Storytellersunplugged

Where Words Meet

An Ambivalent Defense of the Dark

by Gerard Houarner

Alex Grey, advising artists:

Keep going. Never give up. Your life is a labyrinth, not a maze. Dedicate your work to something higher than yourself…

One of the many struggles creative types face is the problem of labeling. Being dropped into a bucket and cast as a certain “type” eliminates options and choices for both audience and artist.  While not without rewards, it’s also a trap, as when a market dries up, a fashion fades, new media and avenues of distribution pop up. The bucket gets kicked, and nobody cares about who or what is spilled.

Publishers, critics, editors, writers, fans like to drop stuff we write into buckets called genre. It’s a convenient habit. Like a good sofrito, genres contain a number of specific, predictable elements, with an occasional surprise, that satisfies an audience’s “taste” and hunger for a particular kind of story.

This assumes people know what they want to read, and what they don’t. Many do, of course, or at least gravitate to the comfortably familiar. But lots of folks are looking for something “interesting,” without really knowing what they’re “interested” in. It’s easy to turn off those people with labels and all the cliches associated with them – few want something identified as literary talking head novel on the beach, or a book that seems to promise a grue fest during a family crisis.

Every now and then, perhaps even seasonally, like hurricanes, a debate arises about the needs the few – publishers, critics, editors, writers, etc – and the needs of the many – that segment of the population looking for something interesting to read. Not fans, specifically, but that elusive and highly prized grail for anyone seeking wealth, fame, critical acceptance into the various canons of literary tradition, or just the next mortgage payment: readers.

Sharper thinkers and more experienced hands have dealt with the topic here and elsewhere, lately, and I find myself in agreement with the direction taken by those who want to be known simply as writers. Yes, pin us down and at any given time we may be writing horror, fantasy, post-modern slipstream, mystery, romance, science fiction, suspense, thrillers, media tie-ins, but even in that moment we are in fact much more than any of those things. We contain multitudes, we cannot be labeled.

And I agree that there’s nothing to be gained by being dubbed the “king/queen of whatever” because we are in fact cutting off a healthy segment of that general readership who may not look at us if we’re trapped in a market niche that does not, on it’s face, attract them. I agree that, unless you’re trying to start a cult, it’s better to be inclusive than exclusive when looking for an audience.

And yet, I struggle with being just a “writer.” Maybe I can afford to struggle because I don’t write for a living.

In the profession I’ve pursued for a living, I’ve chosen the population I work with, and how far to rise up the education and career ladder (determining how much money I make and how much time I have left to do other things, like write), and where I work, and through research and opportunities, even how. I do all kinds of crazy stuff that has absolutely nothing to do with a job dealing with people (like, drive a truck and pick up/deliver supplies; work a loading dock; perform light maintenance on machinery; housekeeping – my old clinic director in the Fordham section of the Bronx regularly cleaned out the toilets), but I’ve also specialized to give myself the kind of experiences that make the day job rewarding in ways beyond making money. What I’m saying here is that it’s one thing to lay down bricks, pump out articles or novels, or shepherd the ill back to some form of health. People also bring something to their work, if they have any passion about it. They do something special that sets them apart(okay, sometimes they’re incompetent, and that also sets them apart, but I’m trying to be positive here!). Writers zone in on specialties, too.

As creative types, we’re drawn to particular subjects. We’re compelled to explore them through our art. This stuff comes through no matter what we write. This “vision” may be the reason why our work is sometimes sought out by an editor. This vision is what drives us to create, it’s what makes us crazy – we pick at wounds, stare at accidents, peer into mysteries rather than put our feet up on the coffee table to watch whatever’s on television while tipping back a few brews.

Considering passion, specialties and subjects, I can’t help thinking many of us are more than just “writers.”

We’re also encouraged by modern marketing to “brand” ourselves, to become known through our “platforms” to a wider audience eager to consume our “product.” Though this kind of stuff goes beyond the writing of books, it is just another kind of labeling. It’s a way of busting out of a genre or type of writing, of becoming sui generis.

So maybe that’s the secret to the whole genre problem – writers need to become their own “genre.” For example, is modern commercial fantasy really fantasy, or is it a genre called Tolkien? Is commercial horror just horror, or is it King?

