. So, if you've been lurking, now is the time to speak up. This is an amazing book. I would love to be reading it right now, but first my blog...

We'll get ourselves into trouble (What's new about that?) if we forget how wide a spectrum of readers turn to CBA for fiction. I once followed two women into a local Christian bookstore. I don't know what their particular hangups were with fashion, but let's just say they wore sensible shoes and kerchiefs on their heads. I followed behind in shorts and sandals. They walked a bullet-line to the fiction section and filled their arms with six to eight novels each. I remember thinking, I'm in big trouble if that's my target audience. My characters shave their legs and wrestle with God. Would these women be interested? I had my doubts.

Enter the neglected Christian fiction readers, men and women who prefer their fiction to deal with questions that the author is content to leave unanswered--full of beautifully crafted stories and populated with characters straight from life, only a bit larger, in a personality way, than folks we're likely to meet.

The key is knowing your audience or who you are as an audience. I can't remember where I learned this, but I keep this simple truth in mind as I write: According to Aristotle, there are three crucial elements to writing. Audience. Purpose. Voice. I find this to be especially true in the CBA market. Depending on the audience subset of the CBA market, purpose and voice are modified.

For instance, if the audience is looking for validation, a writer would avoid story lines with uncomfortable scenarios, language, or characters. These books are the Louis L'Amour books of CBA. Sure, L'Amour tackles issues of loyalty, hard work, and the value of a quick draw, but nothing any red-blooded, wannabe cowboy would question. We're not making a value judgement here, just identifying audiences. And CBA caters to these readers, no apologies required.

Another audience in the CBA market wants to read--and the genre doesn't matter--fiction that asks questions that aren't necessarily answered. They aren't afraid to look at faith matters in fresh ways, although they're sticklers for theological rectitude. They still want to be entertained, but they're willing to follow the writer's lead through snaky cognitive hoops. This kind of fiction requires the author to trust her audience to participate in the journey. Hopefully, the story and characters stay with the reader long after the last page has been read.

These are just two CBA audiences. There are many more, like those who want fiction they can hand off to their non-believing friends, or character-building reads with strong moral lessons for young readers, or fiction that encapsulates an important faith lesson--think end times or spiritual warfare. Recognizing that we have varying subsets of readers may help us to value what each artist brings to the table, but I'm with Anonymous. Schlock is never appropriate. (I hope we talk someday soon about why schlock, beyond the fact that there's a vast audience for this "genre," is among our biggest sellers. Hear my heart deflating?)

For readers, do you fit in one of these CBA subsets? Which one and why? For writers, who is your audience? How do you write to meet their needs? Care to define a CBA subset I missed? Anyone? Anyone? Is there a subset you consider inappropriate?

Speak amongst yourselves. I'm going to read Latter-Day Cipher. I'll be dropping by.