This question should haunt every writer. Certainly, there is no writing course in the world that doesn’t confront students with it. It seems like an easy one to answer, but it has levels of complexity that, for the most part, only get discussed within their own, embattled spheres.
There is, philosophically, the overarching issue of the writer-text-reader relationship. The obligations of a writer to their readership was examined in many ways over the 20th Century. By the Aestheticists, all the way to the Post-Modernists, it has been a thoroughly chewed subject. I don’t want to list all the various theories – but here’s a good starting place if you’re interested.
Then, of course, there is the commercial sphere. It’s been important, in recent years to proclaim loudly and passionately that you write for your reading audience. It conforms well with the concept of fiction as ‘product’ and writers as ‘manufacturers’ who supply their ‘customers’ with the products they need.
But beyond all that, there is the very personal, very pragmatic reality for most writers of balancing genre expectations with their own creative impulses. And here, one can only speak for oneself. Looking back at the answers given by the writers who generously participated in my Other Voices, Other Genres series, it becomes clear that many writers write for themselves first. And this makes sense. We’re also the ‘first’ reader of any given work.
I spent a lot of time in the theoretical sphere, absorbing various understandings of ‘audience’ and ‘writerly’ reading and ‘open textedness’. And although I learned a lot, it has never been knowledge I could absorb and apply fully as a writer. Admittedly, both Barthes and Eco have had a very strong influence on the way I began to conceive of my ‘reader’. But when I actually sit down to write, I don’t consciously keep that theoretical understanding at the forefront of my mind. I do suspect, however, that it has subtly informed how I ‘address’ the reader in my writing.
I find the second sphere simplistic and degrading. I don’t think there is anything wrong with selling books or appealing to an audience, but I’m disturbed by the spectre of such a transactional relationship between reader and text. It is a model that benefits the retailers at the expense of both readers and writers. My relationship with the books and writers I have loved was far more nuanced and equitable than a ‘buyer & seller’ association. As much as I do believe that the reader plays an integral part in how any give story comes alive, I do acknowledge that the dialogue has been initiated with the writer’s proposition of a story. I prefer to envision the relationship as a cooperative one, a mutual journey. A purely commercial model doesn’t allow for that power distribution. When I put myself, as a reader, into a writer’s hands, I need to trust them. I can’t do that if I believe that the other party is only doing this for money. And, conversely, if I want to take a fictional journey somewhere I have never been before, I cannot demand that the writer deliver my laundry list of literary expectations.
Like any reader, I want to be surprised, but I don’t want to be disappointed. But I can’t be surprised without taking the risk of being disappointed. I have noticed that there has been a steady trend towards readers who would rather simply revisit the familiar than be disappointed. It was really hammered home to me when, after giving a book a very low rating on audible, I got a message from them asking if I’d like to return the book and get my money back.
That really shocked me. There was nothing technically wrong with the file. I simply didn’t LIKE the book. I didn’t warm to the character, the plot didn’t engage me. Why would I want my money back? I took a chance, and I was disappointed. But that doesn’t mean the writer doesn’t deserve to be paid for their book. It simply wasn’t my cup of tea and I won’t be looking for more books from that author. It wasn’t a matter of a mistaken purchase. or an inferior product. It was just a relationship that didn’t work out. You don’t want your money back. You learn and move on.
It did occur to me to wonder, though, why it is that, when the purchase of a book represented a significant outlay of money, both readers and writers have a far more respectful and valued view of each other. Could it be that the $2.99 e-novel has resulted in a $2.99 appreciation for storytelling? It seems a common problem with humans that we seem to value what we pay the most for, and have little respect for what we can purchase cheap or get free. I’m not suggesting we should go back to the days of ‘authorial worship’. But a middle ground might be found, no?
On a personal level, as a writer of stories, I try to write the prose that pleases me. I try to write stories I find interesting and characters who I find compelling. And, I guess, I rely on the fact that there will be readers out there who share my aesthetic. But I’m not willing, as a writer, to put the emotion and craft into my writing for someone whose only expectation is to have a good wank.
