Are you a cowboy? A spy? A sexy lover? A  child at heart? Somewhat intellectual? If so, you probably read in a genre like children’s books, westerns, mystery, romance, or literary.  Publishing is defined by specialized categories of book, which also identify readers by age, gender, interest, locale. These seem to become more targeted by the week. The process helps greatly in marketing books to try to insure readership.

No longer are these groups simple and innocuous. Sub-genre succeeds sub-genre. I’m not sure I even know what some of these mean. For example, urban romance fantasy. Is this several dragons who live in a large city off-world and become enamored of one another, or an historical period piece in which Cleopatra and her lover Marie Antoinette battle the evils of Czar Peter the Great in St. Petersburg? Or both?

My publications are classified as clean or sweet romance. Devoid of overt sex, this category can incorporate a great deal of passion, depending upon author, plot, and publisher. I prefer to think of them as “women’s fiction,” a bit closer to my approach, because the journey of the main characters is to succeed in meeting life’s challenges, not simply discover love. Of course, being a writer and always ready to split hairs or argue until I’m blue in the face, I don’t like to assign labels at all.

Which brings me to authors who defy categorization and leap-frog genres: Michael Chabon, Margaret Atwood, Doris Lessing, P.D. James, among others. I’m sure their publishers would prefer they didn’t. It makes marketing their work more difficult. But these are big names, and they can do as they please. Successfully.

A  challenge for newbies, especially in more structured, dare I say rigid?, genres. Publishers, bloggers, book sellers want to know the type in a 30-second elevator speech. For example, when I sent my first novel to an online reviewer, she declined it despite its HEA ending because she felt it was chick lit.

But this blog ISN’T about genres. It’s about excellent writing. Even if a book is a particular genre (i.e., waddles like a duck), I think good writing should be possible in any genre. I’ve just finished a book that explained an area of writing that I’ve never heeded. When discussions centered on symbolism, I poo-pooed the theories. Who knew or cared if a rope meant characters were tied together, or if waves crashing on a cliff substituted for sexual fervor?

A major shift in my attitude occurred with “How to Read Literature Like a Professor.” Author Thomas Foster hand-led me through weather, violence, flying, seasons, and other topics serving as symbols for life’s issues, such as love, freedom, and depression. Giving examples from classics and popular books, he showed how use of symbolism gives added depth and enhances the reader’s understanding and appreciation.

Hmmm. As I thought back over my own work, I realized it contains a fair number of sequences that can serve as symbols. A storm in the middle of a confrontational camping trip. Seeking shelter with a potential partner during a snowstorm. A wildfire engulfing adversaries. Did I intend these as symbols? Not at the time, but unconsciously I must have absorbed cultural cues. Henceforward, I’ll incorporate these deliberately. I’ll have more fun, and perhaps my readers will, too.

So if you read about a telephone in my future writings, don’t assume it’s just a chat. It might represent confusion, ambition, or, who knows?, sex. A duck can always morph into a swan