Writers and genre pigeonholes

Considering the fact that a few short days ago I'd stated we were going to go over dealing with being stuck in specific genres as writers, I was excited when a rather timely article appeared yesterday on Flavorwire titled, 10 Great Authors We Should All Stop Pigeonholing. In the article, Ms. Temple highlights ten authors whom most readers and writers alike are very familiar with (including Ray Bradberry, Jack London, and C.S. Lewis).  She points out that though we have labeled them in our minds and in the marketplace (some for many decades), all ten writers could have (and did/do) write/sell work in other genres.

I looked up the word "pigeonhole", just to see what kind of definition would come up. Oxford's online  dictionary actually uses a writer as one of its examples:

verb

[with object]

• 1assign to a particular category, typically an overly restrictive one:I was pigeonholed as a ‘youth writer’

• 2put (a document) in a pigeonhole:he pigeonholed his charts and notes
• put aside for future consideration:she pigeonholed her worry about him

Notice how the category is described? ...typically an overly restrictive one. I guess in a way, it's nice to know that this problem isn't new--writers have been dealing with the lack of categorical freedom for a long time. (Because in the long run--and the short run, too--it's all about the way to make the most profit. And not necessarily for the author.) That doesn't exactly make it any easier, however. Does it? I came across a few articles while going over this, and thought I'd share two.

First, quite a while back I watched a documentary on type-casting. The director featured famous actors--some who had been stuck in the same stereotypical role for a long time, and others who'd been able to step over that "pigeonhole labeling" category and move on to something different (and many times, even better). Now, I can't remember many of the actors anymore (it really has a been a while since I watched it), but I'll never forget this guy:


(picture courtesy of Todd Wilson/ IMDB)

Recognize him? His name is Stephen Tobolowsky. More often than not, he's played quirky, awkward characters who never had a chance at much of a social life.

The documentary pointed out that though Mr. Tobolowsky was a great actor, he had definitely been type-cast, and that action wasn't an easy thing for him to reverse. Some of you may not know Mr. Tobolowsky's face, but he has a very distinct voice. And things have obviously changed over the past few years, because he is now the voice of the Discover Card's 5% cashback commercials. Doesn't sound awkward at all in those commercials to me! You go, Mr. Tobolowsky!

So see, no one is doomed to be type-cast forever! Same goes for writing. The problem is, we writers usually don't get to make that choice.

Back in September, author Dan Thompson posted a blog titled "Avoiding the Genre Trap"  on his blog, Making It Up As I Go. He specifically talks "the literary equivalent of type-casting". The part that really stood out to me is below:

One author described how his advances became something of a trap, because he felt he could no longer afford to branch out and try a different genre or experiment with some of his stranger ideas. While it might make a fabulous novel, even a commercially successful one, he knew he could never sell something that different on a proposal. So he stuck with what he knew, living from one advance to the next.

Most of all that, of course, is second or third hand information, but I confess that this is one of the things that pushed me towards self-publishing. I did not want to find myself in the position of writing a particular book simply because it was a lot like the last one. That’s hardly the only reason I went that way, but it did enter into my thinking.

This is exactly what so many authors are stuck with, worrying about, or trying to determine whether or not they want to push through on their own without the help of a traditional publisher. It's kind of the same problem I am having--PITY ISN'T AN OPTION is dystopian, technically, and yet agents have specifically told me that it is "not dystopian enough". Here's the deal, though. I do not want to make it any more dystopian. Therefore, we're at an impasse... because unless the entire storyline changes (taking away from the whole point of it in the first place), PITY has to stay like it is. (Am I holding anything against these agents for their comments? No. It's not their fault the market is labeled so black and white, nor is it their fault that I'm just another anonymous person out in the writerly world trying to get my book into people's hearts.)

So it looks as though more and more writers are going to go self-pub. To think that writing one way actually inhibits you to write another later on is strange. To think that writing what you love makes it difficult to share is just plain sad.

Funny how, even five years ago, this was more faux pas than it is now. Funny how, in a few short weeks, you can go from editing the last draft of your manuscript to publishing it on a website, and boom.... There it is for all to digitally purchase and read. Funny how agents and (famous) writers alike like to say, don't worry about a specific genre or if it's insanely marketable, "write what you love!" (There are articles all over the internet but one example is here.*)  Then, they immediately tell you "Hey, yeah... I can't market this."

