For Those With Eyes To See

My imagination on a Wednesday.

Art is an intimate act.

Heart to heart, mind to mind. Connection and communication are the entire point (also entertainment, but let me be honest: that’s just a ruse to get inside your head).

The intimacy of my words reaching my readers, knowing they didn’t just skim their eyes over the inky scribbles on their screen but actually brought that world into theirs… it’s the reward all creators seek.

Strangely, I can’t personify my readers while I’m writing. The words I pour from my heart into my books are an anonymous love note to an amorphous reader whose shape contains all things — all genders, races, ages. I’m reaching for the universal in all of them, and so I keep them in an unresolved quantum state, unknown until the purchase is made, and the reader resolves into a singular person.

Then they write me and say, “You wrote this book just for me!” And I say, “Yes, I did.” And I mean it.

I only open my heart for those with eyes to see.