Literary vs Popular Fiction: How big is the difference really? By BC Deeks, Paranormal Mystery Fiction Author

 

Visit B.C. Deeks' BWL Author Page for Book and Purchase Information

 

http://bookswelove.net/deeks-bc/

The prestigious ScotiaBank Giller Prize was announced in November, thus prompting my usual frustration with the bias that exists between literary fiction and what is most often referred to as popular or commercial fiction. What’s the difference you may ask? Well, the biggest difference in my humble opinion is in recognition, and maybe even respect.

The differences were never clear cut and are becoming less so with the emerging publishing landscape. Literary stories with crossover appeal have publishers, agents and even some readers referring to ‘upmarket fiction’ to further classify such novels although you won’t find that category on a bookshelf or on Amazon.

At first blush, one could say that popular fiction is written more to please the audience while literary fiction aims to reflect on the human condition. Genre fiction, it is argued, is more formulaic, but this is a response to its need to meet reader expectations. A ‘romance’ story must have a ‘happily ever after’ or it simply is not a romance. Yet within that expectation is an endless variety of paths with an even greater number of deviations. Our readers love to be surprised and delighted before they reach the anticipated ending. And didn’t Jane Austen’s, Pride and Prejudice end with a Happily Ever After?

Within the ongoing debate between popular versus literary fiction, most people argue four key points: theme/ scope, plot driven versus character driven, time/reputation, standard of writing. I would argue there’s also a fifth factor: money! Modern Literary Fiction holds only 16% of the market, whereas the top five most profitable categories on Amazon.com are:

• Romance/Erotica ($1.44 billion).
• Crime/Mystery ($728.2 million).
• Religious/Inspirational ($720 million).
• Science Fiction/Fantasy ($590.2 million).
• Horror ($79.6 million).

I think we can all agree that popular fiction leans towards more adventurous or sensational subject matter and they traditionally fall into convenient categories such as crime fiction, romance, science fiction, fantasy. In the new digital publishing age, those well-defined and predictable lines are breaking down and the blending of genres is commonplace. I write paranormal mysteries with romantic elements. Paranormal romance is one of the most popular subgenres. A renowned Canadian astronaut wrote an outstanding science fiction murder mystery! 

What about the question of literary books having a deep theme that popular fiction lacks? In my current series, Beyond the Magic, three supernatural siblings lost their mother in childbirth and have a father who is too ambitious and career driven to focus on raising them. Together they must face life altering threats to their world and unravel an ancient prophecy. I would argue that is an overarching theme of the power of family ties that bind. Perhaps in literary fiction the emphasis on the theme is more overt than in popular fiction, but that depends on the author.

Some people say that literary fiction is more character driven while genre fiction is focused on plot, yet I, like most of the authors I know, spend considerable upfront time creating character profiles with associated emotional arcs that I carefully weave through my plot outline. Some author friends say it is a character who appeared to them first, anxious to tell their story.

Historically speaking, there are works of popular fiction that, solely through the passage time, have become elevated by those in authority to the status of literary classics, such as the works of Lucy Maude Montgomery or Daphne DuMaurier. And, alternatively, literary works have gained popular or commercial attention decades after publication, like Margaret Attwood’s, A Handmaid’s Tale.

The final and often snide criticism about popular fiction refers to its standard of writing. While my back instantly goes up at such comments, my objective self will admit there is a sliver of truth in this one factor. Not about standard from a quality perspective, but in level of writing. This again points back to the audience. Popular fiction authors want to reach as many readers as we can, so we write to the reading level of the majority of the population. We choose the best possible words to communicate the emotion, setting, and action required to move our story forward, draw our reader into our imaginary world and let them leave it feeling entertained. Most typically, literary fiction is profoundly philosophical about human nature and the meaning of life. Its audience does not expect it to conform to any scope and genre conventions, or language accessibility.

As the publishing world evolves, the boundaries between literary and popular fiction will continue to blur, although I don’t believe the two will ever completely merge. That fundamental difference in audience expectation will remain wedged between them for a long time to come.

My books may not be a good fit for the Giller Prize, but I am proud to write heartwarming stories of mystery and magic that readers from their teens to their nineties can enjoy. My neighbor recently sat beside her aging mother’s sick bed and swept her away by reading my latest book, Witch Unbound, to her. I hear she thoroughly enjoyed it! I am honored that I could do that for her as a writer.

Beginnings

 

My novel Ursula's Inheritance was just short-listed for  Laramie Award
honoring Americana fiction.

My novel Missing At Harmony Festival was just short-listed for an MM Mystery Award.

