The Author Reader contract
Greetings, Neophyte! Today, let’s delve straight into a concept that’s the backbone of any self-respecting author’s journey: The Author-Reader contract. It’s the most sacred of covenants, despite the myriad worries about the quality of your work, agent acceptance, marketability, and all that yada yada yada. This contract between you and those who will read your work is sacred, which not a term I toss around lightly.
Why “sacred,” you ask? Well, Neophyte, in an age flooded with cheap words and depreciated meanings, I emphasize this term because, as I’ve stressed before, when you write, your readers must always be at the forefront of your mind.
No beating around the bush today, Neophyte. Sacred. It’s a weighty word, especially in a linguistic landscape where words often lack gravity. But here, it carries significance. Why? Because, as you traverse your writing path, you must intrinsically know if your story is clear, if its sotry beats align with each other, and if it speaks to your audience. These are questions that should echo in your mind.
And then there are the questions you shouldn’t be asking. Like, what elements of a particular genre do readers expect? Yes, Neophyte, they do expect something from your work. They anticipate elements from the genres they love, stories that resonate with them, characters they love, hate, love to hate or hate to love. But, beyond that, they expect to be engaged and challenged.
Every story is a series of questions waiting to be answered—not in a questionnaire sense, but in the journey of characters. It’s through these questions that readers are drawn into the narrative, perhaps even hooked. I know, Neophyte, there’s more to it, but that’s not our focus here. The point is, their expectations and presuppositions make their trust sacred, and it should be treated with utmost respect.
So, the responsibility falls squarely on you as the author to fulfill that contract. Many will offer advice like “Here are the ten characters to avoid in your dark-romance story,” and I’m here thinking, what-the-nelly. Who do they think they are, dictating what should or shouldn’t be? What worked for them might not work for others. I blame the internet, in a way, Neophyte; it has its quirks that interfere in strange ways, but I digress.
Many subpar works fall into this trap—they break the covenant. Authors, or worse, corporations, inject their own agendas where they don’t belong, twisting the work into something soulless. And I’m not just talking about books or novels; this extends to webcomics, short stories, video games, series, and movies.
Especially in this age of grandiosity, where the hunger for profit often trumps everything else, many walk in lockstep through a single door instead of following the contract.
As long as there are intriguing elements around your work—the cover, the description blurb, the artwork, etc.—it will likely catch someone’s eye. If it’s good enough, it will grow from there.
Another point to ponder, Neophyte, is that no two fandoms are identical, even within genres. For instance, science fiction enthusiasts of Star Trek are not necessarily the same as those who favor Star Wars. It is also a vicious trap in its own right, but that will be the subject for another day. Various factors contribute to this diversity, from their parents’ preferences to the type of person they become later in life. Regardless of the specifics, the outcome remains the same: even within a specific readership, you won’t be able to please everyone, and that’s okay—more than okay, it’s a necessity. Why, you ask? Because if you write for everybody, then you’re writing for nobody. You’re just a human, Neophyte; you can’t grasp the entirety, at least not without embracing a niche
And here we encounter another breach of the contract: attempting to encompass everything within a genre will attract a passive audience at best and a disinterested one at worst. Neither scenario is favorable. Or, even worse, crafting a work that includes “EVERYTHING”—all the elements from all the genres simultaneously.
To this, I say, by the end of the lesson, I want the name of the Corpo that sent you because that is pure corporate speech, and secondly, it’s impossible. Just like writing for everybody, trying to include everything will render your work unfocused and mediocre. It achieves nothing.
The contract is a flimsy, ill-defined thing that takes on various meanings for different people. To condense this lesson, which has meandered quite a bit, it boils down to respecting what the reader consciously and unconsciously expects from your work. It may sound one-sided, but it’s not. Respect is a two-way street, at least for normal people. As you respect your readers, they will reciprocate, offering appropriate praise for doing things right and constructive criticism for missteps.
That should cover it for now.
Don’t go yet; give me the name of the Corpo, Neophyte.
