The writer’s group I belong to is not without competition. I’m not sure how non-profit groups end up in competitive relationships, but our group has been silently snubbed by other groups in the area.
Our offense? Inclusiveness.
Yes, in a world where you can be your own grandmother (there’s a country song that explains it) or cry foul when your boss fires you for not showing up several days in a row, we, the Grand Rapids Region Writers Group, suffer the snubs of many a writer for – wait for it … writing genre fiction.
That’s right, world, we write the low grade, non-literary stuff that gets lumped into the genre category. So ordinary. So common. So unsophisticated.
But oh so sell-able. Our authors sell their work. Mysteries, inspirational, erotica, romance, non-fiction, and urban fantasy sell. As in, the writer gets paid for writing. Why? Because people like to read it.
I sometimes imagine what other groups talk about – the deep, earth shattering meaning of their work; the political statement hidden in the pages of their story of a woman finding meaning in her work with orphaned exotic birds; the meaning of life laced into the story a man who has decided to become a woman after his brother changed from being his sister; or the fabulous commentary on the human race to found in their latest story of a young man coming of age in war torn Bosnia. Yes, the literary types are very, very sophisticated.
But do they have as much fun? I doubt it.
I find it interesting to listen to people talk about the books they read. For the most part, people enjoy genre fiction. Sure, there are the literary types who won’t read anything too fluffy. I feel sorry for them. They miss out on so much of the fun that goes with finding out “who done it,” the joy that accompanies falling in love again through the eyes of characters from another world, the relief of knowing the hero made it through and saved the free world while he was at it.
While the works of Tolstoy may live until the end of time, I’d dare say that Nora Roberts has given many more people a brief escape from their busy lives. And while Solzhenitsyn may still be read a hundred years from now, Grisham has captured the imagination of millions without having his works listed on the required reading list of some tenured professor.
What makes one author so much more acceptable than the other? Hmmm? I wonder how many literary snobs might read genre fiction if they didn’t have friends to impress.
My name is Mary, and I read and write genre fiction.