                                                   find my BWL books here!

        Bring all your intelligence to bear on your beginning. --Elizabeth Bowen

January is a month for new beginnings. For writers, it may mean the start of a new novel. Here are some thoughts on beginnings...

Beginnings hold the promise of what's to come in the rest of the novel: the promise of being worth a reader's time and the engagement of her attention and imagination.

I advise my writing students to not worry too much about where a novel begins.  Find a point that interests you and plunge in. But after the first draft is complete, take another look at the beginning, and ask:

1. Does your beginning introduce the story, characters and establish a dramatic premise (what the major conflicts are)?

2. Does your beginning establish what kind of story this is (science fiction, mystery, romance, YA)?

3. Does it plant the reader firmly in time and place?

4. Does it contain conflict?

5. Does it set your tone and style?

6. Does it show your choice of viewpoint?

7. And always, always, always: is it essential?

Based on the answers to these questions, it may be wiser to start the book in another place, or perhaps work on that first chapter until it answers all seven questions, and of course...sings!

Remember dear writers: In literature as in life, no one gets a second chance to make a good first impression!

My Christmas in Toronto Airport

 

 

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Nine days before Christmas, my husband Will and I flew to Toronto to visit relatives in nearby Kitchener and enjoy a holiday in Niagara-on-the-Lake with our son, his wife, and our granddaughter. Everything went perfectly until a storm blew into eastern Canada on December 23rd, our day to fly home to Calgary. We woke to an email from Westjet, our airline carrier, advising that our flight was cancelled and they'd rescheduled us to a flight three days later to Regina, where we'd spend the night in the airport and connect to Calgary in the morning. Our choices were to accept this change or get a full refund. We were stunned, but our first challenge was to drive to Toronto airport before the rain turned to snow and the wind picked up. Our rental car rocked the whole two hours on the highway, but we made it safely.

At the airport, we learned Westjet had cancelled all their Canadian flights from Toronto that day. An agent told us our flight in three days was the best we'd get, due to the rush of holiday travel and flight cancellations following a snowstorm in Vancouver the previous weekend. 

"If it's any consolation," she said. "Some people have spent six days in this airport." 

In our present mood, this wasn't much consolation.   

Fortunately, Will's sister Bernice and her husband Bill live in the suburbs of Toronto. We phoned them to ask if they'd mind unexpected visitors over Christmas. They had no plans until their Boxing Day gathering with Bill's family. We lugged our suitcases on the airport train to downtown Union Station, had lunch in the food court, and caught the commuter GO train to the station near their home in Scarborough. 

Will tried calling Westjet to get a flight that left earlier and/or avoided a Regina overnighter. A recorded voice replied cheerily, "We're happy to serve you, but aren't taking calls now." The website's callback feature could only give us an appointment on December 30th, three days after we'd get home. The website blocked off new plane reservations through December 28th. Other airlines were either sold out for the Christmas period or charging exorbitant prices.     

The next morning, Christmas Eve, Will tried phoning the airline again. To his surprise, the phone rang. He set it on speaker while we had breakfast, chatted, and played cards with Bernice and Bill. Five hours later, an agent came on the line. She checked reservations and found flights popping up, probably due to people cancelling their holiday travel when they learned they couldn't get to their destinations by Christmas. 

The agent rebooked us on a direct flight to Calgary at 10:15 that night. After a fun Skype 'Twas the Night Before Christmas reading with our excited granddaughter, Bernice and Bill drove us to Toronto airport. We breezed through check-in and security. Our gate agents began boarding procedures and then announced our flight would be delayed because the pilot had to get here from Edmonton. Our new departure time would be one a.m. Everyone let out a collective groan. 

The agents left, their shifts over. Passengers went to wait in a bar; a few milled around the gate desk. They noticed a sign flash that our flight was cancelled. We all quickly got emails telling us this. Someone said that a guest relations desk was down the corridor. We all trooped down and joined the lineup of passengers from a cancelled Vancouver flight. Will and I got emails with our new booking -- four days from now. More emails arrived with food vouchers valid at the airport until the next day.      

A guest relations agent grabbed a mic and spoke to the whole lineup. He told Toronto residents to go home and return for their rescheduled flights. The rest of us were entitled to hotel accommodation, although the airline had no rooms left in their supply. If we could find a hotel room, they'd later compensate us up to $150, plus expenses for transportation. Will and I remained in line with others who had specific questions. One man had a meltdown at the desk and shouted at the agents that he'd been stuck here since yesterday waiting for a flight. After he stormed off, the clock struck midnight. An agent wished us all, "Merry Christmas." 

