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Living The Genre

May 24, 2010

When I read the genre, I live the life.

You know what I’m talking about, right? Where suddenly your everyday blah life begins to mirror that romance novel you were reading, since obviously the cute guy you saw in the hallway, the cute coworker you spotted walking back to his cubicle, obviously he was looking at you, and some great magnum opus of an epic romance is about to ensue. Your significant other says he/she just lost his cufflinks/earrings/t-shirt/dictionary, and guess what, Mr. Holmes, you are prepared to find named item if it’s the last thing you do, Scooby snacks or no.

I write literary fiction. But I read fantasy, sci-fi, mystery, romance, and yep, literary fiction. Some of my favorite blogs are from YA and mystery writers. Sure, YA does dominate the blogosphere, and sure I’m not going to emulate YA vis a vis to write literary fiction, but even a guilty reading of Twilight, or a gripping read of Nothing (haven’t read it yet, but read this article and really wanted to), all of these things improve my writing, make it more varied, more outside the box (I hate this phrase, because it is so not ‘outside the box’).

My English teacher once said she finds herself analyzing books so frequently that she’s begun to analyze the literary significances of  her own life. Maybe that’s a little too dramatic, or maybe there is a divine, writer-like deity who designs your storybook into a series of significant, character-evolving events. Who knows? But I’m lying on my couch right now, in the post-coitus of having just watched Lost the night before, and I believe that there is a sideways world where everyone I love is trying to right the wrongs. Shouldn’t we all have the chance to let ourselves go, let ourselves dream, let ourselves accept the idea that fictional plot twists/boogey monsters/romances/vampire/magics/you-name-it exist in our everyday life?

Pretty corny, right? Though I don’t know what poor corn on the cob did to get such a bad rep.

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