My recent interchange on the Guardian Books Blog elicited some interesting commentary: I found this one particularly interesting:
tkmarnell
2 August 2012 10:00PM
Wow, so much hullaballoo over a single sentence, which I didn’t even notice because I skipped the laundry list of titles and prices.
Here’s my take on erotica: its purpose is to titillate. The Google definition (by no means official, but generally representative of popular understanding) is, “Literature or art intended to arouse sexual desire.” If your purpose is not to arouse, but to explore the complications and implications of human mating behavior, it is not erotica. It is a story that happens to have sex…maybe a lot of it. Sex is not such a unique subject that every story that features it is automatically erotica, though nervous booksellers will lump it all together to avoid offending perpetually alarmed parents.
Now, you can’t deny that people who seek out straight-up erotica are looking to be aroused. Do you really think they’re there for the plot and prose, or complex discussions of how the social condemnation of desire impacts the modern man’s psychological makeup? They’re there for the rush. The endorphins. The emotional and physical high of the fantasy. Most don’t even care for the characters; a “he” and “she” will suffice for the purpose (or a “he” and “he,” or “she” and “she,” or two “shes” and a “he” with a cat watching from the doorway…). Conflict in these stories is not an avenue for private reflection and growth, but to build tension that makes the final release more satisfying. Ultimately, no, you don’t need to know the plot; it’s just the framework for the experience readers are after. You could say this about any book, really.
Erotica is what it is. It’s silly to try to justify it in terms of the genres detractors consider more “worthy.” By getting offended by the label of “porn” and insisting that erotica isn’t really about arousal, but all those things that great literary works are “supposed” to be about, you’re essentially agreeing that arousal isn’t a good enough goal on its own. What, exactly, is wrong with porn? Is it too base and obscene for the folks who write “quality” erotica? The message is so mixed it’s making my head spin.(Comment, “Ebooks round up: Fifty Shades of Erotica” Guardian Website, August 1, 2012, http://gu.com/p/39ecm)
What I was being told, if I’m reading this correctly, is that I should shut up and simply write stuff she can get off to, and drop any pretenses of skill, or plot, or characterization. She wants erotica to be porn. She wants erotica writers who believe there is a difference to shut up and put out.
Porn is a different genre of writing. Porn doesn’t require or even benefit from conflict. It doesn’t require characters, it requires stand-ins for the reader to step into and fantasize being. It only requires plot inasmuch as the sexual response could be charted as having a sort of three-act story structure. Writing good porn requires considerable skill. I have tried it and, frankly, I suck at it. You need to really understand that what you’re writing is a roleplay guideline for the reader. No matter what POV it is written in, should have the aura of 2nd Person POV haunting it. It is incredibly open-texted, a guided sexual fantasy experience. And anyone who thinks that is easy to pull off is nuts.
I maintain that erotica/ erotic fiction is different from porn. I know a that there are many erotica writers who disagree with me. I think there are a number of reasons for this.
There is the re-appropriation camp who feel that sexually explicit material of any type should be considered without value judgement. Although I agree with them politically, I do not feel, compelled, as a writer to represent that in my fiction. I’m a writer, not a social activist. Their stance is that if I won’t say that what I write is porn, then I’m saying porn is bad. No. I’m saying I am not skilled at writing porn, and taking a reader to orgasm is not the main motivation behind why I write or what I write. I am a piss poor producer of porn.
Second, there is a reactionary mainstream belief that porn is bad, but erotica is okay. Consequently there are a lot really good porn writers who call themselves erotica writers because their readers don’t like to admit what they’re after is porn. Erotica is ladylike, porn is for perverts. It’s kind of the opposite of the first camp.
