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.

Checking in with myself and with 'ghostly' readers

Today will be my only blog post this week as we travel to Seattle to enjoy food, rain, and cold, but (most important) family time. I did want to note that this is #202 in my little personal blogging experiment, which reminds me that life, progress, change, learning, and so much more tends to happen over time. Sometimes we need to look back to even realize what has been going on that brought us to wherever we are.

I tend to write about 450 words per post (and I know I should write tighter and leaner... but I am the first audience for my blog and each morning that number of words basically fills one screen on Blogger. That's as good a reason as any to settle on a particular length.

So my first 201 posts weigh in at about 90,000 words. That's at least one novel (though without a clear plot, characters, etc.). 

I have come to appreciate the satisfaction of writing five days per week, with no particular pressure to perform or to meet expectations or to argue some point of view. 

My hope for my writing students is that their fluidity as writers can change as they write more regularly but without the pressures of so many high stakes assignments. I have often wondered if I could teach a writing class based on the idea of writing 300-400 words per day, five days a week, with the instructor (me) simply responding to each post and focusing on one or two strengths or areas for improvement.

It is important to practice correctly, of course -- otherwise we are simply cementing in place bad habits -- and consistent practice may be the key to long-term success.

The more we write, the more we forget to consider the pressures of writing and the difficulties of getting what is in our heads onto a screen or page. I had a few college classes in which my entire grade was determined by a midterm and a final exam (they involved "blue books" that we tried to fill up since we all suspected that the poor grad students doing the marking would be impressed by sheer volume). 

Two tests determining a grade for an entire term automatically created pressure and stress. And that strategy continues today, I am sure, in classrooms around the globe. 

But you don't become an accomplished pianist by practicing once ever two weeks for six hours. And you don't become a great cook by only creating Thanksgiving dinner each year.

Writing is thinking made visible, and we should be thinking every day, and lots of times per day. 

A group of people I meet with each week was discussing core values this morning and I now realize that regular practice and regular reflection are part of some core value of mine.

Now I need to think about exactly what to call that core value.