Feature

The Podiatrists of the Writing World
In Defence of Non-literary Writing

by Lorie Boucher

"Oh, you’re that kind of writer," she chuckled dismissively. "I thought you wrote novels and stuff, like a Writer, writer." Admittedly, I couldn’t see the capital "W" when she spoke, but I could hear it.

If it is generally accepted that various forms of writing may be classified according to their identifying characteristics — the assembly of which constitutes a genre — it follows that there must also be genres of writers. Each genre of writer — literary, scientific, political, technical, corporate communications, or journalistic — elicits certain assumptions and expectations. And although rarely acknowledged, there appears to be an intrinsic hierarchy, an invisible measure of validity and worthiness. A scale topped by creative literary fiction and bottomed by ad copy. Creative literary fiction commands a particular reverence, perched comfortably on a pedestal erected by those inside and outside of the writing field. Readers exalt literary writers as their liberators from the drudgery of daily life; writers exalt themselves to augment their professional esteem. And so the literary writer, the mind behind the masterpiece, assumes his or her throne as the appointed monarch of words.

Write to Live, Live to Write

"We do not write because we want to; we write because we have to," said Somerset Maugham, referring, presumably, not to the impetus of paying the bills, but to the inner drive to write. Real writers, it is believed, are enigmatic recluses compelled to write by an indescribable creative impulse; when channelled successfully, the result of this creative impulse is art. Real writers are called to write; they pursue vocations, not professions. To apply one’s creativity to other than artistic pursuits — whether to argue a theory, outline political policy, illustrate the application of a piece of software, describe a company’s vision, or report the news of the day — is an affront to the purity of art. Is there nothing noble in communication? Nothing artful in clear expression? "Writing is the only profession where no one considers you ridiculous if you earn no money," said Jules Renard. Renard neglected to mention, however, that you’re a sell-out if you do. Among their peers, writers in business environments are like ex-hippies in suits — they’ve abandoned the pursuit of the higher good.

Whether literature is art is not contested here, nor is the assumption that creative writers are artists. The notion that creativity is the mysterious, unattainable claim of the writing world’s gifted elite, and that its application in literary pursuits is worthy of higher praise than its expression in any other writing field, is disputable. The idea that literary achievement outclasses any other writing accomplishment, or the perception that the highest level of excellence in the writing profession can only be attained by those who apply their skills to literary ends are the notions that alienate many writers and undervalue their skills.

Underlying these subtle rankings is the greater debate of social value and worth; that is, whether it is nobler to pursue work of cultural impact or commercial usefulness. Both are necessary to the healthy functioning of society. Yet while the immediacy of the writing we need is appreciated, the longevity of the writing that inspires us over time is revered. Like different culinary dishes, writing is consumed with varying degrees of relish. Mom’s nutritious home cooking comforts and sustains us, while Chef Henri’s savoury, delectable masterpieces thrill our taste buds. But is Mom’s cooking merely dreary, everyday sustenance? Who’s mouth has not watered for tasty, steaming meat loaf?

The City Mouse and the Country Mouse

At first glance, the literary writer and the non-literary writer show little family resemblance. While we occasionally gather at writers’ and editors’ associations meetings, we mostly inhabit separate worlds. But are our skills sets entirely different, or do we apply the same abilities to different ends? An online help writer, for example, will rarely be required to evoke deep emotional responses from his or her reader, and a fiction writer will seldom need to condense 200 pages of technical material by three o’clock sharp. But we must all hone our sensitivity to language, our common tool. We must be conscious of the way the words we use may be interpreted, whether our goal is character revelation or product description. We must predict and respond to a reader’s expectations, whether they are based on established genre elements or topic familiarity.

Perhaps the most telling illustration of our shared genealogy lies in the challenges of the hybrid literary/non-literary writers, the ambitious crosses who write professionally during the day, but who attempt to pursue creative work in the off hours. The obstacles facing these writers are hard-felt — not because the switch to creativity is such a dramatic departure from their pedestrian, artless, professional writing, but because it isn’t. They are trying to draw on exhausted skills, skills they apply to different ends during the day.

It may be a long drive to the city from the country, but the commute isn’t intergalactical. We’re all from the same greater writing world.

Us Versus Ourselves

This hierarchy within the writing community is, arguably, self-perpetuated. While it is true that creativity is generally esteemed outside of writing circles (in part because it carries the possibility of fame, the Nirvana of human existence), it is largely writers themselves who persist in ennobling the literary Writer. Many literary writers, when discussing their work, consistently ring out the "no one understands me" refrain, perpetuating the myth of the elite, impenetrable community of artistes within which the misunderstood writer seeks refuge from the unenlightened, unlettered world. The pretentiousness of this pseudo-mystique is alienating to non-literary writers, who, although they share a job title, seemingly could not possibly understand the literary auteur’s passion for words, their need to create, and so on. Further, the "no one understands me" chorus is often suspiciously invoked as a default dismissal of criticism, a reflex justification for inferior work. Yet the assumption that this group of writers is so far removed, that its membership is so restricted, and that its work is infinitely more valuable, is nonetheless maintained by most, if not all, other factions of the writing community.

"Any writer who makes their living using their creativity deserves the capital ‘W’ Writer tag; the rest of us are generating written material, much of which is handed to us in various states of completion, within a prescribed, and therefore creatively limiting, framework. The capital ‘W’ Writers get to step outside the box, and it takes a special talent to thrive out there," avers one technical writer. Are we all fallen angels? Have we no special talents? This inferiority complex can only be damaging and hurt our professional self-image. We discredit ourselves. If we perpetuate the notion that literary writing is the peak of our shared profession, it must follow that we all aspire to attain it. The truth is, many choose to live in the valley.

A Writer by Any Other Name

In an ideal world, the term "writer" would elicit an accurate image of the community it encompasses: a group of creators who work with language in a variety of different capacities, none of which is intrinsically superior to the others. And perhaps one day soon, it will be so, given the proportionate increase in the number of writers applying their skills to non-literary ends. But until then, it remains the responsibility of the writing community, including its literary and non-literary members, to strive for their own measures of excellence, and to take pride in their unique contributions to the texts of our lives.

Lorie Boucher is a w/Writer in Ottawa, Ontario. She is a Contributing Editor for Writer’s Block.