Who is the reader you imagine?

Frank Bruni, formerly a regular columnist and reporter for the New York Times, maintains a weekly blog and one continuing feature is called, "For the love of sentences," where he shares snippets of great writing, often referred to him by readers.

Here is one that struck me from this week's blog: 

Coming up with new ways to express frustration about the crazily high number of Americans who refuse coronavirus vaccines is increasingly difficult, so I tip my hat to John Ficarra, in Air Mail, for this: “Yes, West Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. But with your measly 49 percent double-vaccinated rate, he will be skipping most of your state.”

A sentence like this seems simple if you possess a few pieces of information. One reference you need is to a famous editorial. Eight-year-old Virginia O’Hanlon wrote a letter to the editor of New York’s Sun, and the quick response was printed as an unsigned editorial Sept. 21, 1897. The work of veteran newsman Francis Pharcellus Church has since become history’s most reprinted newspaper editorial, appearing in part or whole in dozens of languages in books, movies, and other editorials, and on posters and stamps.

The context sentence above (after the editorial date) argues that you can anticipate that most of your readers should have some experience with seeing the editorial or simply hearing "Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus." I'm sure there are plenty of people who somehow missed learning anything about this, however. After all, surveys consistently show that a quarter of the adult population of the U.S. thinks the sun revolves around the earth.

When I first quickly read the Bruni post, the word "West" did not really register. Ficarra was going for a clever reference and I almost missed the entire thing. My first reading jumped right over "West." That is a danger when we make use of a cliché or something so widely quoted that most people give it almost no thought.

The second reference you need to be able to untangle is the "49 percent double-vaccinated rate" phrase, which requires you to know why "double" is good and that under half is not so good (we do get "measly" as a context clue, just in case).

A third assumption by the writer was that the reader would immediately get the idea that he is not arguing about literal delivery of gifts, but about a potential lack of joy and spirit due to an explosion of infections. 

All writers make assumptions about the majority of their readers. Otherwise we would end up with crushingly boring, fact-filled statements that obscure the more important points we are looking for.

As the semester ends -- today is the final day of the fall semester for my college courses -- it is smart to be reminded that we as writers simply need to examine our assumptions before we publish. 

Which readers are we not really interested in reaching? No one can guarantee universal appeal, so even attempting to connect with every reader is doomed. But we still need to have someone in mind.

Kurt Vonnegut once wrote that the reader he always imagined in his long career as a writer was his wife. His primary goal was to connect with her.

The good news for him and for us was that his wife turned out to be a fine representative for millions of other readers.

Choose your readers wisely.