Comments on Craft

The other day I read an article on writing craft entitled, “25 Essential Notes on Craft from Matthew Salesses”.

I found the article both thought provoking and disturbing. Thought provoking in that it gave me a sneak peak at how other cultures view craft. Disturbing in that it was a typical academic rant condemning Western culture in the promotion of diversity.

Why academics, and the Left in general, feel the need to promote diversity by bashing the West baffles me. In so doing, they strip diversity of the very diversity they are trying to promote. We cannot embrace diversity (which I see as a good thing) if we condemn a part of the human community. If we truly are one, then all cultures and people are one — and all approaches to the craft of writing have value.

In my own writing journey, I am deeply indebted to the Japanese outlook regarding storytelling. The, by Western standards, “plotless” approach of Japanese craft suits me. And in discovering the so-called plotless novel, I found the freedom to write fiction.

I learned much of my craft from the poets Basho, Saigyō, and Ishikawa Takuboku; the movies of Yasujirō Ozu; and the novels of Kazuo Ishiguro. Yet, I’d say I write very much in a Western style.

What the above artists gave me was an appreciation for the impact that under-telling has on the reader. Of course Elmore Leonard said much the same thing when he advised writers to leave out the parts readers skip over.

The Japanese writer also views himself in partnership with the reader. For example: a tanka poem is said to be the middle of the story. The reader is expected to supply the beginning and the end. Both writer and reader contribute to the wholeness of the poem.

Both of the above aspects of Japanese writing remain with me. I don’t have to write everything. The reader can (and will) fill in.

Cultural exchange has been going on ever since there have been cultures, and I think it’s a good thing. We all become richer by adopting the good aspects of each other’s cultures.

Sure, there are purists in all cultures who want to isolate their culture from all outside influence. That leads to stagnation. And there are plenty of examples in history. And none worked in favor of the isolationists.

What’s worse, though, to my mind, is the hypocrisy of one-way appropriation: one culture taking from others, while at the same time being opposed to anyone taking from them. Unfortunately, we see a lot of this going on today.

Salesses makes a point regarding audience: that craft is tied to audience expectations. The two reinforce each other. I think this is true and inevitable. Especially with regards to popular fiction. Lit Fic writers have a much freer hand to experiment.

In my opinion, Salesses is merely stating the obvious. And in doing so, I can’t help but get the feeling that he doesn’t like it. That somehow readers should divorce themselves from their culture.

If I’m writing in a particular genre, if I wish to communicate to my audience, I must write in their language. That is, I must use the conventions of the genre that the reader expects to see.

I can’t write an urban fantasy action-adventure novel using a sweet romance formula — it won’t communicate. We especially see this in book covers — which are the first tool in the marketer’s arsenal.

Craft dictates that I meet my reader’s expectations. 

At the end of the day, a writer must be true to himself or herself. He or she cannot be something they are not. I cannot write an honest novel from the perspective of Native Americans, or Americans of African descent. Because I’m not Native or Black. We need writers from those cultures to tell their story.

In addition to being true to themselves, writers must also be true to their audience. If they aren’t, they will fail to communicate and they will fail to entertain.

And in the end, fiction is about communication and entertainment.

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!

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Commercial Fiction

Commercial fiction has existed ever since that first storyteller figured out he could get paid for telling stories. Paid on a regular basis, that is. That genius is lost to the mists of time, sad to say, but his legacy lives on.

The seeds of modern commercial fiction began in the 1700s with such money making gems as Pamela and Varney the Vampire. And continued into the 1800s, first with anonymous potboilers, such as those written by Louisa May Alcott, and stories from the pens of Poe, Dickens, and Trollope; and then on to the penny dreadfuls, the five-cent novels, and ten-cent novels of the later 1800s.

Commercial fiction blossomed in the 20th Century beginning in the 1920s and it continues unabated to this day.

So just exactly what is commercial fiction? H. Bedford-Jones (dubbed King of the Pulps) put it this way:

Look at magazine fiction. Has it any pretensions, any purpose, other than to entertain the reader? Absolutely none. A fiction magazine shuns in horror all propaganda, religious controversy, and boresome highbrow effusions. Its business is simply to make its readers forget their troubles and come again for more.

