Well, let’s start with- I always get a bit anxious thinking about “le audience”.
Audience, after so many years of presenting, playing, acting, and being humiliated in front of audiences, it isn’t necessarily something I prefer to dwell on.
The ideal audience…I tend to think of writing as a bit of a confessional. But it’s a double blind. I speak as anonymous to the anonymous.
I don’t write on a specific topic. I tend to write with my emotion in one hand and cold realism in the other. I flit from topic to topic without rhyme, reason, or consistency. Sometimes I sink into the “pity-party” trap.
I imagine my audience is confused most of the time.
I write about what interests me, I write about what inspires me, i write about what pisses me off. I’m a selfish writer pretty often, so I can’t imagine the audience I’m catering to.
I imagine my audience to be like screaming into the void. A drop in the bucket, a ripple on the surface that slowly smoothes out as if it were untouched. Sometimes I hear and see my audience react, most often I don’t. It sometimes feels lonely, but I understand that I’m not targeting an specific group of people. I’m targeting my interests.
And when they align, I hear whispers back from the void.