Read me…

Read me…

The silent plea of every writer who puts words to page, whether in ink or pixels. Read me…

I wasn’t going to write, or, rather, I intended to write something else, then found myself distracted by the idea put forth that all of us here, write to be read. Yes, to an extent we write for ourselves, whether for entertainment, release, self-expression, or profit, but the thing we all have in common is our reliance on (and debtitude to) our audience. I recognise there’s a ‘season for everything’, and perhaps blogging is one of those things, or, rather, my audience seems somewhat seasonal.

There are those who have been here almost since the beginning, and to those I owe the biggest debtitude (which, by the way, is a combination of ‘indebted’ and ‘gratitude’, and it’s not my invention, but I rather love it). There are those who find me afresh, having stumbled across me in some unexpected corner of the Blogosphere, and having turned up, like what they see, and stay a while.

Then there are those who are stalwart for a while; faithful readers of, and interacters with, whichever latest missive I’ve just published, and then like summer rivers, dwindle, wane, and disappear into the cracks of their own lives, their own circumstances, and whichever other priorities have overtaken the space I used to occupy.

Occasionally there are people who pop up unexpectedly, like fresh, eager shoots through late snowfall, to return to something I wrote a long time ago, and give it their full attention, delighting me (as more often than not, I take the time to re-read the piece, and wonder at what on earth I was thinking at the time, marvelling at my own creativity, whininess, inspiration, or gaucheness), and encouraging me to hope that unlike the seashells lifted to your ear, the space I once occupied is still breathing, gently, and the repeating wash and retreat of the ocean-sum of previous words, is not, after all, an illusion.

Read me...the silent plea of every writer

We have so much to say. We have said so much already, and our brains are constantly churning out new thoughts, making new connections, posing new questions, and seeking meaning. Each post we publish is honed and polished, coloured with our views, filled with unique perspective and bold lines of determined intention. Each piece we hang on the wall of our corner of the Blogosphere, and display as best we can, drawing attention to the bright colours and contours of our minds’ work, trying to engage without enraging, our exterior nonchalant, our heart crying “Read me…”

We, who write, are the Picassos of the page, the Vermeers of verse, and each time we hit ‘publish’, we paint our thoughts in text for all to see. A thousand words or not, our creations give insight, offer moments of entertainment, and the chance to dance with the thoughts of someone else’s mind, to take a peek through the keyhole into their world.

From the exquisite to the absurd, from the excruciating to the celebratory, all manner and matter of human life can be found here, waiting in stasis, its story kinetic and raring to jump from the page into the imagination of the reader, and start unfolding, delighted at the attention.

Read me…

Each person who interacts, comments, shares, offers feedback, takes time to demonstrate some form of engagement with whatever bundle of thoughts I’ve most recently packaged up with a beautiful, Pinnable image, and sent out into the world, is sanctifying my writing with their attention. Back through the wires comes the evidence of their focus, a shout or a conversation or a whisper, which soothes the plaintive voice, pouring into its keening soul the balm of their affirmation – I read you.

And so, to you who read, a tribute (written, to be choreographed between us – my imagination to yours – as though we were standing face to face, eyes locked, thoughts dancing back and forth across the connection shared by just us, in this moment, RightNow), for without you, my words, however carefully crafted, are naught.

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The air is charged, and the deeper we walk into the woods, the more insistent the sense of energy in the air. Sunlight dapples our path with flecks of gold amongst translucencies of bright-through-green. The shadows deepen, thicken, hold more portent, the closer we get. Arriving at a small clearing, the very hair on the backs of our necks and arms is standing to attention, spellbound with pore-deep knowledge that Something is Here.

We slow as our path gives way to soft moss, inviting us to remove our shoes and allow our feet to sink into the cool, dew-sparkled floor. A sudden trill of notes rings out from a nearby tree – an exotic bird, leaving its song hanging in mid-air, shivering with beauty – making us jump, then laugh, releasing the tension. 

The mossy floor begins to feel as though it has something beneath it. The soles of our feet, perhaps blessed with extra perception we could never hope to achieve just by paying attention, tell us we’re standing on something ancient, something vital. Patterns emerge in the floor as moss gives way to stone, carved and marked in beauteous ways we marvel at, but may never understand. Eager toes pull us forward towards the centre, and we sense approval, encouragement of whatever is here, urging us onwards. We don’t even notice the moment we reach for one another, connect, hold hands, and tiptoe, reverently.