After discussing our situation with an agent, Will and I decided to spend the rest of the night in the airport, rather than hunt for a hotel, and collect our unloaded luggage in the early morning, when the lineup in the baggage area would be shorter. We'd wait to phone Bernice after she got up in the morning to ask is she'd take us in again.  

In a relatively unpopulated departure gate, we lay on connected chairs to catch some sleep. The chairs were hard. I brooded on our faulty choice to grab this flight rather than accept the one the airline had assigned. The airport was chilly and we'd packed our coats in our luggage, another bad decision.  

At four a.m., we gave up trying to sleep and went to the baggage area, which was a sea of suitcases. The agent told us there were ten times more cases stored elsewhere and he wouldn't spend two or three hours searching for our individual luggage. Instead, the airport would scan all the bags and eventually send them to their destinations. But what would we do for the next three days in Toronto winter with no overcoats? This was our problem. 

We spent our airport food vouchers on breakfast and snacks, and caught the train to downtown. Travel was all indoors, and easy with only carry-on bags and few passengers on Christmas morning. At Union Station, we phoned Bernice and wished her Merry Christmas. 

"You're home already?" she said. 

"Ah, no."

On our commuter train ride, the sun came out. We passed pretty views of neighbourhoods waking up and waves whipping in Lake Ontario. Bernice and Bill picked us up at the station for the second time and reminded us they save everything and stock up on supplies. They loaned us jackets and shirts that they didn't wear anymore, toothbrushes, and (for Will) pajamas and a razer. Bernice asked if I'd prefer pajamas or a nightgown. 

"A nightgown would be good." 

"What length?" she said. "And do you like short sleeves or long?" 

It was like living in Walmart. 

Despite the fatigue from our sleepless night, we enjoyed Christmas Skype and Zoom calls with relatives, sharing our granddaughter's thrill with her presents, and had tasty hamburgers and fries for Christmas dinner. On Boxing Day, Will and I went to the real Walmart to buy underwear and socks. After lunch, we strolled through the Toronto Zoo, where Bernice volunteers. The zoo wraps Christmas presents for all the animals to claw open when they smell the food inside. Will wanted to call Westjet again in hopes of getting a better flight, but I noticed they'd upgraded us to Premium seats and the connecting flights left and arrived at convenient times. He agreed to wait another day to fly home in comfort. 

We used that extra day to shop for winter coats at Costco. I'd been thinking I needed a new one anyway and bought a down coat, in red, a coat colour I had never considered wearing.  

On December 28th, we once more rode the trains to Toronto airport. With no luggage to check, we got to the gate quickly, and learned our flight would be delayed while waiting for crew members. 

Uh, oh, we thought. That's how it begins. 

Before long the desk agent announced the flight was cancelled due to lack of crew. She advised everyone to stay in place while they rebooked our seats. Will and I got a phone call from Westjet, offering a flight in two hours to Calgary via Vancouver. This plane was also delayed, waiting for ground crew, but the crew actually arrived. We boarded the plane, but had to wait another hour because the flight attendants counted more passengers on the plane than the number that had checked-in at the gate. They kept counting us, consulting their tablet seating charts, and discussing the problem with the pilots and management. Eventually we took off, either because they got the numbers to balance or figured 'what's an extra passenger or two?'

We assumed this delay meant we'd miss our connection in Vancouver, until a flight attendant checked our boarding passes and said this plane was our connecting flight. In Vancouver, it would turn around and fly to Calgary, where the pilot lived. We couldn't believe we'd get home that night, but we did, and walked into our house at 1:20 a.m.   

On New Year's Day, Westjet delivered one of our suitcases. The other one arrived the next day. All of our possessions were intact. Our journey was over. 

What's my take-away from this experience? 

In hindsight, when weather and the airline threw a wrench in our plans, rather than gripe about an airline that couldn't handle snow in Canadian winter and demand the near impossible -- getting home for Christmas -- we should have accepted the situation and made the most of the unwanted change of plans. When we got past the griping, we enjoyed our Christmas spent with generous relatives. It was a more interesting and memorable Christmas than the quiet, alone time we'd planned; arguably a better holiday time. Bernice and Bill agreed (I think they meant it). Will and I also enjoyed sharing stories with our fellow stranded travellers and jokingly called them our new friends. I wonder how their journeys ended.  

Next time I fly, I'll bring some essentials in my carry-on luggage, including warm clothing. Although, there are always stores where I travel and I really like my souvenir red coat. 

  

  

Happy New Year!

