Blogging 101 Day Four – Identify your audience
Today’s Assignment: publish a post you’d like your ideal audience member to read, and include a new-to-you element in it.
When I first read today’s assignment, a little cocky grin popped up. Easy peasy. I’ve been blogging for a while*, so I know my audience – SSAUPWSTSOH (Sarcastic Suburban Adults Usually Parents With a Sick andTwisted Sense of Humor)**. Then I took another look at the assignment. “Maybe it’s your dad, so he’ll finally understand your life choices. Maybe it’s the head of Random House, so she’ll skyrocket you into literary limelight. “Whether serious, frivolous or purely hypothetical, focus on your dream reader and write a post — about anything — aimed at him or her.”
And a little voice popped up into my head, a little voice who whispered the name of my dream reader – the one person who has never read my blog, who can’t read my blog – my mother.
My first thought was “Oh HELL no – I don’t want to talk to/about my mother” and I got up and ate a cookie. The chills down my back and the tears welling up told me that I needed to/wanted to/had to. It’s been twenty years since my mom died. I would give all my earthly goods if Mom could read a post. Not that I have alot, but I would.
In my mind, she is eternally 36 (not 37, since she said she would get her ears pierced when she turned 37) with huge frog-like sun glasses and an umbrella hat on her head. That’s the image that sticks in my head, even though at one time (Before Motherhood), she looked like this: She hated having her picture taken. She thought her face was too round, her smile too crooked, her nose too big. At least I think that’s what she thought. It’s what I think, and I am becoming my mother, despite my best efforts.
When I was growing up, I loved my mother. She talked to everyone (strangers as well as friends), laughed all the time and volunteered in my classroom and at the soccer fields. She and the other mothers would sit in front of our house, drinking bloody marys and watching us parade down the street or put on a show.
When I was a teenager, I
hated disliked was embarrassed by my mother. She talked too much, she laughed too loudly, she volunteered for EVERYTHING/was always around, she talked to strangers and she TALKED TO MY CLASSMATES (and, oh yeah, she drank a little…ok, a lot). I vowed then that when I grew up I would never have children, and I would NEVER be like my mother.
My daughter is 15, and I talk too much and laugh too loudly and volunteer for everything (although I am learning “the N word” ) and talk to strangers and TALK TO HER FRIENDS….and I drink, a little. (or a lot, depending on the day).
I have become my mother, despite my best intentions, and I am so very, very glad that I did. My mom wasn’t perfect, but she was pretty damn awesome. I wish my mom could read this post. I would love for her to meet her granddaughter, to thank her for all of her love and support through all the years. I wish I could apologize for not inviting her to see Reba McIntyre with my friends and me. I can’t do that, but I can share this video (maybe, fingers crossed). And I can read my post to my mother, if only in my dreams.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lgNIKabg_fE *Or I was, before my brain melted
** Not only is my acronym too long, but I was wr….wro…I was mistaken.