Distinguished Guests....
One of my mental blocks as a writer is trying to figure out my audience.
That was always a tricky question for me to answer when writing papers in college? Who am I writing this paper for, exactly?
The college professor who is grading me, obviously.
But what about the blog?
Who am I writing for?
Is it just for me and then I launch it out into the world in case someone else needed what I did? Is it a convenient way to communicate with family both near and far? To honor those who have come before me and those who come after? Is my rambling for friends? People with depression? Parents? Women? Mormon? Ex-Mormon? People with chronic pain? (I would argue we all live with chronic pain but I digress...) Will my words find English majors? (They are likely appalled with my lack of editing.) Poets? Artists? Quilters? Lovers of words? Spiritual people, who wonder if it is true that they belong everywhere and nowhere? Thirty-somethings? Teens? The walking wounded who carry traumas with them that may or may not be their own? Library students struggling to determine the value of a degree? Do I write for the person interrupted several times while attempting to write? Could it be all of these people? Or some at a time? We overlap and intersect in so many different ways. You'll notice that all of these groups are labels I would use for myself. But I also believe in connections that don't have a label beyond "human" and thus interesting. So who am I writing for?
I don't know. And I'll set about figuring that out as I go.
What I DO know is that the need to write is there. Always has been. And that when I listen and pay attention and honor what I need, I find the world a little more peaceful, and less anxious.
That was always a tricky question for me to answer when writing papers in college? Who am I writing this paper for, exactly?
The college professor who is grading me, obviously.
But what about the blog?
Who am I writing for?
Is it just for me and then I launch it out into the world in case someone else needed what I did? Is it a convenient way to communicate with family both near and far? To honor those who have come before me and those who come after? Is my rambling for friends? People with depression? Parents? Women? Mormon? Ex-Mormon? People with chronic pain? (I would argue we all live with chronic pain but I digress...) Will my words find English majors? (They are likely appalled with my lack of editing.) Poets? Artists? Quilters? Lovers of words? Spiritual people, who wonder if it is true that they belong everywhere and nowhere? Thirty-somethings? Teens? The walking wounded who carry traumas with them that may or may not be their own? Library students struggling to determine the value of a degree? Do I write for the person interrupted several times while attempting to write? Could it be all of these people? Or some at a time? We overlap and intersect in so many different ways. You'll notice that all of these groups are labels I would use for myself. But I also believe in connections that don't have a label beyond "human" and thus interesting. So who am I writing for?
I don't know. And I'll set about figuring that out as I go.
What I DO know is that the need to write is there. Always has been. And that when I listen and pay attention and honor what I need, I find the world a little more peaceful, and less anxious.
So the WHO I'll figure out.
The WHAT is whatever flows through the keyboard.
WHEN? More often. But when exactly? Remains to be scheduled.
WHERE am I writing? Currently on my bed, with my laptop, in my comfiest sweats, with a warm drink by my side and mess everywhere else.
WHY? Because I like to. (Em-Oh-You-Ess-Eee!)
and HOW? By whatever means possible.
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