Edgar Rice Burroughs was even more straightforward:

No fiction is worth reading except for entertainment. If it entertains and is clean, it is good literature, or its kind. If it forms the habit of reading, in people who might not read otherwise, it is the best literature.

The bottom line is this: commercial fiction’s sole purpose is to entertain. And I would add — make money for the writer.

The writer of commercial fiction is an entertainer. No different than a singer, or a magician, or a carnival busker, or any sort of performer.

However, we writers aren’t told this. At least not by our English lit teachers in high school or college. And certainly not by creative writing professors.

Why? Well, the establishment only values what’s called literary fiction. That is, books and stories that have a message and are written with the message foremost in mind, not whether or not the story entertains. It may entertain, but that’s not its purpose.

Now the irony of this view lies in the fact that much so-called “literary” fiction was in its day commercial fiction.

One need go no further than Shakespeare. Bill did not sit down and write Hamlet or MacBeth or The Taming of the Shrew with the literary value of these stories in mind. He was writing to make a few quid to keep a roof over his head, food on the table, and to make sure his wife and mistress were happy.

Yet while making a buck, Bill wrote some great literature. Funny how that worked out.

Louisa May Alcott turned to writing anonymous potboilers to put food on the table and pay the rent because her head-in-the-clouds father, Bronson Alcott, didn’t have a clue as to how to support his family. Louisa May also wrote Little Women to keep the wolf from the door. The rest, as they say, is history.

Edgar Allan Poe wrote commercial fiction. He told stories for money. So did Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Rudyard Kipling, and H. Rider Haggard. And for that matter, so did J.K. Rowling.

Yet the academics, even for JKR, try their best to hide the filthy lucre aspect and dub the writings of those folks as great literature.

Even JRR Tolkien wasn’t trying to write great literature. He kind of thought of himself as this reincarnated Norse bard who was telling a story in the king’s great hall. And why did bards do that? To entertain their host as payment for a meal and a bed.

Robert E Howard wrote stories to make a buck. He was writing to entertain. In the process, he wrote some very fine literature. The same with Dickens, and Trollope, and Alcott, and Wells, and Dumas, and Verne, and most of the writers who wrote what is today called great literature.

I’ve been thinking about this distinction between literary fiction and commercial fiction, because of my interest in the writers who wrote for the pulp magazines. They wrote for money. They weren’t writing great literature. They were writing entertainment. Yet sometimes they did indeed write great literature, or at least fiction that came close to great literature.

One of the best statements on religious belief that I’ve read is in the second Tarzan novel. Who would’ve guessed?

H. Rider Haggard’s She was written as entertainment, but the story drives us to think about the purpose of life. And that is exactly what great literature is supposed to do.

Commercial fiction isn’t bad. It’s what most people want. So why shouldn’t someone write it for them?

Quite honestly, I mostly read commercial fiction. I think Hemingway’s “Hills Like White Elephants” is a fabulous story. So much is said by not saying anything. It’s a thought-provoking and memorable piece of fiction. But I’d much rather read Robert E Howard’s Solomon Kane stories. Why? Because they’re fun.

This exploration of mine into the writers of pulp fiction and the stories that they wrote has given me a lot to reflect on concerning my own path as a writer.

Given my present course, I see myself in a kind of fictional no man’s land. I’m not writing literary fiction and I’m not writing commercial fiction. As a result, I’m not making much money. And I do want to make money. At least enough to cover my expenses.

I’m not sure what the future will bring. How this exploration will affect my writing if it affects it at all. Because the actual writing is only one piece of the puzzle. There are also the other pieces: catchy titles, catchy cover art, catchy blurbs, effective marketing (both paid and unpaid). And who you know.

We can’t forget the who you know factor. If Mark Dawson, or Michael Anderle, or Agatha Frost, or Scott Pratt suddenly started promoting my books — why, my problems would be over.

All of the above, plays into the end result.

So I’m off to have a think. Not a heavy think. Just a let it simmer think. In the meantime, I’m going to have a cup of tea and read Ganbaru, written by Matthew Cormack, who’s one of my favorite post-apocalyptic writers. He entertains, and makes me think. What can be better than that?

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!

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