Morning Pages: Who’s Your You?

Question: Who is your “trusted reader?” When you write, who do you intend to write to? Who’s that someone that just “gets” your writing?

 

Well, I have to say that I have never thought of this before. What first comes to mind is people at my age and younger – they tend to be my intended audience. Personally, I feel like I have so much to give and I want to give it away to others. But, it also depends on what I am writing and how I feel about my content. I have to say, however, that when I think of writing, I usually write creative fiction or poetry, rarely do I write for the purpose of an educational audience unless its an analytic essay or something of the sort.

It’s almost like I think of me when I was younger, like I can bestow some grace to little Lauren, or teach her something. But, I also think it is more about those younger than, the me as an idea rather than actual little me. I want to inspire, but not to be proud of myself, but to give other kids the chance to believe that they can write and it is something that they can grow in. Often I felt stuck in my writing, but I had to learn that I could learn more skills and grow in my ability to write well and to write about something I cared about.

Now that my mind is thinking, I think of my seventh grade teacher, Mz. Burns. Yes, with a Z. (Either the Z is with the M or at the end of her name, I don’t quite remember). But, we wrote almost everyday in her English class and I remember writing so fast that it was just a bunch of scribbles on the page – and it was pretty dull content too, usually about what I ate or what I did. Pure catalog.

There was something that I told her when we did Parent Teacher conferences. I told her that I want to do my best. I didn’t really see how significant that statement was until later, but she continued to encourage me and the rest of the class to our personal best without comparison to others. Now, it would be rewarding to tell her that I have and that I am still doing my personal best. I’ve seen her once or twice since middle school, and each time there was some form of nostalgia for the times I wrote in her class. I want to tell her that she taught me well, and that she honored me by her teaching. I write, partially to honor her, and I haven’t really noticed this before until now.

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