Intended Audience

I journaled fairly often when I was younger. I found it very helpful. I used my journal similarly to how Julia Cameron advises people to use their “morning pages,” pouring out whatever was on my mind, particularly whatever was bothering me. I was very clear that I never expected anyone to read what I was writing, which I have since come to learn is not always the case with young writers. The self-consciousness that creeps in when we decide we want to share our work with other people can become so strong that there are no longer private moments; we are always on stage.

I enjoyed the relief journaling provided, and also the ease of it, that I could be sloppy and there was no right and wrong. Just dump it out. Though, if I were honest, it wasn’t always satisfying, this dumping. Sometimes it was just complaining, which only left me feeling as grumpy as when I’d started. This can often be the consequence of writing whatever is front of mind, those thoughts floating consistently on the surface of your awareness. It’s fine to start there, but there is no relief to be found until you go deeper.

It's why I quit journaling eventually and focused only on my essays. I wrote them often enough that the self-consciousness dropped away, and I enjoyed the creative cocoon I entered when the only one I was trying to please was myself. What’s more, the essays often had the same effect I hoped the journaling would provide, that relief from stress and fear and doubt that chased me around my house some days. Yes, I had a structure in mind, had a word limit and an intended audience, but ultimately I wrote to feel better. That was my true guiding principle.

By and by, I returned to something like a journal. When I was feeling wound up or frustrated, I’d open a document, maybe give it a title like This Must Change, and start in. Now, however, I did have an audience in mind: me. One part of me was writing to another part of me. I wrote what I needed to read to feel better. Sometimes I can just think it and get the same result, but there is something inherently transformative about the page, this blank field that asks me to make a choice. After all, it was some choice I’d made that left me miserable in the first place, and only a better choice can lead me out.

Check out Fearless Writing with Bill Kenower on YouTube or your favorite podcast app.

Everyone Has What It Takes: A Writer’s Guide to the End of Self-Doubt
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