What I see is that most erotic fiction writers get caught in the middle. They’re trying to craft a type of fiction that uses desire as a lens through which to tell a wider story. They write about characters whose conflicts are at least partially brought about by their desires, or are coloured by them. Sex, in erotic fiction, is contextualized within the lives and experiences of the character. It informs their definitions of self, and flavours their interactions with other characters in the story. But there has to be a story. There has to be conflict. Otherwise, it’s not erotic fiction.
All this has really led to me forming a much stronger picture of who I write for. I acknowledge that I don’t just write for myself. I do have a reader in mind when I write. It’s a reader who is interested in human complexity, a person who wants to be aroused, but on a less genital and more emotional level. And that requires that the eroticism is contextualized within a story form.
tkmarnell may be right. Perhaps when we speak of D.H. Lawrence, Henry Miller, Anais Nin, Nabokov, etc, we should no longer use the term erotic fiction. Maybe the definition has changed. Maybe is has become a canon with no home.
But the problem with that is that, for literally 90% of my readers, I am an erotic fiction writer. The vast majority of my stories have sex and sexual desire at the very core of the story. It plays a pivotal role in plot and the narrative voice. So I’m not willing to agree with the commenter. I think she really just wants porn, and I don’t think most erotica writers write it.
Forgive me if I respond to the first part of your article rather than the second. As much as I’d like to, I don’t have time to respond to both issues.
I share your concerns and sentiments about the relationship between writers and readers, and what it is writers are selling. Naturally, it isn’t exactly the same as what readers buy, but by and large expectations dovetail well enough. Consumerism in literature isn’t anything new, though in the past it was neither so obvious or strident as it is becoming. Books are in danger of becoming commodities both to writers ands readers. Many things are contributing to this, including the trend to engage with the readers on a direct level, as endless self-publishing gurus exhort us to do. It sounds innocuous, but it has dangers, not the least of which is that once authors place appeasing the market above their own urge to write, they limit themselves. They also cheat the readers because they forever trail the market – eliminating the surprise that you mention that is a part of taking on any new book.
Creative output, whether it be writing, music, painting, theatre and so on – is not something that one consumes; it is something that happens to one – even to those poor, unadventurous readers who never venture beyond a genre or style and who therefore rarely experience surprise, or extremes.
Any writer worth the name should be able to – and want to – make money doing so. As you point out, there is nothing wrong with selling books. Being aware of the sensibilities of your likely readers is far different from being dictated by them.
I do, though, think there is something wrong with an author claiming to write for a particular audience; not because I can think of any audience or topic which is inherently less worthwhile than another, but because that admission in itself sets limits on both writer and readers. This only tends to happen with writers of so-called genre fiction, of one flavour or another. Can you imagine any writer of literary fiction setting limits on potential readership? ‘Well, I write for everyone, except for readers of paranormal romance, because once you’ve read one paranormal romance you’re intellectually incapable of being interested in any other kind of literature.’ I detest genres; but I can accept that marketing will win the day and genres are here to stay and books can be classified by genre. I absolutely refuse to believe that readers can be, though.
Sorry, didn’t mean to rabbit on.
“Any writer worth the name should be able to – and want to – make money doing so”
I’m not sure this is true.
“Can you imagine any writer of literary fiction setting limits on potential readership?”
I think there is a world of difference between setting limits and envisioning a model reader.
tkmarnell clearly doesn’t want erotica! Of course, I believe that she doesn’t even truly understand what it is. She demands fast food fiction, but is ultimately passing up the opportunity of a gastronomic experience that would feed more than just her sex drive. Her obvious desire is just to ‘get off’. Is tkmarnell just a system of nerves and physiologic reflex responses? I doubt it. Or, at least, I hope not. I hope she is a woman with emotional texture, with cognitive nuances and patterns, with a living breathing soul tucked away somewhere. Clearly she thinks – at least enough to write her thoughts, however contrary to my own. Perhaps this reader has never experienced the beauty of sexual energy as part of the whole of human experience. If so, I can have nothing but compassion for her. For, without the involvement of every aspect of human nature, sexual release is really a rather empty and unsatisfying endeavour. Much like the junk food stories she clearly craves. Temporarily satisfying, but ultimately leaves you wishing there was more.
