Georgie B wrote a blog post this past Wednesday that got me to thinking. (Georgie B has a way of doing that.) He wanted to know how we as writers got started writing in our genre.
I can only compare genre fiction to television. You know those folks who tell you they never watch TV? They just don’t have the time to waste. You know darn well they probably Tivo their way through the week, but they just want to look superior.
Genre fiction is the same way. It can really be looked down upon. ”Oh you write commmercial fiction,” they say with a sniff. Or they talk about how something that “transcends” genre. Worse, it can be disparaged in such polite tones. “Romance? (Or mystery or horror or S/f) How interesting.” This is always said with one of those looks that let you know that the person saying it would never pick up a romance novel. Meanwhile, you’re just itching to examine their closets because you are sure that there is a bag full of Danielle Steele in there somewhere.
Because, you know, genre is a reflection not only of the writer or the reader but of life. It tells you something about the society we live in, what we hope for, what we believe in. We believe in “Space, the final frontier.” And what about those frontiers anyway? Those cowboys were strong, and courageous; we’re proud of those guys. We believe in love and romance, and that all the bad guys, or scary monsters will be caught in the end.
I told Georgie B that I don’t think writers really choose their genre and I really believe that. When genre works–when books touch hearts –it comes out of somewhere far deeper. We writers, when we are writing something that really works, have to be willing to relive the experience, to feel what we want the reader to feel. That’s what makes it genuine. I’m proud to be a genre writer.
At least that’s my two cents. What do you think?