Okay, so it's really not that funny.

Way back when, people thought self-publishing was a curse. Interesting how now, writers all over the world consider it a blessing. (As do readers lately, it seems). Things are a-changing, my friends.

Consider what agent Sara Megibow, from Nelson Literary Agency, tweeted yesterday: If publishing becomes more like music (possible) then there will be a few HUGELY commercially successful authors (both trad and self pub)...

See, now, I'm fine with that. I think *most* writers who are struggling to get their work under readers' noses would be fine with that, too! The whole point of getting through the drafts and the words and the love and the angst of writing isn't to stuff it under a box and walk away, it's to allow others the gift of seeing the end of your journey!

So, friends, what is your take on all this? Would you 

a) write FOR the market, and in doing so, label your work a specific genre in order to have a higher chance of getting it to go somewhere (and/or even completely revise your work to have more of a chance at traditional publishing), 

b) write for your HEART, and then after all is said and edited, go about trying to squeeze it into one genre

or 

c) try to do a little bit of both?

And if the genre label/type-cast/pigeonhole wasn't working for you, would you rewrite it all, or lean toward self-publishing in order to keep your story true?

I would love to see your responses (along with examples of genres people have used/bent themselves that aren't particularly traditional) below!

Jessica

*I am in no way dogging this agent or her response to the question or her opinion on the matter... just showing one quick example of advice offered all over the interwebs from the literary world. 

The Sky is Falling

There's been some talk on the internet lately about the way the industry is going -- what publishers are looking for at the moment, and what's been overdone.

I read both articles (first this one -- scroll down to the Nov. 8th post -- then this) and my first thought was, Well, sh*t. (To be honest, I actually began to panic before I'd even read the second post.)

The main discussion in the first link was about contemporary YA, but she also said this: "It’s telling me I’ve got to be wary of paranormal. And that there are lots of stories around about teen girls with ‘an altered state of consciousness’ (ie, who transport somewhere else, switch places with someone, live an alternate life)."

But but... that's what I'm querying right now! Dreams! Fantasy! Not paranormal, but still... I mean... what? How was I supposed to know other people were writing the same thing, that the agents were feeling inundated with that sort of work? (Well I did know, because not too long ago I queried an agent who immediately tweeted that it was being done too much. But at that point, FLORA was done, so I was kind of stuck.)

I sat there, outside, in my chair holding Henry, shivering, and thinking, "Now what? What do I do? What do I write? How in the world am I going to come up with something entirely different?"

But you know, this sort of thing happens all the time. One person says things are in, another says they're not. The industry is entirely subjective. It depends on who you know, what you're writing, how you're writing it, and if your voice stands out. (At least, that's what I'm telling myself right now.)

I spent a better half of the day yesterday trying to change my new WiP into something that it wasn't. Into something more daring, more "high concept" than it really was. And for what? To make sure I covered the bases for something that will most likely change in a few short months? Way before I even finish this thing, that came two me a mere few days ago?

Then I remembered this post I read the other day - at the Getting Past the Gatekeeper blog. And it made me feel better. It made me remember that we have to do what we do, the way we feel like doing it. (Further proof of that is the ever-popular author Ellen Hopkin's response in the comments section on the Kidlit blog.)

Sure, FLORA may not go anywhere. Do I want that? Heck no. But if it doesn't, I'll keep writing, finish up this new WiP, and then I'll have yet another novel under my belt. Another piece of work I'll mention when querying -- that may or may not spark interest. But at least I'll be able to mention it, if they don't like the current piece of work. And who knows, by then it may be something agents are looking for again. At least, that's my hope.

We have to get to a point in this writerly journey where we're comfortable with who we are, comfortable with what we write. Because if every single article we read spurred immediate panic, and we all rushed around saying "Did you hear? Did you hear?" there's a whole lot of awesome work out there that would never go anywhere.

Please put your hands together for...the introverted author!

