Writers, in their perpetual impulse to spell things out for their audience, have a penchant for advice. I don't know if other professions have this at the same level: Writers' worlds are words, after all, so the idea that they ought to share what they know by writing what they know and thereby both practicing what they preach ("write what you know") and help the next generation of writers at the same time is likely one that appeals to them. I know it does to me.
One of the things that published writers ("real writers", as I think of them) often encourage others to do is consider the audience. In terms of technical- and academic writing, I do this with my students all of the time. Considering the audience is one of the bedrock starting places for anyone who wants to communicate. As a teacher of writing, I trot out obvious examples (and think I'm profound for weaving them out of my mouth as I go), things like, "Writing a text message is different than writing a college application."
Duh.
But, hey, sometimes the obvious has to be stated, which is rather obvious, so there I go, doing two things at once with my words. Dazzling.
There's a contradiction to this advice because of course there is: Write for yourself. "Who cares," ask the established authors who make a comfortable living and have cachet because they're "real writers" and enjoy the luxury of that establishment and can, therefore, dispense with the preoccupation they're privileged enough not to recognize plagues others, "what others think? Write what you care about. Write what you know--and who knows you better than you?"
I don't disagree with this, necessarily, particularly with my novels. I haven't read about the worlds I've created, the magic systems I craft, or the characters I've dreamed up. Other versions--and better types--sure, but I haven't read my story elsewhere. So that's definitely valid.
But I find that advice a lot harder here. Writing these essays is supposed to be cathartic and technical for me. Thinking "aloud" on digital paper is a refreshing and enjoyable thing for me. While I don't practice any sort of revision policy--essentially, every essay I write is a rough draft, spat out to the best of my ability of the nonce--I generally feel as though my thoughts are fairly transparent. I wrote what I was thinking at the time.
Nevertheless, I have a weird impulse to want to share what I've written, and that's where I struggle. See, I don't have a large readership. According to the data provided by Blogger, my most viewed essay was this one, a reader response on The Merchant of Venice. While not a bad post, it's hardly the one I'd point to as the most important. Also, since I'm pretty sure it got tugged into some sort of bot-attack (since it has almost 50,000 views), I'm confident that's an anomaly.
The next most popular one was the one about the hypocrisy I see in the GOP--an analysis I stand by, incidentally--and I'm fairly confident, based upon how it was cycling around Facebook, that its 480 or so page views is accurate.*
In other words, if I look at what would get me the most clicks, it's essays bagging on President Trump. You know, to target my audience.
But, I know that, aside from my mom, very few people read my essays regularly. They happen upon one post or another, click, and move on. I don't even know if they read them, since I disable comments (more on that later) and don't have a way of knowing much more than when someone stops by. Nevertheless, I'm aware that by sharing my thoughts on my two social media platforms, I'm inviting others to read what I have to say. And some of the people who follow me are significantly farther to the political right (and left) of me. Some of those people are parents of students, or even former students. And all of the sudden, the line between the ambiguous "audience" and "people I know and have to interact with" becomes much sharper than the sagacity of "real writers".
This is part of why I turned off comments.** I can give myself the illusion of being in the same boat as the writers of ages past, those who could write what they wrote and then have the distance of publication through which to communicate. I mentioned Milton's pamphlet wars in a previous essay, and I think they're a great parallel to what we have now. The difference, of course, is that the communication between writer and audience is contracted. There's no delay between publication and consumption, so I as a writer have to be constantly in a state of re-writing (not rewriting, however) if I allow the essays to become a dialogue instead of a monologue.
The final part of what frustrates me about being aware of my audience is that the pieces that I am most proud of, those which I think are the most important or thought provoking are ones that are scanned by a few bots, read by my mom (hi, mom!), and then aren't shared. I'm glad that the "successful" pieces I've written have had whatever amount of success they enjoy. But it's sad that those I worked hardest on (like this, this, or this) don't gain the exposure that I would wish they would.
And maybe that's the big takeaway: you can target your audience all you like, but they won't necessarily target you.
---
* If you're super curious, this essay about marriage equality is my next highest, with a smidge over 400 views.
** The biggest reason is that I don't want to moderate my forums, and, since I'm interested in writing new things every day, I don't want to get bogged down in flamewars on my blog. It also keeps the essays focused on the essays, rather than others' thoughts. I feel, if they want to respond, they should do so in their own space--whether that's another website, or social media post--and let that be its own thing. For me, I'm not necessarily looking for online conversations on my personal blog.