Well, reading her comment, she wants:
Arousal, rush, endorphins, fantasy, empty characters, no plot and flesh puppets fucking.
No wonder she’s confused. She’s lookin’ for love in all the wrong places. And for all her protestations that it is erotica writers who have pretenses of ‘artiness’, when really what they should be writing is porn, I have to wonder why she just doesn’t go get what she wants, where it’s offered – in porn. Maybe because the lady doth protest too much and it is she, in fact, who doesn’t want to be seen consuming porn, and wants to call it erotica instead.
Actually, the whole interchange reminds me of a guy I once met in a bar who engaged me in conversation as a way to get in my face, and then said: “shut the fuck up and blow me.” He had, flatteringly and improbably, mistaken me for a working girl.
I just wasn’t selling what he was buying.
We have a clear cultural example of “writing for the audience”–Hollywood movies. The blockbusters are rather often designed by committee and if we’re lucky, a strong director can force a singular vision onto the work and we get something of quality. I can’t think of a single blockbuster that one can say, “oh, that’s good” without pointing to the director simultaneously (Cameron, Nolan, Whedon, Jackson, etc.).
I believe those directors who can blend ‘blockbuster’ mentality with an artistic sensibility are rare and, even then, it’s educational to look at what projects they do when they’re not trying to create a blockbuster. Soderbergh is the most striking example of this. He pretty clearly uses the blockbusters to finance his personal amusement projects.
But beyond those few directors–are we really served by the pablum that places the audience first?
Regarding the second part of your post, I really appreciate the definition of porn and your comments on the difficulty of writing it. I’m going to have to let those ideas settle in my brain a bit before I can riff on them.
Al dente refers to food that feels right in the mouth. Is there an equivalent term for mental chewiness? Because I want to use that word to describe your post. There’s a lot of brain delight to be had there.
I’m so glad that you’ve pointed out how difficult it is to write good porn. And that it has merit. I get so frustrated when people use the term porn as an insult.
While I love to have readers, I write for myself. As with writing porn, I don’t consider commercial success to be a bad aim. It’s just different from what I want to get out of my writing. And quite frankly, there are readers who will never appreciate literature or any challenging art and who feel more comfortable with a Thomas Kinkade cozy cottage level mental workout. But that’s okay. Not everyone has to appreciate artistic merit. So if this reader who wants writers to shut up about erotica being anything more wants porn instead of erotica (as we understand it), more power to her. I’m not insulted that she thinks of books as sex toys.
However, I suspect that what really gets her libido humming isn’t sex. I would be willing to bet it’s that magical moment where the characters engaged her and the world went away. Emotional investment usually takes more than graphic depictions of sex. It takes a story to seduce the reader into that spell. So what are we to do with a woman who if shown a Banksy work would only think of spray paint? Nothing. Maybe a moment of pity. But we certainly wouldn’t give her opinion a moment of consideration.
And I get really frustrated that people think I am criticizing porn when I insist I don’t write it. Because I like porn, and I consume a fair bit of it myself, when I want a good wank.
When I want to get lost in the worlds of other characters, and feel emotionally engaged with their dilemmas, and luxuriate in their erotic exploits (and yes, sometimes get very aroused) then I read erotica. And I don’t want those characters to be me. I want to be a traveller along for the ride.
I don’t criticize people for wanting what they want. But I get pissed off when they demand that I produce what they want. Especially when that’s not what I’m offering and their in the wrong shop.
Perhaps we should coin a term… how does “al mente” sound?
No, really, i am being a trifle tongue-in-cheek, but i concur. There really must be a word for it!