I've decided that I'm a performer.  It all makes perfect sense now.  That's why I am scared to death to meet strangers, but I have no problem being in front of strangers if they stay...strangers.

In high school and junior high I loved being in plays.  I sold Avon for years, and had quite a large customer base, if I do say so myself.  I've thrown tons of bridal and baby showers and birthday parties.  Want me to volunteer somewhere? No problem.  Stand in front of a group of people and give a seminar?  I don't think I'd give it a second thought.  All of those things involve meeting mainly large groups of people -- always on my terms.  But tell me I'm going to meet someone new, and even worse, that there's only a few people, and I totally and completely freak out.  Because that makes it personal. Which is scary. Personal and performance are two totally different things.  Keep this in mind as I tell you what happened to me earlier this evening.

For the past month or so, I have been trying to get together with a few local authors that I found via the internet.  I haven't met them yet, though we've been trying to get together for a while.  A few weeks ago one of the authors was nice enough to inform me about a local published author speaking at the library here in town tonight.  She thought going would benefit me, and I did too.

Now let me just say that my normal modus operandi is to plan on something like that up until hours before, and then flake (or freak) out and not go.  That day always ends up being insane (and today was) and I use that to help me feel better about not going.

Today I refused to give in to my usual routine.  I stood in the bathroom all sweaty and stressed tonight after warming up left-overs for dinner (while getting to hear complaints about this or that, not to mention yelling at the kids to "Please leave some for your dad!") and visiting with a friend for a bit.  I tried to start my flat iron a thousand times (no matter how many times I punched the breaker and turned on the iron over and over again -- for some reason, the light wouldn't go on). 

Then I decided to try something different and plugged in my curlers. What-do-ya-know, they worked just fine.  After going to an outlet on the opposite side of the house and testing the flat iron (yes, of course it turned on) I went back into my room and plugged it in again for about the tenth time, and the light lit up immediately. (What the?)

So back to the sweaty and stressed part.  I stood there trying to do my hair.  Curlers? Or flat iron?  Curlers. No...flat iron. Wait....  I finally decided the flat iron would make me less sweaty than the curlers.   After doing my hair and getting dressed (amidst kids coming in and out -- one had a hurt ankle and was crying, another was working on a book report, and the other was bugging the one who was trying to do a book report before finally deciding to tell me the events of her day in great detail and at an even greater decibel) I started doing my makeup.  At that point my brain was screaming "Don't go! Don't go! Don't go!" but I'm so proud of myself -- I ignored it.

I sat outside for a few minutes to cool off and contemplated not going again.  Five minutes after the event was supposed to begin, I got into the car.  (Being on time is never my strong suit anyway.)  I blared my ipod all the way there to get myself pumped. I can do this. I can do this!  I. Can. Do. This.

Parking turned into a small feat for some reason, but after the fourth try I finally parked in the stall correctly (nerves, I'm telling you), and forced myself to get out (Sanitizer? Check!  Cell phone? Check!  Purse? Yes in deedy!) and walk down the long sidewalk to the library's front doors.

One deep breath and I was opening the door.  And of course this huge whoosh of air blew over me as I walked in (air conditioner?  Psycho winds?  Little devil flying over to land on my shoulder and scream "Don't go in!" one more time? I dunno) -- my hair went flying everywhere and all onto my lip gloss.  But I kept walking.  And let me just tell you, my readers -- I'm glad I did.  

If you're wondering what I did next, I really didn't do anything.  I snuck in as discreetly as possible and sat in the back where no one could see me.  Then I listened. I listed to this woman and mother and wife tell her story of queries and refusals and queries and more refusals, and self-publishing when she gave up on the queries, and then I listened to her talk about finding a publisher. And getting a deal.  A five book deal.  

I found myself excited FOR her.  Happy for this person I'd never met.  Excited and proud for this person who'd decided one day to write for fun, who had only a few short years later made a name for herself, able to stand there in our library and say that she had a publisher and an editor and that her next book was coming out in a few months.  

To be honest, it was just downright inspiring.  Not from a "okay I'm totally going to do this and be fine and get a five book deal too" point of view, because I know it's not that easy, and the likelihood of that happening to me as well is very small.  It was more along the lines of inspiring because she did something she loved and had an absolutely wonderful result.

