I write for people to read.
I don’t know if it’s the extroverted side of me coming out through my creativity, but I never understood the point of writing something you never intended anyone else to read.
Naturally, there might be people I don’t want to see something or an appropriate time for something to be read. Not everyone gets to read first and second drafts. I’m not super excited about my conservative boomer family or conservative Gen-X co-workers reading my trilogy about condemned souls that has been generously seasoned with spice and F-bombs.
I also understand, once something is published, there’s really not a lot I can do to stop those people from getting their hands on it.
But at the same time, I never kept a diary when I was the age to keep a diary. I was fairly guarded with my words because I was a teenager and teenagers are guarded with everything, but I still didn’t write anything I didn’t expect someone would some day read.
Even in my thirteen-year-old brain, I was sure my summer scribblings would one day be on the library shelves.
But I am an extrovert. I struggle with the execution, but I love (the idea of) getting acquainted with people. I love sharing bits of myself, I love learning bits about other people. I’ve always been a little awkward doing those things in the meat space and find it much easier to communicate through written words but that no one said extroverts couldn’t be paralyzingly awkward.
And my writing is a bit of myself. It’s something I have done my whole life. I’ve never known any time when I wasn’t telling stories. I probably even told stories in baby gibberish.
I want people to read my stories.
Fiction, non-fiction, poetry, all of it. I put it out into the world with the hope someone will read it and enjoy it.
Sometimes, I’ll write something, just dump words out of my brain, and send it to my sister, asking where I would find the best audience for the thing. Should I capitalize on this thing by posting it to Vocal? Is it more suited to the blog? Where should I put this? Sometimes she’ll tell me. Sometimes I think she thinks I’m overthinking.
Most of the time, I know where something belongs.
That doesn’t always mean anyone reads it.
And therein lies my biggest struggle.
I am willing to share the words. I don’t see the point in not sharing the words. But I feel like so few of the words ever get seen.
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