In the middle of the carved stone, low, unclear, and shimmering, some kind of orb, set into the ground, draws our attention. We kneel before it, slowly inching closer as kaleidoscope rainbows swirl, iridescent, across its surface. Here is the centre. Here is the secret of the World Between the Wires.

Breathless, we exchange glances and get closer, noses almost pressing with excitement, as we see the answer therein – our own faces, staring back at us, our eyes and hearts and minds networked to each other, and everyone else who wrote, or read, or engaged, in a filigree of connection as beautiful as the most complex structures of nature. Thus reflected, we see our place within our worlds, separate, wonderous, yet irrevocably bound. 

It is revealed, in light, in beauty, in words, and in ourselves – we matter; we choose each other; and we are always stronger together.

Thank you, always, for reading ❤

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69 thoughts on “Read me…

  1. You state a simple truth. A large part of the reason we write is to be read. There is a moment of pleasure when we receive a “like” or notification of a comment or even a follow. What also just astonishes me is that thru blogging we reach people from all over the world.
    Blogging has also provided me with a daily discipline around writing. What I have also discovered is that my writing is taking on new directions far beyond the province of my blog which is 12 step recovery. I’ve begun to write poetry and essays on varied topics. Wherever I go, I find grist for the word mill.
    Finally, I very much enjoyed your post.
    All the best
    Moshe

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hi Moshe, and thanks for your feedback – I’m glad you enjoyed this post so much, and I think the thing I liked most about your comment was the way you describe how your own writing has moved onwards from just focusing on 12-step recovery, to something broader, which encompasses more creativity, and which will reach a wider audience and connect with them in different ways. I love that about writing – the versatility to appeal to different people, different parts of the same people’s natures, and to engage in such a broad range of ways. It’s challenging, but a delightful challenge, and one I thoroughly enjoy.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Pingback: Ten Things of Thankful 137 (On time…) #10Thankful | Considerings

    • Thank you so so much, Anna! I’m so glad that you love the ending – it’s my favourite bit, to know that the ‘stronger together’ stuff is a sentiment echoed and held by so many 🙂

      Like

  3. You always seem to capture what I think in your words. I think we all write for different reasons, but in the end, no matter if it’s for our own well being or just because we like the attention (which both are true for me), at the end of the day, we want to be read. And like you, I want the connection. In your story, I could picture it. You and I. It’s the magic of your words that trap me every time and the colorful way you make me see your thoughts in “HD.” Very beautifully written, as always my friend.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hello, my sweet 🙂 I’m glad you liked the story at the end. I thought it was a lovely, connected-y kind of piece, and hoped that each person reading it would feel it was for them. Course, it makes it a whole lot easier for the people who know me in Real *glee*

      But yes – whatever our reasons at the outset, we write to be read, we write to connect with the mind of our readers, and we want to know we’re doing okay.

      And thank you for your lovely compliments 🙂 Very much appreciated ❤

      Liked by 1 person

  4. “Thus reflected, we see our place within our worlds, separate, wonderous, yet irrevocably bound.”

    That’s why I write. Connection. I wouldn’t publish on the internet if I wasn’t hoping to make connections with others. As a writer, connecting to others with my words is as primal a need as interacting with others in real life is. Blogging gave me a way to connect with others with my words, and read theirs. ❤

    Liked by 2 people

    • Yes, exactly that. I began writing because I craved connection I wasn’t getting In Real, and discovered that this gave me a pathway directly into people’s hearts and minds (if they welcomed me) without the confusing bits of new friendships when both people are in one place – I struggle with those.

      Added to which, there’s a rather delightful element of escapism, I think, which allows me to connect other people with my world, and see theirs, and enjoy them 🙂

      Like

    • Thank you so much, my lovely friend. I have been delighted by how many people have come over, read this, and come back with some kind of “Me too!”…I think it must be a universal feeling for us writery types 🙂

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    • Thank you Laurie 🙂 I think there’s something to do with the kind of people who end up doing that kind of thing – seeking feedback from the ‘masses’, which is at once uniquely theirs, and across-the-board similar.

