Me and my Imaginary Audience

Written by me... not artificial intelligence.

Sometimes, you just have to purge.

When you purge in your writing, you’re not thinking about the audience. But if you want to be read, you have to think about them.

What would they like to see? How are they feeling right now? How can you merge your thoughts and feelings with the audience’s struggles and concerns?

It’s a lot to think about, and when you’re just writing to purge, it’s almost impossible to take the audience into account at that moment.

I think we have a lot in common, and because of that, I mistakenly believe that I have something to say, that surely someone else out there also understands or feels. Other times, I believe I am the only one.

I plan one moment, then I scrap it all the next. I’m not nearly as presentable or manicured as I hope to appear.

What it should come down to is… what can I say that others are also saying? What can I impart through my many thousands of unseen, unread purges that someone else out there also feels all the time?

Perhaps, getting out of our own heads and into each other’s experiences is part of the solution.

When I write, I almost go blank. What I’m trying to say, what I’m trying to convey, feels hazy, misshapen, without form. When I read it back, I find it difficult to move past the moments that make me freeze or cringe. I never show anything I work on as a result; it’s hard enough for me to get through.

But if I were to only write for an audience, caring only about what they want to see and hear, I am petrified. I don’t move at all. I’m stone. How am I supposed to write something they can all see and understand when my own purges feel malformed?

I go through the steps, trust the process, but more than not it’s like pulling teeth.

What do you want from me? What do I want from me?

To be a writer is to be a feeler, an explorer, a student of life. It’s about being seen, even when that’s the last thing you actually want. It isn’t just about delivering a story that people will pay attention to. It’s a never-ending journey that you can’t be happy on if all you expect is the final destination.

We find so many ways of constricting ourselves, to make ourselves fit a box for a buck. In my experience, I do it out of need, out of panic, out of shame. But I will always make myself sick from doing that. It always happens. Like clockwork.

I know there’s an audience, not just well-wishers who have no real stakes in this journey. They’re out there. I don’t know their names or where to find them, but I hope that someday I can trust myself to show up and show out for them.

Me and my imaginary audience, I hope our future together is bright and full of surprises for you and me both.

Photo by Massimo Virgilio on Unsplash