A Reader Writes (part 2)

"in yesterday’s Diary, I mentioned the awful picture of me in the newspapers that carry my column. This morning I went into our local corner store and saw a copy of one of those self same papers..."

Don’t know if you read yesterday’s Diary piece, I got all over excited about a comment a lovely subscriber sent me. Ran out of space and time before I could get round to sharing what he actually said. Apart from one rather interesting phrase. 

“it’s not much fun if you don't have a lot of readers, right?”

I won’t share the rest of his comment. Was very flattering and my dear wife tells me my head is already far too big. (She’s not wrong. It’s a nightmare trying to find hats big enough to fit. I have the head size of a much wiser man.)

Having spent some time on Substack reading the stuff out there, I have noticed that the whole, “why do we write?” thing is a common topic for discussion. Can see why. After all, for most of us, writing is something WE do. For fun. Reading it something some-one ELSE does. Gawd knows why.

So the big, $64,000 question is; “who are we writing for? Ourselves, or the reader?” A big head would probably say, “for the reader. The more the merrier. I NEED them to think I’m awesome.”  (Uh, oh. I just said, “big head.” And I’ve got an enormous head. Yikes.)

Let’s get back to the question / comment above.  To answer it, I shall take us back on a journey through  time…. (cue wobbly screen and strange music.)

Many years ago, I was in a famous band, The Housemartins. Before we were famous, it was just the two of us, Paul and I. We used to busk to earn money. If one person stopped to listen to us, we were chuffed to bits. So we started to pay attention, to work out what made people stop and listen. The more we paid attention, the better we got at attracting a crowd. Turned out people generally liked certain things. Catchy songs, hearing the two of us singing together, watching Paul dance, listening to me talk between numbers. 

Wasn’t rocket science, but it did mean we got better as performers, better at attracting a crowd - and better at getting cash from them. (What can I say? Back then, we were skint. Very skint.)

Basically, the whole process was a positive feedback loop. We got better at our craft. The people watching and listening got to see a better show. Win, win. When we moved up to being a four piece, we kept up the same process. After gigs, we would go out and talk to the audience. See what they were thinking, find out what they liked and why.  

If they were up for it, we would take their name and address. Add them to our Mailing List. Meant we could keep in touch, send them postcards. Tell them when we were playing gigs in their area. Let them know what we were up to next. (Bit like me asking you to Subscribe to this here Substack. Hint, hint.) 

It was another, win, win. We got to know the people who liked our music and why, and they got to find out when they could come along and see us again. 

Reason I mention all this is because of the whole, “it’s not much fun if you don’t have a lot of readers,” dilemma. 

Truth is, I LOVED the fact that our little band went on to be quite successful, quite well known (we were lucky to have Paul and Norman, they were / are musical behemoths. And Hugh, who was a brilliant drummer with the most gorgeous bass voice. Sigh.)

But in all honesty, my fondest memories were of the times when we were trying to make our way UP the greasy ladder of success. When we started to do well in the charts and all that, to be frank, wasn’t quite so much fun.  

So, to answer the question, I reckon if no-one reads what I write, that’s fine by me. Gives me the freedom to experiment, to try and become a better writer. With no pressure. Phew.

By the way, in yesterday’s Diary, I mentioned the awful picture of me in the newspapers that carry my column. This morning I went into our local corner store and saw a copy of one of those self same papers. Hence the picture at the top of this piece.

See what I mean? Awful. Mind you, my grandkids love it. Whenever they find one lying about, they pick up their pens and add all sorts of stuff. Glasses, spots, beard, black teeth and enormous ears. To be honest, I blame my wife. She’s the one who always gives them the pens. 😂

Until next time, all the best

Stan