Writers Unbound

There’s a certain peculiar divide in the world of writing. It’s a lot like a cut scene from Tarantino’s masterwork, Pulp Fiction, where a seductive and bob-sporting Uma Thurman does a little classifying:

My theory is that when it comes to important subjects, there’s only two ways a person can answer. For instance, there’s two kinds of people in this world, Elvis people and Beatles people. Now Beatles people can like Elvis. And Elvis people can like the Beatles. But nobody likes them both equally. Somewhere you have to make a choice. And that choice tells me who you are.

This might be a bit of a stretch, but let’s just say that Elvis is genre writing, with his appealing swagger and bold presentation, and the Beatles are literary writing, with their highly refined lyrics and their subdued effect.

(We’re talking Beatles pre-LSD and -Sgt. Pepper’s, that is.)

Now then, that having been said, it’s incredibly difficult as a writer to be both Elvis and the Beatles, to both be popular and possess literary merit, whether on a grand scale, talking about one’s oeuvre, say, or a tiny scale, within the lines of a single poem.

A writer in this day and age just might have to make that choice Ms. Thurman mentioned, the choice between Elvis and the Beatles, between genre writing and literary writing. The American literature market is becoming increasingly homogenized, dominated by workable formulas and direct, Wealth of Nations-esque competition (e.g. diet books, self-help, the “thriller”). It’s beginning to mirror, in some ways, the American political system.

However, while the choosing might be inevitable, both choices have their consequences. For instance, working in genre fiction can undermine one’s literary authority. Consider the case of Stephen King. An amazingly popular author, yes, quite successful and beloved by a number of readers, but, unfortunately, due to his being branded as a horror writer, not a very respected figure at all when it comes to literary theory and practice and, consequently, not likely to become immortal in the sense of Joyce, Faulkner and the like.

Perhaps the best advice is to simply follow one’s instincts.

If you’ve a knack for thinking up compelling plot lines and exciting situations, you might be destined for genre writing and, of course, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that at all. By all means, pursue it. Don’t deny your natural talents. You’ll still have everything a writer truly needs: readership and, along with it, a sense of accomplishment in that you’ve reached and influenced people in some fashion.

If you’re more of a stylist, concerned about turn of phrase and the inner conflicts of character, you might be destined for literary writing and, again, perfectly alright. You might not become as immediately popular as the genre writers, but there’s the chance you might live longer (metaphorically speaking).

The important thing to remember is that, no matter the path the writer chooses, she must not take it leisurely. She must make a run for it. Dedication and focus are the keys. In other words, energy can be everything, unless it’s everywhere.