      Like

  5. Reading about writing and writing about writing are two of my favourite things. Seasonal readers is a great definition (as is debtitude). Once I couldn’t commit anymore to the reciprocity that is expected in blogging groups or tribes I realized that most of my readers have become seasonal. I am deeply grateful (+ indebted) to those who do come back. You are very perceptive in your description of the relationship a writer has with their own writing and with their readers. Beautifully written.

    Liked by 2 people

    • HELLO DARLING! *HUGS*

      And thank you, and how wonderful – well no, not wonderful because seasonal readers are still not great in the ‘winters’ – how validating that you feel the same way about this. I’m glad I’m not the only one, and I wonder whether this is a ‘sphere-wide thing, or something more specifically located within the bunch of bloggers I (for want of a better word) grew up with.

      The reciprocity is a complex beast, and I wonder whether I’ve lost the balance, through complacency, of even trying any more. I think one of the things I need to commit to is actually TRYING to still engage with new people, especially if I (somehow – ego -who knows) expect that they will stumble across ME!

      Your writing, though, doesn’t change, and is always quite beautiful, and still one of my favourites to read ❤

      Like

    • Now THAT I love to read. Thank you. It appeals entirely to the ego and egocentricity with which I write this blog – I assume (rightly or wrongly) that people are interested in my thoughts, I suppose because I’m rather arrogant and think I have an interesting (or at the very least, lyrical) take on life.

      Thank you, for stoking my already sizeable sense of confidence in my writing…I’ll be seeing about wider doorframes to accommodate my inordinately swollen head, any day now 😉

      (*blows kisses, so so grateful*)

      Like

  6. I read you… albeit sporadically, depending on time allowed and mood at the time. I respond here… because only seconds before seeing this post, I was thinking about how we bloggers are exhibitionists. We write (I with my artwork) for ourselves but if we didn’t care about attention at all then we wouldn’t publish. Yes, I do watch the visit count on my blog (probably when I should be painting) and yes… I would like more than 5 followers. But I am grateful there are any! Keep writing… I like your style!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Wow, Kathryn, THANK YOU! What a wonderful affirmation of precisely the kind of thing I was hoping to express.

      A wise friend (Christine, who commented somewhere down there VVV) once told me that when we write, it’s easy to pay heed only to the people who engage, who probably like us already and have an interest in responding to us. She said that too often we forget the readers who read and leave, having read, and those who read, disagree with what we’ve written, and just click the big red X and get rid of us.

      I suppose so much of it is down to personal taste, as with art, but it’s SO nice to know people’s thoughts, and (when constructive) even criticisms, because it connects us to one another, and inspires us to improve.

      I shall have to pop over to your blog and see what’s happening there. I like the thoughts you’ve shared here 🙂

      Like

    • Thank you, my dear.

      That tension between writing and not-writing, between being seen and unseen, heard and unheard, is sometimes so overwhelming.

      I suppose we all hope to remain below the radar in certain cases, and fly into glorious fireworks in others. When the two become mixed up, THAT’S when the trouble starts…

      I hope you don’t get trouble 🙂 I like reading your thoughts and stories.

      Like

  7. Take 2: Let’s see if I can catch what I wrote last night before it got all deleted!
    This was amazing, and one my favorite pieces of yours. You’ve just spoken the heart of so many writers. “What if somebody reads this?”…worse yet “What if somebody doesn’t?” The constant pull of being seen or unseen and being okay with wherever it lands.
    A good friend once told me – write for yourself first and always. If somebody is supposed to read it, they will. Letting that be is often easier said than done, but it does give me comfort when I press publish.
    Thank you so much for saying what I’ve tried to convey for so long – or even understand within my self. Xoxoxo

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ohmigosh, I definitely fear more for the ‘what if somebody doesn’t’, because there are so many people I just *wish* would read me any more (or let me know they do) and I don’t feel as though it’s at all polite to push my latest word-splurge on them, but must wait, stamping my feet impatiently, to see if they notice or bother themselves to come over without prompting.

      That pull, that constant tension, is tough.

      I do write for myself, but only in quite an egocentric way, inasmuch as I assume (rightly or wrongly) that people will be interested to hear my thoughts on whatever’s churning around my brain at the time. And bless my group of ‘regulars’, they usually are far more engaged and generous to me than I likely deserve.

