The future is genre-blending, and it’s in full bloom. Here’s why your next novel shouldn’t fit neatly into any one pot.
Imagine, for a moment, that you’re standing on top of a grassy hill. Spread out before you is a vast meadow of wildflowers. It’s an ocean of undulating color—slow, kaleidoscopic waves as far as the eye can see. It’s the peak of summer and the fragrant breeze smells of fertility—rich soil and uninhibited growth.
That sprawling meadow is the current landscape of popular fiction.
The golden yellows of mainstream fiction are everywhere—patches of daisies and towering sunflowers—but so, too, are the various shades of genre fiction. The scarlet sage, red poppies and crimson clover scattered about constitute romance. Fantasy is blue sage and chicory. The whites of wild carrot and wood anemone are science fiction. Purple flowers like cow vetch and violets are mystery and thrillers. The orange of the tiger lilies is horror.
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