Know Who
When I first started doing music full-time, as a 40+ year-old totally unknown guy-with-a-guitar, I said ‘yes’ to pretty much every gig opportunity that came my way. I played for all sorts of audiences, for all manner of occasions, and in settings that were death traps for songs of the sort I sing. But I learned some really good lessons along the way.
Among them, this: it helps to know who my audience is, and who might connect best with the musical style and storytelling I do.
It became clear to me early on that there are some demographics and some settings that are a bad fit for what I do. I endured some pretty awful nights because of the ‘square peg/round hole’ syndrome. And before long, when someone called to book me, my first question became, “who’s the audience?” Sometimes the answer to that question made it easy to give a yes or no to the invitation. For instance, it would be a poor use of their money, and a poor use of my time, to perform at an outdoor keg party beside a swimming pool at the University of Georgia. Just is. “Thank you for the invitation — I’m honored — but it’s probably best if I pass. But really, thanks.”
So . . . when I began writing Theo of Golden, I asked myself the question (before the book had a title and the story was barely formed in my mind), “who do I think might ever read and enjoy this?” Who am I writing this for?” (My hope, of course, was that every human on the earth would read it and give it five stars on their reader reviews but that’s probably a bit lofty.) A more honest answer gave me some idea of who might connect with this remarkably well-written, insightful, clever, thought-provoking, unforgettable work of genius. (Just kidding!) Actually, I do have an idea of the sort of reader who will enjoy Theo. (You, my friend, are definitely one of them. Not kidding at all!)
And so, you have been in my mind as I’ve written. Choosing words, allusions, cultural references, historical bits, and rabbit trails that I think you might enjoy. There are parts I’ve intentionally omitted or written in a particular way because I have you, my audience, in mind.
No kidding: there were times I’d be writing a scene and imagining a particular person reading it — Betsy, Cubby, Miranda, Cathey, Paul. Such moments energized me all through the writing process and reminded me that I was not working in a vacuum but with and for real people. And I wanted to write my best for the sake of those who might spend some of their life turning its pages. What a privilege for me; and what a responsibility.
Maybe that won’t help any of you other writers out there but it did wonders for me.
(Incidentally, the letter to my family ended up becoming a book, The Last Sweet Mile. I am grateful that it’s been helpful to folks who’ve lost a loved one. To me, though, it is still and predominantly a letter to my family.)