Sometimes when I’m writing or revising I try to imagine a reader who has almost nothing in common with me. For example, I’m a middle-class, White, male, educated, senior citizen living in the first half of the 21st century in an urban area in California in the United States, and writing in English. There are cultural and historic references that are self-evident to me and to people like me. For example, I might include in a poem:
Should I stream that flick on Amazon for $5.99
or walk three miles to the only movie theater left in town?
Now, imagine a thirteen-year-old girl reading that line one hundred years from now in a remote village in the mountains of another continent.
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| Imagine a reader as different from you as possible… |
So, what can be gained by thinking of that person completely different from me as the audience? Well, considering that potential reader, I might push myself to go beyond the cultural references of my place and time and social status and think of more universal ways to express myself. What if, for instance, I wrote those lines this way:
Should I stream that film for the price of an ice cream cone
or hike an hour to the only movie theater left in town?
Using “the price of an ice cream cone” instead of $5.99 means that the reference won’t age, and it’s not geographically specific. It’s also clear I’m referring to a relatively small amount of money. Using the time it takes to walk rather than a unit of distance sidesteps the problem of whether miles will still be recognizable outside the USA one hundred years in the future.
As far as the movie theater goes—well, it’s already a disappearing cultural artifact, so maybe that reference should stay as is, since it’s likely going to be even more quaint in one hundred years.
But why is it even important for someone completely different from you, living one hundred years from now, to understand your writing? And will that person ever read my work or yours? Well, if you don’t consider that person who is very different from you when you write or revise, it’s probable that many things in your writing will confuse them, and it’s so much more doubtful that your work will engage them.
Here’s another example:
I took 80 to the second Richmond exit
Anyone who lives near me in the San Francisco Bay Area is going to know this means “I took Highway 80 to the second exit in Richmond, California”. But that girl in the mountains of another continent is not going to know that, never mind 100 years from now. She might think the speaker delivered 80 crumpets to Richmond near London in the United Kingdom. So why not make it easier for her to understand and give her more context? I know that’s not as cool as saying, “I took 80 to the second Richmond exit,” but how important is being cool compared to being comprehended?
I realize there’s another side to this argument. Specific references to the poet’s time and milieu add color and flavor, and those are crucial to good writing. When we read a Shakespeare sonnet, there are many references that we have to research in order to understand it. He ends his Sonnet 126, speaking of Nature:
She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure.
Her audit, though delayed, answered must be,
And her quietus is to render thee.
There are references here to an audit and a quietus that have become obscure. I had to do some digging to understand these lines. They basically mean that the beautiful young man Shakespeare addresses in this sonnet may delay the aging process, but Nature will ultimately present a final bill (audit) that must be paid (with a quietus, or money that settles a debt). In other words, time will eventually have its way, even with those who age gracefully.
Does the fact that most of us would have to research this poem to understand it mean that it’s not as good as other Shakespeare sonnets? Well, I’m not sure, but certainly Sonnet 126 is not as popular as many of The Bard’s other poems. The obscurity of the references may have something to do with that.
I tend to err on the side of making myself clear. I know many writers have other priorities. But as Friedrich Nietzsche once wrote, “Those who know that they are profound strive for clarity. Those who would like to seem profound to the crowd strive for obscurity.”
Getting the Most from Your Writing Workshop
How Not to Become a Literary Dropout
Putting Together a Book Manuscript
Does the Muse Have a Cell Phone?
Poetic Forms: Introduction, the Sonnet, the Sestina, the Ghazal, the Tanka, the Villanelle
