Not a Blog, But a Note on Genre vs Literary and All That Rot

Apparently there’s been a few tiffs in blogging world that I missed, being knee deep in the job that pays me and which, unromanticly, prioritizes writing in second place. I don’t feel shame about that anymore. It’s amazing what a coffee book can do for you.

As for whether writers write for an audience or themselves, and if that’s tied down to genre leaving literary fiction free of restraint, and the merits and effects achieved of this…

In my head it’s tiresome rot.

Writers write best when part of the writing is for themselves, and part of it the conveyance of this pleasure to external eyes, virgin or not.

For we know so damnably well the works where the writer discards all his cards and holdings to please an audience with what they think they want. It works neither for magicians and definitely not for writers.

To writers I say: Have a care! Your readers like your works best when it’s you.

Create your world of illusion. On your stage, delight, but never boringly pander, for they come for delight and grandeur. Audiences come and go; who are you to try to grab them? In that case, no better than a streetcorner magician, poor rogue.

With a world build a narrative for eyes, virgin or experienced, and draw your right audience towards you, forwith you delight them with your miniature world and its goings-on.

O what kind of world? What kind of narrative? It matters not a whit so choose what you like, because
manufactured enthusiasm lives not long nor burns as bright.

Your right audience will come. And the question of who’s in control or not is meaningless.

That is the lesson of the magician.

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