Do you write for yourself or do you write for others?
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I’ve Looked Around Enough to Know
Posted on July 11, 2017 by betsylerner
Bridge Ladies
Sometimes I think a meteor could strike the earth and wipe out mankind with the exception of my mother’s Bridge club — Roz, Bea, Bette, Rhoda, and Jackie — five Jewish octogenarians who continue to gather for lunch and Bridge on Mondays as they have for over fifty years. When I set out to learn about the women behind the matching outfits and accessories, I never expected to fall in love with them. This is the story of the ladies, their game, and most of all the ragged path that led me back to my mother.
For me, for others if they care to read, I write because I must.
Not that I’m egocentric, egotistic, egotistical, egomaniacal, self-centered, self-absorbed, self-obsessed, self-seeking, self-serving, or wrapped up in myself, BUT, I write for me.
And, I write for me because I write what I like to read, and if I like to read a certain sort of thing, then others must like to read a certain sort of thing too.
If I wrote for others, I’m believe I’d hate the story.
Dammit. I believe I’d hate the story. *coffee*
Depends.
Back in the day when I was writing poetry, it was purely for myself. The writing became experiential, meditative, and I would get lost in a haze of a quest of a lust for words and meaning.
Magazine writing? To fulfill an assignment, please an editor, clearly directed to a particular demographic, ultimately for the check in the mail.
As a non-fiction writer, I write for the thrill of research and discovery, thrive on revelation and connection, relish the challenge of structure,
and write for myself with utmost dedication hoping that what I find fascinating and/or important on some level will resonate with others.
Ah, not fair. Trick question.
Both: The urge to write is entirely self-obsessed and self-serving. But once I write, I have readers (ultimately) in mind.
Totally for others. But it comes from my own obsessive joy of reading. I want to make others equally happy.
Both.
I write for myself, and for everyone else, and for the mind of God, presuming that at least one of the above cares (and hoping it’s more than one).
Me. Amazed at times what comes out, what I didn’t know was inside. Then I wonder if anyone else will see, feel, the connection. Finally, I try not to care.
i write for myself, and for others. i’m trying to find the truth.
rea
I write for myself. It is the only way I can guarantee the truth.
Only for me, these days.
Miss you. Maybe someday you’ll come back out to play.
Ah, the god-given other. If only it weren’t so. To be alone or parse a slice of life with another. To be nothing or be apart from myself. In the end which never happens I write for thee, be it me. Indeed.
Yes. Both.
Like Carolynn, I wrote because I must. I’m addicted to getting the words down on paper or in pixels.
But I also write, especially these days, because a few special people encourage me to do so. In that sense, I’m doing it for them and they are my audience.
Oh Sarah how lucky you are to have your audience.
I jumped on your blog, so that’s why you’ve been so quiet.
My God, what a terrifying journey you have been on.
Write on my friend, write on.
I would certainly like others to read (and enjoy) what I write, but my motivation is purely internal. In part I write the stories I want to read, but now that I’ve found my subject (the relationships between fathers and sons) I’ve come to understand that I write to grapple with my demons too.