Switching From Literary To Genre Fiction

This is a guest post from Kim Wright, author of Love in Mid Air. Personally, my own writing life really took off once I realized I could write genre fiction and gave up on writing the prize-winning novel!

Whenever you mention the subject of writers switching genres, you get one of two reactions:
Why are they being forced to?  Or…
Why won’t their agents and editors let them?

The contradictions may spring from confusion about what genre is.  Heaven knows, the word is bandied about a lot, but it means different things to different people and furthermore, like everything in publishing, the definition in flux.  Some people point out that all writing, including the most literate of literature, falls into some sort of genre while others sneer that genre is more often just a code word for what used to be called pulp fiction – hastily written and formulaic stories which are forgotten the second the book is closed.  Or, increasingly likely, the moment the e-reader is switched off.

For purposes of this discussion, let’s say that “literary” fiction is those thematically-serious, language-driven books, which are often experimental in form.  “Genre” is any category of fiction with agreed-upon rules and goals – mystery, romance, thrillers, horror, historical, and so forth.  (Whether or not chick lit qualifies as a genre or indeed exists at all is such a complex, hot-button topic it’s best saved for another column.)

But here’s the most important point:  Genre is more commercial than literary.   It generally sells better.

So whether people are being pushed to switch genres or being discouraged from doing so totally depends on which category they’re starting from.

To wit:  I’m presently researching a nonfiction book on publishing, so I’ve been talking to a lot of writers.  Within the last month two established novelists told me stories which, on the surface at least, sound utterly contradictory.

One of them started out as stratospherically literary; her first two books were introspective, well-reviewed, and rarely-purchased.  By the time the third came out, she was under pressure from her publisher to switch to something that was more commercial – to the degree they summoned her to New York and sat down at a table to “help” her hammer out the plot.  The resultant novel, not surprisingly, crashed and burned.

The other started out writing a very generic kind of “average woman finds herself in trouble” book, a style she describes as “Jodi Picoult lite.” When she decided to go a little deeper in book four and have the character in a trouble of her own making, her publisher balked.  “They explained to me how much effort they’d gone to establishing me as a brand,” she said.  “And said my readers would feel I had abandoned them.”  Her publishers uses the word “brand” much like it was used to identify cattle in the Old West; i.e., once you’re branded, it’s clear who owns you and in which pasture you belong.

It’s not news that the market is troubled and that literary, always a tough sell, has become even tougher.  Genre/commercial is where the limited action is.  No one knows if the pendulum will eventually swing back, and obviously some literary books do sell, but the overall trend is pretty clear.  At least for now, no one is looking for a quiet, little, experimentally-structured closely-observed literary novel.

So when a literary writer decides to go genre, her business partners cheer.  When a genre writer expresses the desire to go literary….not so much.
For precisely these reasons, some writers fear that genre can become a career cul-de-sac.  Or, worse, a bear trap – easy to get into, hard to get out of.  But, speaking as someone who switched from a literary debut to a mystery followup, I think there are strong arguments to be made for trying something more commercial.

Switching genres can work well if these four sentences are true.

• The switch was your idea or, if it originated someone else, you quickly saw the merit of the suggestion. Nothing works if you feel that it was rammed down your throat.

• You like the book you’re writing.   I love mysteries and have read a bundle of them, so when I got the idea for a mystery based around Jack the Ripper, I couldn’t wait to begin.  But it’s a big mistake to try and write something you wouldn’t read, because if you have contempt for the genre or the book….believe me, it will show.  You may as well stamp the words “I’ve sold out” on the cover.

• You see the decision as both/and not either/or.  In the Darwinesque world of contemporary publishing, only the most adaptable will survive and I predict you’ll see more and more cross-genre writing – and more writers moving successfully between literary and commercial projects.

• You’re learning something.  In my case, I’m learning how to plot.  We literary writers can babble all we want about our process being organic, but in many cases our anti-plot bias springs from the fact we don’t know how to do it.  Switching genres can make you a more balanced writer, the way an off-season sport can help an athlete develop different muscles and skill sets.

Most of us didn’t go into this line of work seeking security or because we’re the kind of people who like doing the same thing over and over again.   If these four factors are in play, switching genres can pump a whole new type of enthusiasm into your career.  And – here’s the real surprise – it can be tremendous fun.

Kim Wright is the author of Love in Mid Air, published by Grand Central,  (Link) and the upcoming The Path to Publication, which will be published by Press 53 in September.  She is presently researching the birth of forensics in Victorian London.

Image: Flickr CC Martin Cathrae