       

             

Idle Hands Are The Devil's Workshop by Karla Stover

 

Visit Karla Stover's Author Page for book details

This past Christmas I spent all my spare time doing crafts. I made 9 snowmen torches for outside, 3cedar bough gnomes, 3 nutcrackers using Pringles cans, McDonald's coffee cups, and toilet paper rolls, among other things, and I a have a container of knit hats in the car to hand out to hatless people caught in the rain. I have always liked to keep my hands busy. When I wanted to learn to crochet, my husband helped me figure out the beginner's instructions. When I wanted to learn to knit, a friend from England taught me. However - - and it's a big HOWEVER, I have struggled with tatting.

It's been around a long time under various names: Frivolite in France because it was considered to be a  frivolous occupation; Oochi in Italy due to the little eye-like shape that is created; and Makouk in the middle East and Schiffchenarbeit in Germany both based on the shape of the shuttle used. In Great Britain, Australia and the United States it's called tatting, possibly because of the disjointed nature of the final project. Some researchers think they have tracked the art back to an obscure, embroidery-knot tying art related to macramé but can't decided who to credit, the early Italians, Egyptians or Chinese. Regardless, various 15th century painting show ladies making strings of knots tied together at close intervals and sewn onto garments. Others, however, think it may have come from netting and the decorative ropework done by sailors and fishermen who were known to create attractive ropework motifs for their wives and girlfriends.

By the 17th century sophisticated patterns had traveled from China to Europe and women were tatting at sophisticated parties and flirting with the shuttle. The results of these early efforts were single little ovals. Not until the 18th century did seamstress / author Eleanore Riego de la Branchardiere and self-described "teacher of fancy works," come up with a way to tat a continuous chain of rings by making little loops called picots. However, in spite of the picots, tatting has never been anything other than a decorative piece of needlework used to trim collars, gloves, handkerchiefs, baby clothes and altar cloths. Queen Carman Sylva of Romania called it "something pretty to do," and she tatted a chalice cover using fine gold wire and working in tiny pearls.

Tatting has been out of favor since World War II, that's 80 years, but it's not expensive. RubyLane.com has a good selection. And as one "anon" once said, "I keep my end tables full of needlework and quilting so I don't have to dust them." It's a blatant misplaced modifier but I get the idea.

Book Signing – I’m scared, maybe terrified – Barbara Baker

 

The book signing takes place January 14, 2023 at Owl’s Nest Books in Calgary, Alberta. Please come.

When my first novel, SUMMER OF LIES, was released, COVID was shaking up the world. People met on Zoom, Facetime or Messenger. No public gatherings allowed. I must admit, I was okay with that. Talking to real people in real time about my book scared me.

But now that WHAT ABOUT ME? has been released in a less restrictive COVID environment, I will be at my first book signing. In public. With those real people.

The logistics are taken care of. I have chocolates, a small poster, my favourite pen, a selection of colourful sticky notes and a bottle of hand-sanitizer. To be prepared, I Googled Everything I Need to Know about Book Signings. A few articles disagree with each other but spelling the person’s name correctly in the book, bringing your favourite pen and smiling were consistent throughout.

But here’s my problem. I’m an introvert. Stop laughing! I am. Honest. Yes, I can talk the ear off an elephant if need be and can converse with mammogram technicians like nothing is amiss, but when someone asks about my writing, I force my eyes not to dart around in search of an exit. And my mouth - well all the words it knows reaches the exit before I do.

I’m thankful that, in seconds, I can redirect the conversation - possibly mention grandkids. I have six of them and numerous tales of their antics. Or there’s my 90-year-old dad. He’s super interesting and I have a lifetime of stories to share about him.

When I attended my first writers’ retreat in 2009, I realized my hesitation to discuss my writing with strangers. At the introduction supper I sat at a large round table. There was constant chatter about agents and publishers and editing techniques. 

I was in awe of their writerly worldliness right up until someone asked me what I was working on. With my fork, I lifted a piece of lettuce from my plate and said, “do you think the dressing is raspberry vinaigrette?” Yes, I dodged that bullet! And I still deflect those conversations.

Why?

I wish I knew. Book reviews have been good. Emails and notes say readers enjoyed my novels. So why can’t I promote them? Do I have Imposter Syndrome? Maybe?

Today I blame the problem on my lack of sales skills. People say being good at sales is an art - just like writing. And it takes practice. Since I’m at the bottom of the ‘art of sales’ learning curve, I will take all suggestions on how to have a successful book signing.

In the meantime, I ask myself, what if no one shows up? Do I eat the chocolates? Do I cry? Do I cry first and then eat the chocolates?

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books