Day 4…”Target” audience…Maybe I should leave my gun at home?

Blogging is rough. I started writing (creating) a blog about 3 years ago. I have written for some small town papers, a few things for my current job, and just things for friends and family really.

But a target audience? Picture here if you will, a bulls eye and my face on it. I recently read the words of a blogger I started following that hit me pretty close. I’ve been procrastinating on this assignment because…. “I don’t HAVE a target audience!”.

My writings are about as inconsistent as my bowling score. And my grammar for that matter.

I write what I see really. Some days I wonder if I should have been more of a photographer or a musician, but then the admiration I carry for art is something I don’t want to devastate; by knowing the exact angle the camera was held at or the correct shield for lighting that was used or the power of each lens. I want to look at it and feel it move me. That also relates to hearing the piano. It is, Just. So. Beautiful. The brass instruments of jazz light me in a way a slow dance ignites up a young couple in love. But the cello, well; the cello steals my soul. It captivates a breath deep with in my lungs to where I struggle to hold my upper body still to not sway with the music as if I am the conductors baton, it rips deep down into the depths of my core yet it rises back up forcing its powerful movement like a sensational wave I’ve never felt, only this wave warms my soul. That, is how the cello steals me.

So, I look at art, photographs, along architectural buildings and churches but listen to solo instruments along with musicians that brew them sing,  because I was not graced with that kind of talent. I was graced to write. To be able to create that emotion inside of someone, the way others have through art, photography and music for me.

Is there some one out there to write for? Oh I sure hope so.

In the movie quote of Armageddon. “Baby, do you think any one out there is doing this very same thing at this very moment?” “I sure hope so, or what the hell are we fighting for?”

I write to make you smile, hear you laugh. I want to touch your heart and pluck at your emotions. Teach you that you are not alone in your struggles in this God forsaken world. Maybe; just maybe, I am responsible for creating that slight smile across your face as you sit in your favorite reading spot, I imagine you reaching a point in my words where your head tips back, you pull that book in so close to your chest holding it so tight as if I forced you to take in a breath of a memory. I hope to see you look up and continue that smile to a moment that I may have reminded you of, a dream you once had and still long for, a someone you once loved.

I want to see you read.

I write, for whom ever desires to read the last word.

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