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Hello, friends, and welcome back to the Column! Today, we’re discussing genre and the Milkshake Hypothesis.
Now, a milkshake—strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, cookies n’ cream—is always a win, for me at least. But the best milkshake is obtained when you break the bounds of sweet perfection. Ever heard of the Pink Cadillac? My dad invented it at a Fuddruckers in New Mexico, but now its a staple of the Route 66 Diner. It's a milkshake, half strawberry, half ground up Oreo. Crunchy, creamy, sweet, and tart. It’s one of the best milkshakes ever invented, and that’s not because it’s the best of a single flavor. It’s because it is the best of many. The world’s most provocative literary worlds have the same attributes as the Pink Cadillac. Variety. There are few art forms that give you the freedom and medium to build entire worlds your way, and while some people are strict genre folks, most of us have varying interests. For example, one hundred people may agree that they all love fantasy, but if you ask each person to explain further, you’re gonna start getting different answers. “I like the fantasy with romance,” he’ll say red faced. “Fantasy Horror,” she’ll say with a wicked gleam in her eye. Then, some nerd will say, “Historical fantasy,” because they like seeing cameos and hints toward obscure historical figures. (That nerd is me.) So, when humans are so varied and interested in so many things, why do writer’s confine themselves to one genre? Why do we pick vanilla, chocolate, or strawberry? Why are we afraid to write what we want to read? Well, in the professional world, there’s a good reason why genre blending isn’t widely encouraged. Publishing firms are genre specific, more often than not to streamline advertising. A good case study of this is Laurell K. Hamilton. She’s been writing the same series for nearly thirty years now, and her commentary on the evolution of the publishing world is enlightening. “You say that I combined romance, fantasy, and horror, but Anita Blake is a hard-boiled mystery series, too,” she said in an interview, speaking to her own twenty-seven book long series, which began in 1994 and continues to this day. She later explains that her first book was rejected over 200 times before finally being accepted, mostly because publishing firms didn’t know where to put it. The horror firms didn’t want it because it wasn't horror enough, mystery didn’t want it because it was too fantasy, and the list went on and on. Then, when the series was picked up, it was notoriously hard to find in bookstores. It was in a different genre section at every shop. Rough, right? Well, no. People found Laurell’s books, people who had gone in looking for a mystery and came out with that and much more. More importantly though, Laurell got to write what she loved for twenty-seven years. She’s built a world she clearly adores, and that her cult following adores along with her. Writing is the creation of something you love. If you love true crime and science fiction, then write both. Don’t restrict yourself because you’ve been told you have to pick. In fact, not picking a single genre and embracing an amalgamation of your interests can be the best thing you’ve ever done. Now, I’m not saying go buck wild and confuse your audience, but like the Pink Cadillac, most things are better when you have them exactly how you want them. Even if it’s obscure and super specific and you think no one will like it, at least one person will. You. In the end, I’d rather spend 30 years writing what I love and having a small audience than write a smothering series for 5 years that has a massive audience. So, my dear friends, make your Pink Cadillac. Your audience will follow. -Chaunti Hatchett Do you have any specific questions about genre that weren’t answered in this section? Leave a comment down below and the author of this post will answer it when our next entry is posted. Note: Questions posted after 3/12 may not be answered.
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A bare-knuckle, heart-pounding, intense fistfight. A frail, tiny girl standing on stage in front of faceless thousands. The high-speed adrenaline rush of a car chase, or the heartbreaking silence of a couple in the midst of a personal feud. Finding a roadblock in your neighborhood, or the ticking clock of a bomb doomed to level a city. Throughout this broad range of scenarios, one thing is common: the element of conflict.
Conflict is the backbone of every story ever told. Compare these two tales:
Now, why was the second story more engaging than the first? It’s a simple, almost obvious answer: humans crave conflict in all its forms. Conflict is how each and every one of us has gotten to the position we are at, both individually and as a species. Humanity has overcome everything life throws at us, from predators to natural disasters. Even you, the reader, might have suffered through a hard class or a family crisis, coming out intact. These conflicts make up the stories of our lives, shaping who we are as people. And, in a novel, they are necessary to shaping who our characters are as people. Many teachers or literary scholars will try to create labels to define conflict. You’ve heard these terms before in your english classes: man vs nature, man vs society, man vs. self, etc. But, these categories don’t necessarily explain how these conflicts work, instead classifying them in terms of genre convention. I prefer to think of conflict as a single entity, a predictable one at that, but one who wears many different masks. Conflict’s main goal is to make life as difficult as possible for our protagonist. On the other hand, our protagonist’s main goal is to overcome the conflict however they can. Part of the joy of Conflict’s life is the struggle, because he doesn’t consider it fun unless the protagonist is actively fighting back. A hopeless, pessimistic protagonist is boring to read about, because it doesn’t seem realistic to most people. Regardless of how we act in real life, each of us likes to believe that, if we were put in the same situation, we would try to escape it. When we find a protagonist that feels the same, we see ourselves in them, and we start to empathize with their journey. Conflict is not particular about the specifics of his attacks against the protagonist, and often manifests in many forms, each affecting a different aspect of our protagonist. The protagonist might face a main conflict against a powerful tyrant, but also face personal conflict from his family, his loved ones, or even himself. Think of Hamlet. The titular character faces opposition from Claudius, his uncle who has taken the crown following Hamlet Senior’s untimely demise. While many look at this as the most obvious conflict, Hamlet is also forced to stifle his love for his romantic interest Ophelia and wrestles with his own indecisiveness, a fatal flaw. The ways Hamlet deals with these issues reveal more about him as a person, a pattern we must follow in our own stories. The more conflicts a character faces, the more insight we gain into them as people. By the end of the novel, the conflict must be resolved in a satisfying way, usually as a result of the climax. By the end of the second tale, the conflict was established, but the protagonist had not overcome the problem. When the man wakes up from his jelly-induced coma, the author must decide how he (the character) will recover from his wounds and keep going in his quest to create his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Is this a story of a man overcoming the struggles his world throws at him? Will it be a cautionary tale about how the deliciousness of a PB&J corrupts the good-hearted and virtuous? It is up to you to decide. -Aaron Scott Do you have specific questions about conflict that weren't answered in this section? Leave a comment down below and the author of this post will answer it when our next entry is posted. Note: Questions posted after 2/27 may not be answered. |
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February 2020
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