Thursday, September 11, 2008

Who do you write for?

I have had ideas in my head all week and no way to write them. The sentences come out very confusing and mottled. Poor grammar and structure and spelling abound and I delete everything before it is finished. I am frustrated with my lack of inspiration and bored with my every thought.

I read a post by BHJ (my initials, just inverted a bit- but it's not me, I checked) not too long ago. A comment made to him by another blogger got me to thinking. Who do I write for? The commenter and the author write to their future selves. The people they want to become and hope to become by writing and expressing themselves. They are grand and intelligent people whose writing surpasses mine in most every way. I am ok with that, but then I asked myself. Who do I write for?

Rarely do I write just for me. Okay, I admit, I write about puppies for me. The me who takes more pictures of puppies than of people. The me who talks more about her dogs than most new mother's about their children. The me who lapses into a baby voice whenever a puppy walks by.

Some of the things I write for the me who was. The me who is working things out from my past or present. The me who is struggling or hurting. The me who is annoyed and lazy.

But the Future Me? No. I don't often acknowledge the Future Me in any real way. And, really, the Future Me doesn't appreciate me as much as one would think. She comes and reads the posts the Present Me puts out and says "Oh, that's just not as good as you thought it was". The Future Me can be a real witch sometimes.

Most of the time, I write for someone else. An unknown someone else who will read my words and think "She is brilliant. AND funny. I wish I [...]" (fill in the blank with "was just like her", "could meet her", "could fall at her feet and proclaim my devotion".)

When I write something thoughtful or insightful, I am writing for Schmutzie or Marc. I would love to be able to write like they do. To provide insight and intelligence and beauty to a line or paragraph. So, sometimes I write to pretend I'm that smart or talented.

When I write something funny, I am trying to impress Roger or Joe. My entire goal in life is to make them chuckle. Or, even more rare, comment. I write amusing things so others will provide me with affirmation about my cleverness. I, of course, know I am clever, but I want someone else to acknowledge it. Preferably in public, with a parade.

So, when I don't write... I am lost. I am busying myself with other things and composing pieces of posts which will never see light of day. I am watching reruns and playing with puppies and hoping something entertaining happens that I am 1) allowed to share and 2) able to vocalize.


  1. My blog is mostly emails to my kids that I don't have to repeat to everyone else. Some of my editorials are aimed at drawing crazies out of the weoodwork and increasing my readership. Mostly I wish people would comment so I know they are out there. I like your idea of writing different blogs for different people.

  2. The words will come back to you. This happens to me sometimes. In fact, I just came out the other side of that, and it's not the happiest of places.
    I am so touched that you sometimes think of me when you write. Wow.

  3. You make me laugh, otherwise, I wouldn't read you blog.

    And don't forget, even when I don't comment, I am always smiling, judging, watching - look at the baby - look at the baby.

  4. hmmmmmm. I would have thought I would have been in there somewhere as in "I wonder what Dana will think or comment about".....I'm not kind like Schmutzie. I WILL retaliate.

  5. Dad: I try to comment even if it's just to point out our common love of puns.

    Schmutzie: Thanks for the encouragement. I'm glad that you are ok with me writing for your approval sometimes. When I re-read it, it just sounded creepy.

    Roger: Good. This is all I ask.

    Dana: I never have to worry about you. I know you're going to say the most scandilous thing you can!!

  6. Hey, thanks for the shout-out! I'm flattered. (Not sure I deserve it though!)


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