The Crusade Against Genre Fiction

Humans have a habit of organizing things into categories. We see this with music, telivision, media, and of course, literature. Now in fiction literature we have two polar playing fields- literary and genre. The common definition of literary is fiction that it is serious and critically acclaimed (Saricks). Genre on the other hand posesses a much less vague definition- this is where most commercial fiction lies in the vast wonderland of horror, mystery, romance, fantasy, science fiction, contemporary, and the endless other sub-categories. It has become common place within the writing community that literary is superior to that of genre fiction and that even genre fiction is mediocre at best. NO!

Of course, we know that this bias is ill placed right? Genre fiction possesses some of the most amazing writers of the last century like Tolkien, Lovecraft, King, and Gaiman; writers that have entertained millions and still utilized precise word play and literary composition. Until I attended the 2012 AWP conference in February I had never witnessed as much disdain for my most beloved genres. In my post 10 Things I Learned from AWP, I mentioned that there is a crusade against genre fiction and that what I find it is. Popular disdain for silly fiction or even fantastical universes so intricate entire textbooks could be devoted to their texts like the Lord of the Rings are assumed to be beneath that of literary fiction.

Now of course I know there is a difference between the two, but the way some of these writers look down their nose at certain fiction just due to its genre is foolish. We see this same idiocy in music as well as many people mock genres like hardcore or punk rock without properly listening to the astonishing lyrics or melodies of such music. To be frank its plain old lame and too old school for the new school- feel me? Of course, countless magazines and anthologies call for “literary” fiction, but in that same notion can’t genre fiction be serious and critically acclaimed?

 

I guess we’ll have to wait and see what the future holds for genre and literary fiction and perhaps one day they will be held under the same judgement.

 

What do you think of the differences between genre and literary fiction? Is one better than the other?

 

Damian

 

 

Saricks, Joyce (2009). The Readers’ Advisory Guide to Genre Fiction (2nd ed.). ALA Editions. pp. 402.

What Zombies taught me about Writing

No other horror phenomena like zombies have captivated the entire world and flooded them with a mix of entertainment and pure fright. From Haiti voodoo-esque type of zombies, to Romero’s limping zombies, to modern run-like-hell zombies, we can all envision these brain-munching creatures beating at our front door.

What I learned-

1. If they limp by, shoot ‘em-

Never let a thought go to waste, as writers we are confronted with a plethora of inspirations each and everyday. It would be foolish to let these great thoughts go to waste- keep a journal! Journals should be a requisite to anyone calling themselves an author; these journals can be used to track thoughts and document story progressions.

2. People complain about beating dead horses, but not dead zombies-

One of the most annoying words being tossed around the literary world is the deviant cliche`. This word is so frightening actually, that most authors leave behind perfectly good stories in hopes of finding solace in pure originality. As artists, we are influenced each and every day by books, movies, and the world we live. Follow a story through to the end!

3. Don’t get caught with your pants down-

My recent short story “Cycles” that was published by The Absent Willow Review on June 16th was a pleasure and honor, as well as a learning experience. I discovered three spelling errors in the text, and that is a mistake that will be forever imprisoned in the draft. Before submitting anything for publication, revise, revise revise! If your first draft doesn’t look like a zombie battleground when you’re done editing, then do it again! Editing is as much as a skill, as it is a torture. Learn it and prevail!

4. Better to go out with a bang, than consumed in silence-

The end of your story should resonate like a bomb in a crowded room full of the undead! Too often, authors will write a kick ass piece of fiction and then the ending fails the piece. Beginnings and endings, are two of the most important parts of any literary tale. Don’t let your readers down

5. Whatever you think about them they will never go away-

Critics are like hordes of zombies- if you ignore them, they will run up into your house and eat you alive; however, if you overcome them you will learn some valuable lessons. Never ignore a valid critiquing response or became dismayed by a harsh beat down. Instead, learn the error of your ways and ascend into a zombie/critic kicking mo’fo!

Good luck in the oncoming invasion.

My First Short Story has been published!

My first short story “Cycles” has been published today in The Absent Willow Review; a free online horror magazine. Cycles is a tale of a true-to-life vampire lost in New York City. Here’s a sampler and then you can click the link to give the story a read

                                                    “Cycles”

The chair was cold against my skin, I couldn’t tell if it was wood or metal but it didn’t really matter. What mattered were the ropes binding my wrists and ankles to the damned thing and the gag in my mouth.  I couldn’t remember what had happened or where I was, my head ached though and I could feel a knot bulging out near my temple. Where was I? It was dark, so dark that I couldn’t even tell if my eyes were open or closed, not that it made a difference at all. Was I robbed? I tried to struggle in the chair to see if my wallet was in my pocket but I couldn’t tell. I was tied too tight to the chair.