      THANK YOU for returning, and I’m sorry WP played silly beggars with your comment yesterday! What a pain. And you’re welcome, for this piece. I’m glad it spoke to you so deeply.

      I love what your friend said, though, that if someone is supposed to read it, they will. I tend to think the inverse is also true, though, and that sometimes saddens me.

      Liked by 1 person

      • I must admit…your piece is why I can’t quit Facebook. I have a couple of non-blogger friends who have drifted away from me. I miss them sometimes, so I’ll often bury a message inside my prose just for them. The only way they’ll see it is if I post it to FB which makes me complete wiggly – I hate drawing attention to myself within the FB context – but, I’m not a “let it go/let them go” type of gal, so I keep writing and hoping.
        I’m sending your post to one of my quieter bloggy friends. We were having a similar discussion last week, and I think your words will resonate with her, too. xooxoxo

        Liked by 1 person

        • Oh COOL!! I do hope so. It seems to be the kind of sentiment that’s at the heart of every writer, every artist, and certainly every person who’s commented here…I think I struck gold with these thoughts – it seems they’re absolutely as universal as I assumed.

          I don’t let people go. Well. I do. I do, because I am determined that if people don’t choose me, I’m not going to debase myself by chasing someone who doesn’t want me.

          BUT.

          I do that with poetry. I tangle up a message to someone, in beautiful words and oblique verses, and desperately hope that they read it, that they understand, and know it’s for them. *sigh*

          Liked by 1 person

  8. Oh gosh this was amazing. SO utterly truthful and I nodded and sighed all the way through… Your words are like little gifts I unwrap one by one, when I come to ‘read them’. This perfectly described the writer’s passionate desires from deep within…

    And your final illustration and profound words of this kind of connection was breathtaking. Ah… SO beautiful, Tigger.

    Liked by 1 person

    • My darling, THANK YOU! I do so love the way you respond, and your honesty and great, wonderful encouragement. Your words are a balm, and I love to hear your thoughts and feedback.

      Thank you. And as to that connection – always. ❤

      Like

  9. I’m so glad my post gave you something to think about 🙂 And I’m glad you wrote about it. I love your posts because you are one of the most genuine bloggers I have encountered. Your “ego” does not come through in your words. Keep writing, Lizzi. I will be here reading you.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ohhh thank you! Though as I’ve just replied to Gretchen, there is most assuredly a large portion of ego involved in my writing…as far as I’m aware, anyway. Ego, or arrogance, or a mixture of the two – I somehow assume that people will be interested in what I have to say, which is why I tell people my ‘niche’ is egocentricity.

      THANK YOU though, for your thought-provoking post. It goes to show that inspiration can come at any moment, and I’m so glad you published that one, at just the time my brain was ready to ponder. 🙂

      Like

  10. Sometimes I tell myself I’m writing just to get something out of my system or out of my brain. But when I hit publish? I hold my breath to see if anyone notices or reads it. There’s the thought of embarrassment, what if I write this, toil over it, and no one cares? For me, I have to admit that there is some amount of ego involved. Yes, I want to connect with readers and other writers. But I also want to think that the words matter beyond my friends who support me. Don’t we all? I’m not ashamed to say that. I used to be. But no art would ever happen if it weren’t for at least a little bit of ego.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ohhhhh there’s definitely ego involved, and mine is HUGELY invested in what I write. I confess I tend to be a tad arrogant about my writing, and assume it will be liked, then wondering at the pieces I pour myself into, which go largely overlooked (that said, the term ‘large’ might be relative…perhaps I mean ‘overlooked by people I would appreciate engaging with the piece’).

      I find that your words, especially, matter beyond just your friends who read them. You write into situations and world topics so beautifully, and with such evenness of approach that I still tell people if they want my opinion on the things which matter, read YOU 😉

      Like

    • I think so, for although we tell ourselves it’s *us* we write for, without someone to read and offer feedback, validation in that way, and affirmation that we were (at the very least) worth reading, there’s really no point except to keep secret memories.

