A/N: Okay, this text is an argument between two authors, who are also friends. One who’s writing romance and one who’s writing fantasy. Please comment if you agree with one of them! Enjoy!
“Why don’t you just try to write something a bit more real?” Emily asked her one day.
“What do you mean?” Anna looked at her uncomprehendingly.
“Well, none of the stuffs that’s happening in your stories could ever actually, you know – happen. So, what’s the point, then? I mean; magic? Dragons? How do you expect your readers to really invest themselves in the story if it could never happen to them?”
“Well, that’s kind of the point.”
“What?”
“That it can’t ever happen in real life. When my readers pick up one of my books, they don’t want to get reminded of all the boring stuff in their life. They want to be transported into a place that’s filled with wondrous adventures. They want away from the life of bills and dishes and everything dull. They want magic. Something your books simply doesn’t provide.”
“Excuse me?! I’ve sold three hundred thousand copies! Clearly; someone must think that I provide something good.”
“Yeah. A fantasy world for women who’s dissatisfied with their own love life. Big whoop.”
“Yet I’ve sold fifty thousand copies more than you.”
“It’s not about the quantity of one’s reader. It’s about the quality.”
“My books are quality!”
“Please! Your books are fifty euphemisms for penis and a man with a six-pack and some severe emotional problems.”
“When I write; my readers get transported into the story. They’re in the head of the main character, and falls in love along with her. My books gives them a part of life they’ve yearned for.”
“Yeah, that’s called sexual frustration.”
“It’s called realistic writing! And what of your books? How can anyone enjoy something as ludicrous as mermaids or lightsabers!”
“I’ve never actually used lightsabers.”
“You know what I mean. You’re an amazing writer. You know how to play with words. But God, your choices for a story! Prophecies, time travel, people randomly sprouting wings? I can’t believe anyone actually pay to get filled up with that kind of crap!”
“Crap?! I’ll tell you what’s crap! A sex scene where you never, not even a single bloody time, actually uses the word penis! A man falling madly in love with a woman for no reason at all! Do you have any idea how annoying your main characters are?!”
“Annoying! My main characters are well-developed and three-dimensional! They have realistic problems and desires. Unlike yours.”
“You mean that they’re frustrated and horny.”
“My readers can see themselves in them!”
“Because they’re frustrated and horny as well! Besides it’s no wonder they can see themselves in your character. You always uses the same one. You might change the colour of her hair and her name, but she’s still the same. And she still has no personality whatsoever.”
“She has plenty of personality! I mean they! They have plenty of personality! But my point stands. Your writing is fine, but God, it’s like you’re unable to deal with real life! Perhaps if you wasn’t such a damn coward as to avoiding anything outside your little fantasy world, you’d actually be as successful as me.”
“I’ve sold quarter a million books!”
“Yet still fifty thousand less than me.”
“At least my readers have an IQ over eighty!”
“At least my readers are capable of social interaction!”
“At least my readers don’t have to get laid through a God damn book!”
“My books allow them to live out their fantasy!”
“Well, so do mine! You think the only thing you can fantasize about is sex? My readers fantasize about being able to do magic, save the day, battle evil. Certainly deeper subjects than getting laid.”
Emily glared at her in fury. “Fine,” she said. “If you won’t admit realistic scenarios are better, I can’t help you become a better writer.”
“And if I can’t make you see that you’re making your money of strangers’ frustration, then I suppose there’s nothing I can do about it.”
For a long time neither of them said anything, but merely stared at each other with annoyance written all over their faces. Then, suddenly, they spoke as one.
“But mine is still better!”
mariasjostrand 