Isn't it interesting how words move on? Back in the 1960s and 70s, which, yes, I'm old enough to recall quite well, things became trendy if they were popular, or perhaps more accurately, the new big thing. There are those of us who still use the word to mean exactly that, but it kind of fell into disuse, or went out of fashion, which I suppose is much the same. And then it came back, in a slightly different form.
On trend has sort of replaced trendy, though the meaning is subtly different. And then there's trending, which I understand is a thing that happens on another thing called social media, and is therefore a concept which doesn't touch my life at all. Someone on the radio this morning claimed he never looked at social media, and when pressed, confessed that he did sometimes look at the screen over his children's shoulders. I can go further than that. I have never looked at a Facebook page, wouldn't know how to get to Twitter, and haven't a clue what things like Instagum, WhichApp and Snipchat mean.
So I suppose that makes me no longer trendy, definitely off trend and certainly not trending. But I can still use the word, albeit in the pre-technology sense which I rather hope will outlive all the trend-prone usages of it.
I'm talking about trends in fiction. Themes which keep recurring. Sub-genres which pop up, enjoy their moment in the sun, then fade away again. I'm not sure how or why it happens, though I suspect marketing has something to do with it. Many years ago I was in touch with an agent over a novel I was hoping he would represent for me. It was set in the early part of the 20th century, and a lot of it took place during, and in the middle of, the First World War. In his first flush of enthusiasm (which, sadly, never translated into a subsequent flush, and reading over the novel a few weeks ago, I understood why, though I wanted to batter him at the time) he told me, 'You've chosen exactly the right time for this; the Great War is a strong trend at the moment.'
I explained I hadn't chosen it, at least not consciously; the setting just seemed right for the story I wanted to tell. So he told me, with a note of cynicism in his voice about the huge success of another novel set in and around the same war. Now, he said, every publishing house wanted its own bestseller on the same theme. And whaddya know, a rash of novels set around the First World War appeared that year. Not mine, alas; but that's a whole different blog post.
We've seen it happen so many times. Women in jeopardy – remember that? Chicklit, and its male equivalent. Books for kids set in a magical environment – though, ironically, wasn't J K Rowling told firmly that wizards and witches wouldn't sell? Doorstop books for kids, even though anything over 50,000 words was a no-no for a long, long time.
In crime fiction there was a huge trend for serial killers not so long ago, but that is one which is inevitably becoming self-defeating. The problem with trends is that each new addition has to be a little different from what's gone before, which can mean outdoing the competition – and the only way with serial killers is to add more and more gore and bodies, until eventually the readers can't stomach any more, or worse, credibility is stretched too far. Whatever the reason, people say enough. So of course the trends come and go. Sometimes they last a few years; other times a season is all they can support.
So – what does a debut writer do? Follow the current trend, or try to predict the next one? Following is a little pointless; publishing works to long lead times, and this year's trend could easily be history by the time even the most brilliant debut is scheduled. Predicting? Isn't that a little mechanical?
The answer, of course, is to set the next trend. Become it. March out ahead of the pack, and be first with the next great idea.
Hm. Now, how do I go about that?
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