James Joyce’s wife, Nora Barnacle, once asked him, “Why don’t you write books people can read?”
Now if your name is Nora Barnacle, (can you beat that?) I suppose you can say anything.
But this brought up a question anyone who does anything will eventually post to self: who are you doing it for?
Clearly, James’ audience wasn't Nora.
My late father said to me, more than once, “why do you write for younger readers? When will you write for real people?”
I know. You’re shaking your head. Kids are real people, you’re thinking. My father knew that. But he wanted me, I’m guessing now, to write for older folks. Such as himself.
I don’t like to answer for others. But at some point it’s good to ask oneself who you are reaching out to when you imagine a reader.
It’s easy for me, almost too easy. I write for the child I was, and still am.