I can't wait to be that person.  At the rate I've been going lately it may be years from now, but I do want to be that person.  Someone who can stand up in front of people and speak/perform in front of a bunch of strangers (which will work out great, because that's what I do well) and my loved ones and say "I am an author!  And I'm published!"  It's going to be awesome.  I can't wait to have my family sitting there in the back of the room, with the same proud smiles on their faces.  

This will happen, my dear readers. In time.  Someone will say, "Put your hands together for Jessica Brooks!".  I will stand there holding the microphone, after the usual insane day, and tell my story.  And hopefully someone else will be inspired.

The Writing Process

Writing.  Sounds so simple, doesn't it?  Stuff comes to your mind, you write it down, a story forms, you build on that story. Protagonist, Antagonist. Characters, dialogue, plots, sub-plots. 

It sounds so simple. You think of a story, decide to share it with everyone, and in a matter of weeks/days/months/years, after being sucked into a world of your own and neglecting almost everything else around you,  you're done.  As you move on to the next step of querying, a satisfying feeling of completion washes over you.  But...are you really finished?  Most editors and publishers will think not.

Writing can be compared to many things, but for the moment I'm going to compare it to shoes.  You buy the shoe, insert the laces.  Now do you expect to walk around?  No.  The laces still have to be pulled up together, looped around, and tied.  It's pretty much the same when it comes to writing.  The writing part is getting your shoes, and lacing them nice and neat and even.  

But learning how to tie them tight enough to stay in those loops as you walk around all day long is the hard part.  That's the publisher/editor process.  They take what you have (if you've followed the insanely long guidelines/rules) and help you get the laces into nice, perfect, symmetrical loops.  Guidelines like:

Were the characters believable?  Were they the type that people could relate to?  Did you do your story in third person point of view? If so, did you go too far with the he's, she's and they's? How about first person point of view? Too many I's? Did the first person point of view come across too telly? (My new word.)  You made sure to show enough, and not tell the whole time, right? And how about talking? Did the main character talk too much and not tell -- oops -- I mean, show the story to the readers?

And speaking of readers - did you pull them in enough at the beginning? That first sentence, the first paragraph  -- was it good enough?  How far into the story did the readers have to get before they come across the hook?  Was your hook good enough?  Was the it the real reason for the story? Did it even tie into the story at all?

Did you go overboard with adverbs? Adjectives? Throw in too many just's or that's? Are there too many words? Not enough words?

The story line wasn't too dark, or too light, or too heavy, or too preachy, or too full of dialogue -- right?

Let's not forget originality.  Is your story original? Will it stand alone in a book store and say "Read me -- I'm different. I'm entertaining. I don't sound like every other chick lit or nonfiction or mystery or romance out there."?  Or is it just like ten/twenty other stories that have just been published or are being submitted to agents as I type this?

Many times we aim our frustration at the person teaching us to tie our shoes (a.k.a.the one who edit/critiques our work), because writing, like tying shoes at first, isn't really as simple as we all make it sound.  It takes so much time and effort to get the loops right and tight enough, and sure, other people learned to tie their shoes the same way eventually, but that doesn't really make it any easier, does it?  

The term the writing process is used for a reason.  Aside from coming up with a story line, characters and a beginning, middle and end, there's so much writers have to worry about before a book can even be considered as finished. Not to mention, so much that needs to be done before it's even considered to be good.

And that process can get you down. It can get you frustrated, give you writer's block, make you want to bash your head against the keyboard, tear up your journals or notebooks, go shopping and blow tons of money, eat endless amounts of chocolate, devote more than a normal amount of time to watching movies or reading books or even scrubbing the grout in your shower, clean your house, do yard work, smoke thousands of cigarettes, boycott your computer.  Simply having fun while writing a book tends to be the last thing on a writer's mind when they are re-writing for the tenth time, because something doesn't make sense, or flow, or well, all of the things I mentioned above.

That being said, I don't think any of us would choose NOT to write.  But I know a lot of us are forming ulcers in the process.  Ulcers we, in a twisted, masochistic sort of way, want to have, but ulcers nonetheless.