The Audience... and My Stage Fright

As I teach in my college classes, every writing has an intended audience.

You may feel, as I sometimes do, that your writing is to weird or unfinished or crappy for anyone else but yourself, but eventually, if you are a writer, you intend for your writings to be read by someone.

And there lies the problem.

Who is our audience? Well, honestly, that depends on what we are writing, and why. I write in nearly every genre--essay, poetry, fiction (short and long), and drama (short and long). Each genre--and each work itself--has a different intended audience, and a different set of issues caused by the very audience I intend to reach.

My novels are all the culmination of a set of ideas, many months (no, years) of work, and painstaking revision and effort. I have literally (yes, I do know the meaning of this word and use it correctly) have revised my first novel nearly 30 times. My third novel was stopped and almost scrapped three times, and I've overhauled it, starting the novel over from scratch, changing the main character, changing the entire genre of novel, and changing POV and verb tense (which is really, really hard to revise, it turns out). Why all the work? Because I want my novels to read seamlessly, to satisfy readers without annoying them with too much detail, too little, events which are too stupid or too preachy or too unbelievable, without "too much" anything. Of course, I cannot truly know my audience, for so much of my personal preferences in reading come out, and I know other readers will never be exactly like me. Another problem is that I am my primary reader. I've read my books far more than anyone else has, mainly because I have shown them to so few people (mainly because they rarely feel finished).

With plays, I have a different audience entirely. I have to imagine all of the play in front of a live audience. Even more importantly, I have to imagine actors and directors taking my play and making something out of it, and create ways to help them do so easily (few sets, abbreviated action, logical shifts, etc.). After all, if a director doesn't feel the play is worth doing, and actors don't enjoy it, it won't be performed. But the final judge is still the audience, and I have to consider how I can place in the meaning of the piece (the whole reason I wrote it to begin with) into the work without losing the spontaneous feeling one should have watching stage action through a fourth wall. The largest difficulty with this is probably obvious: I can never know how a play, a particular scene, or even a line works until the play is in front of an audience, live, and my writing is already public. This is rather like a comic, who doesn't know if a joke works until it does--or doesn't--in front of a real audience.

With poetry, I usually write with an audience in mind, too, but, in my case, the audience is nearly always singular. Instead of writing from a particular POV (the way that Edgar Lee Masters wrote his Spoonriver Anthology), I write TO a particular person, someone in real life. Often I write to my husband, as I can prove with a huge list of sonnets and other love poems, but I also write to others, even a few people who have passed away. I send poems to people, but often I write them only for myself, with no intent to ever share them with anyone, including their intended audience. Poems are a way for me to clear my head of some issue, to get something proverbially (not literally) off my chest. I have several to my father, for instance, but they are more like letters I write, seal, but never mail.

If you write, you know, deep down, that you have an audience for your work, an audience beyond yourself. That is both a good thing and a bad thing. If you long for a huge audience of superfans who will love your work, your task may seem quite daunting, and any lukewarm response to your writings can feel like a knife to the heart. God forbid that a reader express distaste for your writing, or you might find yourself crushed for months. I am thicker skinned than many, but only to a point. It's the reason I keep revising and not submitting my work to anybody.

It's funny that I am writing about audience here, in my old blog, since only a handful of people even read this, and I rarely get more than a response or two, nearly all from my fantastic sister. (Thanks in advance, Stephanie!) Perhaps, however, if you happen upon this page, you will see that, in the end, I am still writing to myself most of all. I am writing to understand myself better, to work through ideas, to see what is holding me back.

I would love to know what you see holding you and your writing back. What fears do you have about your audience? Who do you believe your audience to be?

Until next time, keep writing...

Shadows

Shadows follow me
Gliding with soft whispers
Along the walls

I hear their calling
When they reach out
But I pull back

I float through the months
Fearing to touch
What I do not understand

But
Then
I
Choose
To
Embrace
Shadow

And the world opens to me
As I open to it
To the shadow of it
Of me

I see everything
Vividly
And it is more beautiful
Than I imagined.

Happy

Not sunny skies
Not rain
Not snow
Heat
Cold
Not your personal preference
Greeting you

It's the smile
The willingness to feel
The world as it is
No matter what

Not success
Not praise
Not togetherness
Alone time
Peace

It's the balance
One feels
Being wherever one is
At that very moment

Not outside
Not the fault of others
Not determined by the day
The list
The goals

It's the mere joy
Of living
In a world brightened
Only
By the magic of one's mind.

