Forbidden Topics

Writers explore the depths of humanity’s experience. At the same time, there are topics that we aren’t allowed to plumb.

Let me back up a bit. When I started to teach myself about which literary magazines would accept what kinds of stories, I spent a lot of time reading the do’s and don’t’s of the editors. Some won’t allow men to write with a woman’s voice or vice versa. Others disallow sex scenes and some forbid topics without which Nabokov could never have written Lolita. Write short, still others say, anything over 1000 words is too long.

Being a compliant sort, I tried for a while to avoid those things that would get me into trouble. When someone is established, however, I’ve noticed, they can break all the rules and get rich. So why are topics forbidden?

I know editors. A good friend is one. And editors are people with tastes and prejudices just like the rest of us. The problem is, there are a limited number of places that like the kind of thing I write, and the internet has spawned millions of writers who submit material. I am just one spermatozoon among the whole ejaculate. I don’t often reach the ovum first. Therefore I comply.

Successful writers, once upon a time, got their start in places like Playboy. I’ve written material, maybe a little too intellectual for the liking of their average readers, exploring the angst of being a sexual creature. Nobody wants to complicate that.

Perhaps it’s too personal. Perhaps nobody wants to face the monster that dwells inside.

I recently read a story by an established writer that contained a rape scene that made me squirm for an entire page. I don’t like such topics, and I wasn’t expecting it in this particular story. Yet this was in a printed book by a major trade publisher. Forbidden topic.

Is it too naive to want to write for the good of humanity? To impress excellence, if at a cost? Most of my characters are victims. They have tried and failed. Their dreams experience vivisection and scream aloud. Failure is a forbidden topic.

Bright, cheerful, optimistic. Stories with loud, clashing noises and bright colors but minimal descriptions. And don’t try a funny novel—nobody wants to read such things. Play by the rules and get wealthy. Or be authentic. The choice is yours.

Comments

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Has this ever happened to you? Have you written a story that you’ve completely forgot? Not only completely forgotten, but made unfindable? I play games with my stories and sometimes the joke’s on me. Okay, I suffer from graphomania. I write constantly. I do try to keep organized—I use a spreadsheet that has all my submissions on it. It has rejection/acceptance dates (mostly rejection). Lots of information. I decided to list on it every story, whether finished or in process. There are far too many (mostly in process). When I finish a story I often submit it. If I get burned, I’m shy about resubmitting. I often rewrite at this stage. Then, when I feel brave enough, I try again. The spreadsheet is color-coded. There, in the color that indicates finished and ready to submit is a story cryptically titled “The Password.” I don’t remember this story. I can’t recall what it was about or why I thought it was ready to publish. Looking through my electronic files,

K. Marvin Bruce

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