Also – since when did Google become the be-all-and-end-all of meaning? Frankly, I disagree with her definition, and thereby Google’s, of erotica. I don’t get to write the dictionary, but erotica the way i’ve always read it – especially yours, RG – is a more detailed, scrutinizing look at that connection we all make through sex. Sometimes it’s arousing; sometimes it’s nearly frightening; sometimes it’s intensely emotional and personal… and most times (in GOOD erotica, anyway) it’s more psychology than anything else.
Porn gets me off.
Erotica gets my brain running – and occasionally gets me off too. There’s a difference.
And when i go looking for straight-up erotica (to borrow a phrase), i’m not looking for a good wank (to borrow another). i read porn for that. When i go after erotica, i’m generally after a better look into my own mind – and nothing is so good for that as a well-written, well though out bit of erotica.
Just my tuppence.
Well, I believe her reference was Wikipedia.
But if you were to Wiki ‘horror’ it would tell you that it is a genre of fiction with sets out to engender fear in the readers. If you wiki’d murder mystery, you’d get a definition of a story with a murder that gets solved in it.
But none of those definitions describe what a really good horror novel or murder mystery do for you. Yes, it might scare you, but if all a horror novel does is present a horrible premise, that’s not enough. You need a plot and characters you care about in order for that fear to have context, for you to care about what happens next, for you to carry on reading.
Think about The Shining. Sure, it’s got ghosts and a lurking evil, but it is the interesting characters and your care for them, and the peril they come under that makes the horror work. And with it, it becomes much more than just ‘horror’ story. It becomes a great narrative experience.
I love reading your posts because they ask all the “why” questions that my romance writing friends don’t care about, and which I can never stop thinking about, even as I write erotica and paranormal romance.
I think the question of who we write for is perhaps just off the mark. Or maybe I would answer it like this: I write what I want to write and read, with the hope of finding the audience who also likes it. If no one ever liked it, I would give up. If only a few people ever like it, that’s probably enough for me to stick with it. The people who do get what I’m writing–who like the heart, and the wit, and absurdity of it–might also give me feedback, nudges, recommendations to read other authors, that will then cause my work to shift. Am I writing for them? No. Am I evolving with them? Yes.
Perhaps the idea of mental chewiness is also helpful for the distinction between porn and erotica. Erotica makes use of emotion and context to elicit arousal. In doing so, it often shines a light on the human condition, and what and why we find arousing. I think about my friend Mark Pritchard’s erotic short stories in Too Beautiful. They start off so tender and sweet, and by the end of the collection, I’m locking the door SHOCKED by the kind of things that are turning me on and not wanting my husband to know. What I learn about myself when I watch porn is that I find it boring, and I want to know more about who the people are and how they feel about what they are doing. Mental stimulation is a big piece of arousal for me, hence I like smart erotica.
I very much like the concepts of “mental chewiness” (Kathleen Bradean) and “al mente” (Angharad). i definitely think your writings are chewy to me, Remittance Girl. The whole concept of genre has me pensive these last few months. It started when I saw someone describe _Gaijin_ as a romance. I suppose that is open to debate, but does the genre only matter to the marketer? Is erotica then just chewy porn? I don’t know, but I do find your writing very thought provoking. Will Crimson might call it multi-tasking. 😉
You’re posing a lot of very interesting questions that are really worth exploring.
Well, except for the one about Gaijin being a romance. And this is the thing: all opinions are not equally valid. Whatever masturbatory mental contortions the person had to go through to identify Gaijin as romance are firmly in the deluded mind of that person. And frankly, considering it is a story of rape, I find the description pretty damn disturbing.
Gaijin is not a romance because there IS NO LOVE STORY OF ANY KIND. Because it ends with the death of the male protagonist WHO IS NOT MOURNED by anyone, and certainly NOT the female protagonist.
I’d really love to know where you read that. Can you tell I’m pissed off?
I wish I could remember. I click on so many links in a given day, and sometimes I find myself in places and have no idea how I got there. Lots less dangerous on the web than wandering streets, although I’ve been known to do that too. If I remember, I’ll let you know!