Community in Measure
I like writing. I have been, perhaps arrogantly so, thinking I might do this professionally. Since having that thought, I have been reasonably schooled by some professional writers. Still, there is a dialectic conversation unfolding in my Medium experiences that reminds me I am human, I live in a community, and I should tread carefully when I burst on the comment scene and brashly share an opinion contrary to any author’s thesis.
The skills of listening I have developed in counseling seem applicable here. I have made mistakes. I recognize harshness in responses. I recognize that I have forgotten how important words are and how they affect tone, but also how tone can be inferred by other person’s perception of choice of words in the absence of visual and auditory clues.
I have a modest network of listeners
Listeners is the wrong word. Readers? Viewers. Whatever it is about my writing, it does resonate with some. In truth, that interested me more than the likelihood that I might be successful enough at writing to quit my day job. My camper life idea of retirement appeals to me. I can write from anywhere. Starbucks. National Parks. Under the bridge… No, I am not hardy enough to survive street life. Too soft, too fat. Hell, I have some suspicion one…
