Does it make sense to talk about fear of the written word in our day? I mean, nine-year-olds are literally texting each other every day.
But there is a real sense in which some writers are “afraid” of the written word—and it’s hamstringing their writing.
What are people afraid of?
Not getting published, for one.
Being mocked or embarrassed, for another.
For many writers, getting “revealed as a phony” is a far greater fear than not getting published. If a publisher passes, you can tell yourself they’re short-sighted or ignorant. If a reader thinks you’re a hack, that feels like the dream where you go to school naked.
The Threat of Genre
Prof. Thomas Newkirk identified the “threat of the written word” as a barrier to revision way back in 1981, but it’s still a problem I see among writers.
The fear of the written word involves feeling intimidated by the permanence and formality of writing versus conversation. Words on the page have an importance that spoken words simply don’t.
This fear includes beliefs like:
- You must use formal diction.
- You must remain objective.
- You cannot use “I.”
Another way to put this is that it’s the threat of genre.
Genre simply means the more or less agreed-upon set of conventions that define a style of writing for a specific purpose. Cozy mystery and realism are genres, but so are chapel talk, movie review, newsletter, and popular magazine article.
Each context presumes certain elements, characters, intentions, and even tones. When you stretch those expectations enough, you generate a new genre.
For example, films like The Big Lebowski and Brick have many of the conventions of a noir film, but they each push the limits. So, we call them neo-noir, meaning they have left some of the fundamental trappings behind to explore new ideas. In these cases, they are homages that are almost parodies in their exaggerations.
The threat of genre is that genre makes demands and violating those demands gets you punished.
The Cure for Fear of the Written Word
Of course, genre is a real thing. There are certain expectations that you need to understand in order to write well for a given context.
The problem is not in recognizing genre conventions—it’s fearing them to the point that your writing becomes:
- Robotic
- Stilted
- Unnatural
- Prosaic
- Cliche-ridden
- Fatuous
All bad things, obviously.
To avoid this, you need to change your mindset about genre.
Genre is a game, not a prison.
Genre conventions are there to guide you, not to erase your personality or make your writing robotic. Think of genre like a game with rules rather than a prison with a regimen.
The Big Lebowski and Brick are good examples. They took elements they enjoyed from the noir genre and changed them to make them their own.
Look at impressive basketball players like Michael Jordan, Kobe Bryant, or Steph Curry. These guys are masters of their craft that often impress us not with their mere athleticism but with their style. They show us things about the sport that other players do not.
Yet each of them had to abide by a whole rulebook outlining what they could and could not do on the court. The regulations didn’t make them robots; they just outlined the rules of the game.
Genre works in a similar way. It helps you know what counts as success and what is out of bounds, but it does not create a prison in which you can only follow behind the person in front of you. It’s a game. Learn the rules, then learn how to shine within them.
Depending on what you’re writing for, you may be able to create your own new game.
Another great example comes from David Foster Wallace’s “This is Water” commencement speech. Instead of following the usual template of an inspirational address full of grand statements and platitudes, Wallace offers advice he thinks his audience will actually be able to use—and it’s probably the most famous commencement speech ever given, not to mention the most interesting one.
Ask what the text requires, not the genre
To play properly within the boundaries of genre, you need to know what those boundaries are. You may need to write a few things playing it straight by the book to really get a feel for it.
At some point, however, you need to give yourself the freedom to ask what the text needs rather than what the genre expects. As you write, your text itself begins to generate certain demands. Some of those will fit easily within the genre; some may feel risky because you haven’t seen them in that context before. That’s okay.
Writing is a negotiation among a writer, a reader, and a context. As long as you communicate within those circumstances, your audience will allow a fair degree of bending the rules.
I mean, how many times do pro ballers travel on their way to a cool dunk—and get away with it? Give the people a show—a complete, unified, crafted show—and they will let you do things you didn’t think were allowed.
Relax, Don’t Worry, Finish Your Draft
If you find yourself fretting about whether you can or cannot write this or that, take a deep breath and follow these steps:
- Identify the primary genre you’re writing in
- Learn the rules
- Ask what the text requires regardless of the rules
- Finish your draft
Those of us writing on word processors should know better than anyone that words are impermanent, that you can always go back and change things. Finish your draft and then address problems in revision.
Still need help negotiating genre rules? Get in touch and we can talk about working together with coaching or developmental editing.
