Saturday, November 8, 2008


I am aware of my audience. Every time a little fragment of actual writing sneaks out and onto the blog I feel exposed. These are initial forays into the unknown. The writing may be poor, directionless, just experiments with character and setting and voice. And yet I have been putting it out into the world before it has barely begun.

A friend who has been reading this blog expressed his concern. I was a little confused. I wasn't certain what I had written at 5am that morning. I realise now that I have been quite candid with an audience, albeit a small audience. I talked about the relationship between depression and writing, two aspects of my life that have always gone hand in hand. I wonder about the relationship between a writer and her audience. So many writers have told me that they never think about their audience as they are writing their first draft. They allow a private intimacy between them and the work. A secret affair.

I have to admit that at 5am I am also not thinking about my audience, I am just thinking that I have made a committment to posting a new blog post every day and I have to write something before work and I feel tired and uninspired and I am still not sure where this book is going and it has been over three weeks and I want it to be well under way.

This is the process of writing.

I remember it from the last book and the book before that. Still I long for the time near the end of the book when it is all falling into place. I am itching for traction.

Untill I get a break to just focus on the book you, my audience are going to be reading posts that are about a troubled process. If I could just have a week to focus on the book we would see some serious work emerging. For now, this is my daily grind.

1 comment:

Grand Purl Baa said...

Ah but this reader loves your naked candor. This reader is at the same time surprised and enthralled by it. It never seems like a stream of conscience - or heaven forbid, self indulgence. You have words so clearly and exquisitely expressed in all their beautiful pain, even at 5am, perhaps especially at 5am. You may be writing your depression about writing but I am reading my own doubts with beginnings and ends and struggle with everything in between. Isn't that the whole point? You give what you have. I take what I need.