My husband approached me about a concern he has about my writing a few weeks ago. "Now that you've been blogging for awhile, it's time for you to find a focus for your writing." I just smiled. He's very good at knowing what other people need to do to improve their lives. He simply observes, and when he can't take it any longer, he shares his findings with the objects of his observations. "You need to find your niche."
"I have found my niche. My focus is memoir. I write down my life experiences, and my reflections on what I'm learning from them."
"But that will never sell!" he moaned.
You see, not being a writer, my husband has the misguided notion that the result of taking time to write every single day will result in a monumental epic series, complete with royalties and movie rights, like J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter. I haven't quite figured out how to break the bad news to him that we are probably never going to own a castle in Europe.
My writing is for me. I write to amuse myself, to teach myself, and to enlighten myself. That anyone else likes it is simply a delightful surprise. That anyone else bothers to read it pleases me greatly.
I am obsessed with writing. Even while we are doing other things: visiting friends, going out to dinner, making juice, hiking, shooting guns, riding four-wheelers, going on vacation, the whole time I am imagining our activities from varied perspectives, noticing details, so that later, I can write about them. Even when I don't feel like writing, like this morning, I sit down and write.
Will I ever step outside of my comfort zone and write fiction? Maybe I will take a writing class to see how that is done. It baffles me, this writing things that aren't true and making them believable. The closest I've ever gotten to the fictional process is writing about my own life in the third person. That was fun, but I was able to draw from my life experiences for the details. I can't imagine conjuring up every single character and plot twist out of my head.
In the meantime, my routine is very comforting for me. I wake up early, get my brew going, grab an ice pack for my back, settle down with my laptop, and start to write. I spend a couple of hours first thing every morning, pondering and writing. Throughout the day, I revisit pieces I've started, and I edit the heck out of all of it: published and unpublished.
I am so grateful to see the stats on my blog. My readership is growing. I know I shouldn't be attached to the numbers, but they intrigue me. I am so glad to see that my writing appeals to more than just my parents, and my two friends who've encouraged me to write.
You see, deep down, my secret hope is to one day publish. Maybe a magazine article, maybe a softcover edition of my memoir. Probably NOT an epic novel. So, secretly, this writer hopes she will appeal to an audience broader than a readership of one: herself. I have no grand notions of being a best-selling author, but I do enjoy it when I hear from friends that my writing resonates with them, or that they enjoyed a particular piece.
Thanks for stopping by. Thanks for reading Randomocity. I don't have anything on the market at the moment, but I am thoroughly enjoying blogging each morning. One day, maybe some day, I'll submit my writing for publication, but for now, I'm just going to enjoy the process. "Trust the journey." I am right where I need to be for now. And that is good enough for me.