In Stephen King’s book “On Writing”, he talks about his first reader.
For him it’s his wife Tabitha. I understand why and for him this works.
For the longest time I wrote with someone in mind. Someone I thought would like the book, understand it, and it would scare them.
To go along with my most recent posts, that’s changed.
I feel there is only one person I should write a story for. Myself.
I am the first reader of the story after all and while I may put things in it for certain people. I’ve become aware that some people won’t read what I write anyway so why would I write a story for them?
I put things in on the off chance they would but I’m no longer under delusion the will.
It comes to what terrifies me. What makes me think, “Damn, we skipped some levels.”
Those levels are the places I used to write from.
Living in fear of being judged of the things in my mind. The things I better not put in stories because someone will think there’s something wrong with me.
I no longer live in those levels, neither do my stories.
I have more to submit this week, as I said in other posts.
This week will be one with my wife and kids and it’s snowing as I put these words on the page.
Have a pleasant Thanksgiving and I may put another post up later in the week.