„I read, because you read! And you read, because I read!“
I started listing on piece of paper the qualities I want from my reader. The list came surprisingly short. It’s not the question I haven’t face before, but the reality is, it tends to change it’s answers.
When I was 12, wrote my first 200 word piece, illustrated the edges with girls in pretty gowns, I didn’t want anyone to read my writings. I just wanted to hide it in the bottom of the shelf, under fat encyclopedia, where I knew no one would ever look, because it was covered with dust, and read it when ever I felt the need for romantic story. My first reader was me. I knew exactly what I wanted and got the fix I needed.
When I continued writing, I noticed that someone had started reading my stories, fingerprints appeared in the dust I kept on the books. Small, tiny circles. I realized that since I first started, there was another one in my family, who was just a toddler then, but is now in the age, when she too is searching for intriguing stories, ideas that little girl’s books don’t quench. I never considered her old enough and felt the need to hide when I put the papers back, but one day her curiosity got better of her and she started reading them. On that day I grew up.
My mother likes to say that because we are so close, she is ruined by our image and I feel full responsible for ruining her. From then on I knew exactly the limits of my stories. We have eight years cap between us and I was well aware that she kept keen eye on my every update, so I knew I couldn’t write anything that wouldn’t fit to her eyes or mind. By how I understood it at the time. There was no way I could write in anything more than a kiss before I was sure she was well aware how things go. Taught me to do my research thoroughly and accept the limits of age. This didn’t stop me pushing the boundaries though and there was couple of incidents, when she called me up two hours after I had posted update and demanded to know what it was she read about. Weird as those conversations were, we learned together things we had no idea could even exist.
She is my most valued reader even now, giving me feedback on far better level than any outsider could. She notices things I often don’t and sends me grinning memos on silly mistakes that turn the entire scene upside down. At some point I even added music suggestions on bottom of the page so she could get the full feeling of the story. That until I learned to express the emotions better.
Odd is, I still do it, even though she is already grown up and I know there is hardly anything left in our world that could change us. I still measure my freedom to write on her age and how she understands the world. It seems so natural, I don’t even think it can work any other way. She is my ultimate reader, my little punk girl in red-green stockings, singing like an angel and starting conversations right where we left off.
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Today’s post is my response to the promt on My Ideal REader, this month’s topic for the Merry-Go-Round Blog Tour. Throughout the month, you can get to know twenty (or so) other writers from various genres and backgrounds and at various places in their careers.
Next stop on the tour is Tiberius Clausewitz Drusus Nero Germanicus on January 21st, 2012.