This Fall Apart

Achebe was right
The earth spins on
And on
In relatively perfect control

But we all spin out of it

We think its just a pirouette
Our own perfect dance
And if everyone else would only spin
The very same way

It will all go well
The perfect
Harmonious
Spin

But we all spin
Every which way
Refusing to bend
Adjust a foot
Trip a little more slowly
Or let someone else in line

So people spin away from us

Serves them right
We think
They should not have spun like that
They should adapt
To the best spin possible

We grin our knowing smiles
Go figure
Shows they lacked the talent
Or determination
Or understanding
Lacked the dance ability

It feels good
To be better
To dance the right way
While all around us spin off
Oddly

No need to bend
Or touch
Or stay
Or wait for them

Better just to spin
Alone.

Choose Your Headline

Bitter mother takes 

anger out on children

or 

Woman fosters

confidence in all around her

Employee makes all meetings 

utterly excruciating

or 

Manager builds rapport and 

encourages the world to grow

Man afraid of failing 

fails to try at anything

or

Man tries and fails

and tries again

Look at the world 

and see only the hate

and hate the world for it

or 

See the pain in us

but see the hope, the charity

see the world for what it can be

What would your headline be

If you could choose?

So choose. 

Don't doubt for a second that

It's your choice.

It is.

The Stupids

They are everywhere
Their thick brains
Firing off
Thicker thoughts

They wander everywhere
Onto TV screens
Spouting inanity
In an inane world

They hurt everything
Killing without any reason but hate
Hating without any reason but fear
Fearing for no reason

They follow us everywhere
Pushing their nonsense on us
Expecting us to act upon
Their nonsense

Yes, we are right
They are everywhere
Zombies out to make the world their own
We are right to be afraid

Yet we are so, so wrong
For we are not more than they
We, too, are stupid in the world
We, too, rationalize our own thinking
We, too, believe that only we are right
We, too, want everyone to act as we do
Where we all go wrong is in
Thinking we know everything.

Advent Calendar--December 24

This is the last one... and that means I managed to blog 24 days in a row! Thanks for sticking in there with me, Walking Man... how's it feel to be my most faithful reader?

I'm the wee one
The conundrum
The irony

I'm the "reason"
But those who spout
About
Me
Are just as bent on buying
As those who trim Thor's tree

I'm the life
The breath that started breathing long ago
That breathes now
But I don't breathe of judgment
I don't bring war
I don't cause the hate
I am not at all
What I am painted to be

Please don't judge
Don't assume you know me
Your limits
Box me in
And cover me up

Just listen
To the snow outside your window
Sifting through tree branches
To the padding feet of pjs
To the softness of prayer
To the feel of poinsettia petals
To the whispers of love
All around you

Only then will you find me.

Who am I?

Advent Calendar--December 23

I move like a flash
With a shush of snow and ice
Better than a Zamboni

Need to get around
In the frozen tundra of winter
Without the hassle of tires?

With a horse, some reins
And a glossy me
You can travel like the wind

With a little help from Santa
And a team of magic deer
I even fly.

What am I?

Advent Calendar--December 22

Creamy and delicious
(Or maybe not--
It's up to you)
Spiced with nutmeg
And thick with eggs and milk
I'm not for children
(Especially when laced with rum--
The BEST way to enjoy me)
But just a nip of me
And the holidays begin for real.

Haven't tried me?
Really?
Well, what are you waiting for?

What am I?

Advent Calendar--December 21

Only a few more days... I'm just glad I've actually kept at the writing (even if I did only because my kids would be disappointed otherwise):

I'm the present nobody wants
The heavy concoction of
Fruited nuts
And nutted fruits

Solid enough to be a doorstop
Ugly enough to make one gag
(Before one even takes a taste)
Able to last from one holiday to the next

What am I?

I'm betting my kids won't get this. I've never made one of these, and I never will. Thankfully, I haven't been given one in years.

Advent Calendar--December 20

I drift into your ear sometimes
At first a beat, or tinkling tune
Some somber notes, some silly rhymes
The words some famous people croon

I stick without throughout the day
Humming in your head a bit
Accompany you on your way
To shop, to drive, to talk, to sit

I'll never leave your head, you know
Through seasons' changing, on and on
You'll hum me fast or sing me slow
The whole year round, at dusk or dawn.

What am I?

