I was just having a conversation with a friend the other day about the supposedly profound question of whether authorial intent matters in literature. I said it’s a question that misses the point of literature. If I write something, it means something to me; I get something out of putting my thoughts on paper (or, in this case, online.) I’m not trying to achieve some societal mission by doing this. I’m quite frankly being selfish and writing because it’s semi therapeutic for me. If something I say happens to resonate with you– makes you realize something about yourself, makes you see the world in a way you hadn’t before, whatever– well…then that’s valuable, isn’t it? Even if what you get out of it isn’t what I was trying to convey to you.
I suppose that though I’m mostly being selfish in my writing, I do hope in some distant corner of my brain that you, “dear reader”, will somehow benefit, if even a little bit, from investing the time in reading my words. If just one person reads this entry and feels better about their own life or choices, or feels like “Hey, I’m not alone in this experience”, then it will have been worth it for me to have bared my soul on the world wide web.
So the story is this: I did it. Read the rest of this entry »