The gag felt like some sort of cloth; my tongue flicked against it and immediately shrank away from the metallic taste of blood stained into the gag. I choked on its strength and tried to lurch forward but I couldn’t. Who did this to me I didn’t know, but more importantly I didn’t know what they wanted. Were they coming back? Were they even here? I couldn’t tell, but I felt the room shake, I assumed that was a nice side effect from the swelling bump on my head; probably a small concussion. I continued to gag on the blood in my mouth; if the person who had me bound here didn’t come back for me I was going to choke and suffocate on the cloth gag.

Read the rest here

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New Story: Vampyre

Here’s a new piece of flash fiction. Enjoy

It is humorous that money buys nothing in the end. We work for this paper our entire lives and when the end is near we lie there like any other and wait for fate to come down and shit on us. Believe me, I have climbed the ladders from scum to supreme, from poverty to powerful, from a New York City bum to a corporate entrepreneur with more money than the goddamn president; but as I write this down I am immortal. The blood that flows through my veins is not pure, but a coarse black serum that keeps my pale skin thriving in the dark.

My secretary had first introduced me to the treatment. When I had been diagnosed with cancer a year ago I’d given up. The doctor told me I had less than a year to live, that no treatment would remedy the affliction. The bastard gave me a Medical Marijuana card, and enough painkillers to drug a fucking whale.

“I got something” My secretary said nervously, rubbing his hands together. “Shipped straight from Asia, real weird shit.”

“If I’m looking to get high I’d just smoke the weed, Tom” I had told him and twirled a quarter on my desk.  “I need a cure. I have all the money in the world, but the doctors got nothing.”

“Nah, a friend from overseas told me about something that’s been passed around in the underground markets. People call it ‘Vampyre’.”

“Vampyre?”

“Yeah as in ‘Vam-pire’. It comes in a fluid, you inject it and in three days the cancer will be gone.” Tom cleared his throat nervously. “But-“

“Side effects?” I asked.

“Typical bullshit- headaches, nausea, minor hallucinations, and in some of the cases death.” Tom paused.  “But that’s a small percentage of trials. “’Course it’s not FDA approved or nothing but I can get it in here in a week or two,”

That’s all I needed. I just needed to see a spark of opportunity, even if it were dim. I wouldn’t have cared if he were trying to pour rat poison down my throat, or inject cyanide in my veins. As the cancers swam through my veins each and everyday grew more dreary; more cold and hostile. I would eat my lunch at my desk and then stand tall and watch the world flutter by outside of the windowpanes. Sometimes I would count the snowflakes as they splashed against the glass and freeze. When each moment matters and death lingers at your doorway you have two options; to run away until it eventually finds you, or to jump into it and knock death on its ass. I chose the second path.

My secretary came to me one morning with this bottle of dark liquid. He placed it on my desk and dropped a black balloon and a syringe beside it. “Just like shooting dope,” He spoke as if it were nothing. I looked bug-eyed, but I let him tie my arm and inject the ‘Vampyre’ into my veins. It burned but then went cool as it climbed throughout my veins.  He found his way out of my office and I slit down the wall nearest my desk; my skin grew clammy and cold as my insides twisted and turned.  The morning came through the window but I shriveled away from the light of dawn, into a closet near the door. I didn’t leave my office for the last couple of days; I left my wife lonely at my home and my kids oblivious away at school. I cowered from the daylight and marveled in the shine of the harvest moon.

The cancer had subsided, and I watched the world at night through a thin glass array. To my family and friends I was a man who overcame cancer; but to me, I was Vampyre.

Coming on 200 Years of Frankenstein

I’ve always been intrigued by early Science Fiction. Whether it be a steampunk assumption of what a steam-based future might be or early stories of wild techologies which filled a limited world. Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein is one of the most powerful novels in the genre (well in my opinion.) The ideas of a creature being created and turn against it’s creator has become a popular mechanic in many author’s minds. Think The Terminator where machines become self-aware and attempt to destroy humanity.

We recently finished the novel in class and it is a great pice of literary work. A gothic theme with romantic overtones that resonate well with the scenery and description. Weather is a core example of setting the mood and swamping the reader with ominous feelings and foreshadowing.