Instead of shunning labels, or embracing a single one, maybe we should cut them up and fashion a patchwork quilt coat for ourselves. Readers might not like all the colors, but could still find their interest tweaked by finding favorites mixed in with the rest.

Ridiculous, I know. Critics will never sign on. Neither will publishers. How would you even describe the mash-up? Inspirational romantic speculation? Dark literary tragedy? If it bleeds, it’s horror. If it’s about language, it’s literary. If there’s magic, it’s fantasy. If someone’s trying to solve a crime, it’s a mystery. Obvious. Simple. These are the rules. This is what makes sense to most readers.

But, of course, stories are about all of these things. And more. In different degrees and proportions, according to the writer’s passions and tastes.

Here’s another problem with being a “writer” – how do you explain to people what you do? I bring up the fact that I’m a writer pretty frequently in conversations with people I meet - obnoxious, I know, but there it is. And the next question is, what do you write? (As opposed to the first statement, which is, I have a great story you could write down and we’d split the money.)  It’s the first question asked at the very occasional literary functions I might attend, having steeled myself against vacant looks from editors and agents and perhaps actually caught someone’s attention.

Science fiction, horror, thriller, romance – these are the standard answers. Everything. Yeah, cookie-cutter. What are you working on now? Why, I’m blending romance and science fiction war genres in a cutting edge, far-future, cyberpunk adventure featuring a strong-female lead – interested?

The eyes glaze.

Well, yes, people is an answer. Characters. Troubled, magical, even disturbed and positively deranged individuals. I must say it wrong, because even to me I sound like a smartass.

If you mention a genre that’s out of favor with the people you’re talking to, the conversation withers. If you spin a clever web of short and sweet plot summaries, or whip out log lines and high concepts, or recount a few vivid anecdotes about your imaginary character, and people listen, you’re doing a hell of a lot better than a lot of writers I know.

What else is there?

Adventure. Family. The past. Hope. Darkness. The future. Faith.

There’s a zillion of them, of course. They point to something larger, a personal subject that transcends the mechanics of any particular form or commercial genre, that might help a writer, or any creator, bring passion to whatever they might try their hand at. Of course, we all write about all of these things – I understand, I’m treading lightly on the “alternative to genre” ground I’m laying down, here.

But I am searching for a way to engage readers, or curious bystanders (even innocent ones).

People want labels. They’ll put them on you if you don’t define yourself (oh, you write that Star Trek stuff, or, do you know Stephen King? or even, I used to love Murder, She Wrote).

So maybe a way to go is to define yourself by the subjects that fascinate you, that drives you no matter what part of the field you’re tilling. Maybe it’s a step in creating your “brand,” your own personal genre.

I can’t help being drawn to “dark.” What do you write? Oh, I like to write about people dealing with darkness, you know, struggling against what’s inside them, or something going on around them. Sometimes it’s horror, or science fiction. Fantasy. Funny stuff, too. Hell, even this blog I write for called Storytellersunplugged gets dark. But I throw in a few jokes, here and there.

Or, I like to write about things like what’s behind that door marked “Do Not Enter” at the back of your store.

Yeah, I know, it needs a lot of work. I’ve got to mine the “subject” to find all the different ways it can represent my work to really own it, to sell it in casual conversation. And yes, I know labeling myself as a writer of “Dark Fiction” will turn off all the people looking for hope and inspiration in the first line. But, you know, I don’t usually give hope or inspiration in the first line, and if I do, you’re in for a world of hurt. Oh, I’ll get to hope and inspiration, and it might even make it to the last line. But if the “happily ever after” gets added at the end, then I’m afraid there’s not going to be a lot of passion attached to those words.

It all seems silly, doesn’t it, fighting for attention while at the same time resisting the human need to categorize. A writer of dark fiction. It sounds too much like the “speculative” writer trying to escape the sci-fi trap. I don’t see the sui generis thing working itself out through it, either. It’s better than horror writer, or dark fantasy author. Maybe. But it does feel just a tiny bit better than just “writer.” At least for me. Because life is short, time shorter, and people’s attention span can be measured in micro seconds.

Whether we like it or not, we might need to use just a tiny bit of that time collaborating with the “forces of darkness” within and around us to define the label that’s coming down on our heads.

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