Advent Calendar--December 19

All by myself
I'm spiced with sweetness
Crispy and ready to eat

But you don't eat me

You cut me
Into fat pieces
Frost me up with icing

And this suits me just fine

So go ahead
Decorate me with those gummy drops
The spicy ones in green and red

I like those candies best

Or licorice, or lollipops
To line my windows, doors, and roof
The frosting adds some needed snow

And then I'm ready for display

But pretty doesn't really suit me
Looking isn't quite enough
I sigh for little sneaky fingers
To pull off pieces, nibble up

After all, I'm really meant for EATING.

What am I?

Advent Calendar--December 18

It obviously does no good to schedule a post, since they just sit around in draft form anyway.

Here's December 18, which should have posted at least 24 hours ago (though the time stamp says yesterday):


I'm not meant for naked toes
Though I might seem the softest sight
Put on boots before you go
To tromp along my mass of white

You'll leave big footprints everywhere
Or make a man of some of me
I'll mark your cheeks, but you won't care,
I've blessed your world, and you've blessed me.

What am I?

Advent Calendar--December 17

By now I am covered with flour
Frosting
Sprinkles
The wipings of little hands
And big ones

Don't fret--it's what I was meant for
The drips
The smears
To protect a person's clothes
In a pinch

And with a good washing I'll lose
The stains
The mess
But I'll keep the memories
Of yearly Christmas cookies.

What am I?

Advent Calendar--December 16

Perhaps I'm just old-fashioned
Or a little past my prime
I sure don't last forever
Snuffing dark when out of time

But I'm better than a light bulb
For I shine the perfect light
Soften up the hardest edges
Gentling in the darkest night.

I myself am not important,
Yet illuminate the truth.
Take a long, good look around you
And you'll see the living proof.

The caring in a loved one's eyes
The grief of shedding tears
Holding hands, soft singing, crying
Pain, forgiveness, mercy, sighing
Lighting up this world for years.

What am I?

In solidarity with those grieving in Connecticut and around the world, I light mine. I will light one every day in the memory of those children, parents, and educators until something is done to stop the senselessness of our country's belief that only guns can bring safety. Until we start to see each other as human beings, not bullet receptacles.

Guns bring death. That's all they are for. They can only do what we created them to do. They'll only fall out of favor when we find a more efficient way to kill people.

So I will light mine, every day. And hope.

Advent Calendar--December 15

Think I'm a skinflint, do you?
Think I'm the worst of the worst?
More devil than human?
Beyond recall?

Don't be fooled
Don't believe for a moment
That I'm the only one
For Dickens designed me from you

I'm the you that won't give
The you that seeks money more than meaning
The you with no time for others
No mercy, no sympathy, no sacrifice

I am Everyman
With one exception:
I have learned my lesson in the end
Learned to let go of avarice and love my fellow man.

Have you?

Who am I?

Advent Calendar--December 14

Soft and white
As snow
Peacefully
I go

Warm as hearth
Not cold
Calm as peace
Not bold

Fly with me
Some day
Serenely
His way.

What am I?

Trying to keep it different here... if you're one of the four people checking this out every day, thanks for reading!

Advent Calendar--December 12

All is not quite dead outside
For I see that am here
Happy in this winter-wide
Snow wonder world of cheer.

I flit from branch to branch by day
A blot of red on white
The others have all flown away
No other bird in sight

Yet I am here, content to be
The only one to stay
To make my home in winter, me
The faithful bird always.

What am I?


It's the best I could do, given what little time I had. Hope your holiday season is less hectic than mine!

Advent Calendar--December 11

I can't believe I didn't get this done earlier, but I've been running since 4:30 a.m.

Here it is, the riddle poem for today:

I'm an evergreen welcome sign
Friendly to Thor, to winter,
To visitors, both friend and foe alike

I might be plain old needles
Or dressed up with a bow
Lights
Pine cones
Tinsel
Tiny presents
Or anything human imagination
Can divine.

But know, if me you see,
That you are welcome, one and all!

Who am I?


(Yesterday's answer--bag of toys)

Advent Calendar--December 10

Hidden in the dark of our magic bag

We whisper to each other 

In expectation

We've been carefully made with one child in mind

And artfully wrapped and labeled

But with speed

Now we feel the rush of wind outside

And our collective excitement grows

As we make the journey home

Who will open us on Christmas morning?

Who will give our short lives purpose?

Who will love us as our maker intended?

We await the rush of joy

The solitary journey down the chimney

To reach our good boy or girl.

What are we?

(Yesterday's answer: Angel)