      Liked by 1 person

  11. So true and I love that you wrote the words in all of our heads for all to see. I have to admit I wrote some painfully pointless drivel this morning just to WRITE. I just had to. I don’t think it will be read but I don’t think I do care much this time. This time is was for me…just to get it out of my head. I gave myself ten minutes to just blah, blah, blah. I wish it had been twenty because there is an awful lot of poop swimming in my brain right now.
    I have missed reading you. I have missed you. I feel so disconnected at the moment, which is fine and probably necessary, but this really touched me this morning.
    I love when you write my heart.

    Liked by 2 people

    • My DA, I love that you wrote again, just because you WROTE, and I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you heaps, but I know you’ve got huge amounts going on, and I understand your need to be in your real, at the moment, but I do hope you make a fuller return to the ‘sphere soon ❤

      And…you're welcome for this. I'm glad I wrote your heart. You're in mine ❤

      Liked by 1 person

  12. After reading the post and your reply to Lisa…you hit the right word. Blogging used to be more lively. Exactly. It seems many of us long-timers are having trouble coming up with posts, writing what we do want to say, then actively engaging with other people’s posts. Sadly, even with our TToT. We need a breath of fresh air blown into us, it seems. I know for my part, life just got busier and I got more tired. Staying up till midnight to write and read doesn’t work for me these days. Time just flies on by, and before I know it, another week has passed without a new post written.
    Wow. It seems you struck a nerve, the way I’m going on and on. 🙂
    I’m so happy to be able to say I was one of your first readers. We’ve walked, through our words, mostly, but in person, too, with each other through so many experiences and changes, both ups and downs. I’m glad to have had the opportunity to walk with you, and I’m excited to see what we’ll walk through next.

    Liked by 1 person

    • HEY! 😀 I love your comment, really a lot. And yes – this whole ‘sphere used to be more lively, more interactive, more…dare I say it…engaged!

      I’m happy, though, to know that whilst we may have lost some of the vivacity, the veracity of the frienships cultivated here is only strengthened with time. I think the TToT has much to do with that, and the united purpose of our community there, of joining in and celebrating with one another.

      I’m SO glad that you and I have had the chance, twice now, to be ‘In Real’ together, and I love that you were one of my first readers. You (and your blog) were (and still are) one of my sources of inspiration and hope, and I’m so glad to know you.

      Time, though. Time is tricky. It’s there, but we let it slip away somehow, and whether that’s because of new priorities or lacklustreness or just…the other stuff of life, who knows. But times have changed.

      Here’s to the next adventures though, we can be sure they WILL happen.

      Like

    • The famous quote by Hemingway, about sitting down at a typewriter and bleeding, is so true, yet so wasted if there’s no-one to be shocked or appalled or compelled or moved to compassion by what we create…

      Vulnerable, yes. Because we all are, in this World Between the Wires.

      Like

  13. I think everyone has felt that way at some point. I suppose it would be a perfect world if everyone discovered us, read us, stayed with us…but to all things there is season, as the saying goes. I’d love to read everyone every day but as much as that desire is there, my life and responsibilities and worries do take over sometimes. And I’m certain that is true for those few who read me. And it has to be, you know? As much as I’d love to live always in consuming words, whether books or blogs or whatever, the demands of life are there. And if we didn’t have, those, then whatever would we write about? I will always read you. And on the days that I don’t, I still care…I’m just off living my life. 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

  14. This is so strangely timed, as I just had a piece published up on The Mighty about Rare Disease Day and the rare syndrome my brother and I have. I know I have the syndrome. I wrote it because I needed other people to know it, so I didn’t fall through the cracks completely, but to do that the piece needs to be read, needs readers. People must choose to take a few minutes to focus on my words and therein lies the connection you’re talking about here I think.
    I love that “Read Me” thing, as it reminds me of an old episode of Full House, with a piggy bank that kept saying “Feed Me” and the kids swore it was haunted/cursed.
    🙂
    Also, a crazy elephant statue at the Children’s Wish Foundation resort I was at in Florida when I was fourteen. It ate paper.
    🙂
    a
    And it stalked like that, something like that.
    Love debtitude.
    🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    • We can put our hearts and souls out there in our words, but if no-one reads them, what’s the point! CONGRATS on having a piece at The Mighty. That’s very cool. I know you’ve been trying to get into different places, and you’ve DONE IT 😀

      I’m sure I’ve come across piggy banks which say “Feed me” 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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