One of the things that published writers ("real writers", as I think of them) often encourage others to do is consider the audience. In terms of technical- and academic writing, I do this with my students all of the time. Considering the audience is one of the bedrock starting places for anyone who wants to communicate. As a teacher of writing, I trot out obvious examples (and think I'm profound for weaving them out of my mouth as I go), things like, "Writing a text message is different than writing a college application."
Duh.
But, hey, sometimes the obvious has to be stated, which is rather obvious, so there I go, doing two things at once with my words. Dazzling.
There's a contradiction to this advice because of course there is: Write for yourself. "Who cares," ask the established authors who make a comfortable living and have cachet because they're "real writers" and enjoy the luxury of that establishment and can, therefore, dispense with the preoccupation they're privileged enough not to recognize plagues others, "what others think? Write what you care about. Write what you know--and who knows you better than you?"
I don't disagree with this, necessarily, particularly with my novels. I haven't read about the worlds I've created, the magic systems I craft, or the characters I've dreamed up. Other versions--and better types--sure, but I haven't read my story elsewhere. So that's definitely valid.
But I find that advice a lot harder here. Writing these essays is supposed to be cathartic and technical for me. Thinking "aloud" on digital paper is a refreshing and enjoyable thing for me. While I don't practice any sort of revision policy--essentially, every essay I write is a rough draft, spat out to the best of my ability of the nonce--I generally feel as though my thoughts are fairly transparent. I wrote what I was thinking at the time.
Nevertheless, I have a weird impulse to want to share what I've written, and that's where I struggle. See, I don't have a large readership. According to the data provided by Blogger, my most viewed essay was this one, a reader response on The Merchant of Venice. While not a bad post, it's hardly the one I'd point to as the most important. Also, since I'm pretty sure it got tugged into some sort of bot-attack (since it has almost 50,000 views), I'm confident that's an anomaly.
The next most popular one was the one about the hypocrisy I see in the GOP--an analysis I stand by, incidentally--and I'm fairly confident, based upon how it was cycling around Facebook, that its 480 or so page views is accurate.*
In other words, if I look at what would get me the most clicks, it's essays bagging on President Trump. You know, to target my audience.
But, I know that, aside from my mom, very few people read my essays regularly. They happen upon one post or another, click, and move on. I don't even know if they read them, since I disable comments (more on that later) and don't have a way of knowing much more than when someone stops by. Nevertheless, I'm aware that by sharing my thoughts on my two social media platforms, I'm inviting others to read what I have to say. And some of the people who follow me are significantly farther to the political right (and left) of me. Some of those people are parents of students, or even former students. And all of the sudden, the line between the ambiguous "audience" and "people I know and have to interact with" becomes much sharper than the sagacity of "real writers".
This is part of why I turned off comments.** I can give myself the illusion of being in the same boat as the writers of ages past, those who could write what they wrote and then have the distance of publication through which to communicate. I mentioned Milton's pamphlet wars in a previous essay, and I think they're a great parallel to what we have now. The difference, of course, is that the communication between writer and audience is contracted. There's no delay between publication and consumption, so I as a writer have to be constantly in a state of re-writing (not rewriting, however) if I allow the essays to become a dialogue instead of a monologue.
The final part of what frustrates me about being aware of my audience is that the pieces that I am most proud of, those which I think are the most important or thought provoking are ones that are scanned by a few bots, read by my mom (hi, mom!), and then aren't shared. I'm glad that the "successful" pieces I've written have had whatever amount of success they enjoy. But it's sad that those I worked hardest on (like this, this, or this) don't gain the exposure that I would wish they would.
And maybe that's the big takeaway: you can target your audience all you like, but they won't necessarily target you.
---
* If you're super curious, this essay about marriage equality is my next highest, with a smidge over 400 views.
** The biggest reason is that I don't want to moderate my forums, and, since I'm interested in writing new things every day, I don't want to get bogged down in flamewars on my blog. It also keeps the essays focused on the essays, rather than others' thoughts. I feel, if they want to respond, they should do so in their own space--whether that's another website, or social media post--and let that be its own thing. For me, I'm not necessarily looking for online conversations on my personal blog.