It seems that every time you turn the page in this writing gig (pun intended), you see something new, and come to understand something that you may have known, but didn’t really appreciate until it was put into such personal terms. And now it’s happening again: I’m coming to understand that when it comes to my readers, I don’t understand you at all.
Let me hasten to say that I appreciate you–more than you can know. For me to reach even this lowly plateau on the mountain that is literary success has taken so many years, and so many stories, that every day I marvel that so many of you have put even a few hours’ and a couple of bucks’ trust in me. The fact that some of you really seem to like what I’ve done is a delirious delight. And some of you don’t. That’s okay, I can live with criticism–in fact, that’s why I writing this post.
In personal injury law, there’s a principle that “you take your plaintiffs as you find them.” Readers are the same way; even though you try to present your product in a way that it will find an appreciative audience (putting futuristic cities on the cover to attract science fiction fans, for example), there’s always the chance that your reader just won’t connect with your story. It’s a sad thing for an author, but you can’t win them all, so as long as you do your best you just have to live with it. And it’s balanced by everyone who has found your book and given it five stars.
But how does that work? Why is it that (assuming that your readers have looked at your cover or read your blurb and know what they’re buying) two people can read the same story and have such diametrically-opposed opinions? And they can have conflicting opinions about the same elements of the story?
Part of this is that there are differing levels of dissonance that people will let slide. My wife reads a particular high-profile series in which, as she freely admits, the author is terrible at reconciling details, and gets some very basic facts wrong. And yet, my wife (and literally millions of others) hangs on her every word. In the same vein, I once put down a hugely-selling author’s book in a genre I should by rights find very enticing, because I thought he couldn’t write a compelling grocery list, let alone a doorstop-sized novel. And yet both those authors’ books are found in every airport. Again, it’s a balancing act; you do one thing so well it overshadows your weaknesses.
So why are some writers well-regarded by their peers and yet unable to make the same dent in the market as those who are less stylistically gifted? Aren’t all readers looking for the same thing, an escape from the everyday into a world where they can experience the vicarious lives of characters who may inspire, or excite, or even frighten them? Why are those considered the best in their field by their peers not necessarily those who can capture the popular imagination?
It’s the eternal struggle: First you want to write, then you start writing, then (usually) after great struggle, you manage to sell a story or two. Maybe you sell a novel. But you’re always climbing that mountain. And even if you get to the top, there are readers who will say, “Been there, tried him. Couldn’t finish.” At which point a thousand others will shout that person down and he’ll leave that Facebook group.
But is he right? Or can a million readers not be wrong?
Tell you what: Find me a million readers, I’ll do a survey. (Well, at that point I’ll have my people do a survey. I’m pretty sure that once you get to a million readers, you get to have people. I’ll let you know.)
#SFWApro
Graffiti on the Walls of Time 