I started off writing in high school, putting together elementary words to form prose; back then, I hardly read and had little command of English. As part of the school's curriculum, I was required to read Moby Dick, A Tale of Two Cities, Candide, The Diary of Anne Frank and a few other ‘classics.’ For the most part, I only read as much as the first ten pages of each book, then resorted to the aid of cliff notes.I could not relate to those text, nor to lives of their colorful characters. Had I seen a whale off Guyana’s coast, had I ever visited Ann Frank Hubris, had I spent a week in Paris, and took a train to the Bastille area, had my parents been one of the lucky Blacks given the chance to be extremely optimistic about life as well as escaping poverty; maybe then, like upper middle class children, I too could have acquired the cultural capital necessary to aid in relating to those texts.
After high school (1997-2003,) I wrote articles and poetry extensively; I ended up publishing a few pieces in various literary journals and college newspapers. Today, whatever (articles, poetry, oped, short stories etc.) comes to my mind, I write. I sometimes scoff at poetric prose and rarely write any because it reminds me of a time in my eralier days where I was a hopeless romantic. However, there was a quick revival in my poetics when I crashed heart first into… But that was 'eons' ago and now I even refuse to write in greeting cards.
Presently, I blog on Facebook, maintain this blog, journal, and recently started back submitting my pieces to literally journals. Ironically, I do not post my most intimate thoughts on my blog(s), though titled “everythingade.” Why? possibly something to do with privacy, so my personal journal suffices for now.
As you may have figured out, I have been writing for a while. What you may not know is: I don't write for myself, I never did. Writing is my contribution to the world; it is a tool in which I use to share my thoughts, critiques, and ideas with others. For most, writing serves several purposes, the two main purposes being (1) the writer seeks to contribute ideas, critiques, theories etc. (2) writing functions as a form of therapy for the writer. For me it is simply a matter of sharing with the world, who I am and what I wish to contribute. This is not to say that writing isn't therapeutic but even as I scribble about my journal, I think about those who will be reading it when I die.
Heavy focus on ones target audience as one writes may be contridictory to one's puropse and problematic at its core in many respects. It is contradictory because though I try not to use writing as therapy, I still maintain a journal where I carefully pour my thoughts through my "pen" about my love life/lives, family, hopes, and dreams. And as previously mentioned, I think as I write "who will read my journal when I die." It is my hopes that it's a hippy, educated group of rebellious college aged young adults.
As far as being problematic, since I write with a target audience in mind, it begs the questions: to what extent does the mindfulness of an audience hamper or shape my creative process? Am I frankly writing my thoughts? Or do I construct my sentences primarly so that my audience can relate?
Nevertheless, whatever I write, I hope my audience can see themselves in my paragraphs and never have to resort to cliff notes. Also, by deduction, I beleive I may be a bit of a narcissist seeking the praises of my audience in this life or the next, who knows? What I do know is that this is my journey and I am going to travel it and refine it as I see best.
P.s. I since went to France, visited Anne Frank’s hubris, and I aspire to see whales off the coast of Long Island, NY next summer. Thus, I resorted to (re)/reading Candide, The Diary of Anne Frank, and is currently reading Moby Dick.
