We have any number of clocks in our house. There's a Napoleon Dynamite chiming clock that rings at odd, random moments and a faux-antique kitchen clock with huge Roman numerals on its face. And then, there are the radio alarm clocks. These digital gadgets are plain evil.
At 5:30 this morning, I was awakened by two of my kid's clocks blasting Justin Bieber and Lady Gaga simultaneously. Picture it happening to you . . . "Baaaaby, baaaaaby, baaaaaby. Ohhh!" plus "Rah, rah, ah, ah, ah. Roma, roma, ma Gaga." In Dolby sound. Of all the stereos in all the world, why did this have to happen to mine?
I can handle these songs individually. Together? Not so much. Had Dante been with me, he might have created another level in hades. (Yesterday, my wakeup song came from Whitesnake, but I kind of like the hair bands.)
Without any logical segue, I'll move on to my real topic. Genre. In On Writing, Stephen King said he was drawn to horror films because the only other option were stridently happy musicals and beach-blanket movies. The teenage King couldn't relate to the latter so he chose the former.
Here's the question: Is the genre we choose a result of what we're lacking in life? Or do we just write what we enjoy reading? Do we gravitate toward a certain audience and write specifically for them?
How did you decide upon your genre?