As a writer, I owe a lot to my readers. I owe everything.
Anyone who takes the time to read my blog is paying me a huge compliment.
They are telling me I matter. I have made a subtle difference in their day. They are reading what I have written and they might even share it if I am lucky.
But right here, right now, I feel lucky just to have readers.
Even if everyone doesn’t always agree with my style, or what I write about, they are honouring my willingness to put myself out there through the written word.
I am no longer just a voice in my head, a closet writer, or something the cat dragged in.
I have a tiny voice in the literary world and it is being heard.
My readers make me think like a writer. They push me forward, they expect my best and they fire-up my already over-active imagination.
I am not concerned about a huge fan base, seeing my name in lights, writing the next best-seller or appearing on Ed Sullivan, just happy to have a few readers who understand me.
My readers keep me humble. I draw my energy from them and I give it back in what ever article I am putting my heart and soul into. That can be somewhat risky, writing sometimes leaves me vulnerable. But I trust my readers, I know they mean well and I hope they think the same about me.
It’s a relationship built on trust, give and take, and sharing. I am giving myself as a writer and my readers are giving me their attention.
Who are my readers?
Only you know for sure.
All I know for sure is that you are out there somewhere. We are in this together. I am being read and without you, I am invisible.
I hope I never disappoint.