my good friend hannah, a writer like me, recently encouraged me to think about “my one.” it’s a concept she picked up from someone else, and the core idea is this:
when you think about the book you’re writing, the one you so desperately want to get into another human’s hands, what does your one reader look like?
how old are they?
what’s their gender?
what’s their relationship with their parents like?
what are their friends like?
what do they like to do for fun?
what kinds of books do they typically read?
what are their dreams?
what are their hurts?
…and so on.
you spend time thinking about this person, picturing them curled up in bed with your book in their hands, fighting to stay awake long enough to read just one more page. you think about them as you’re writing your book. you think about them as you’re editing your book. you think about them as you’re designing (or paying someone else to design) your book cover. you think about them as you’re creating posts about your book for social media, ones you hope the ever-fickle algorithm will send their way.
if you’re lucky, you may end up with hundreds or even thousands of readers — but you’re only writing your book for one.
though the terminology was new, this wasn’t the first time i’d considered this idea. i remember sitting in my therapist’s office about two years ago, telling her about my plans to eventually publish the book i’d written with no intention of sharing it beyond perhaps one or two friends in my inner inner circle.
i explained to her that i was torn between going the traditional or self-publishing route. everyone in the author world knows that traditional publishing is what almost guarantees that your book will be seen, but it sometimes means giving up much of your autonomy over the final product.
and for this particular story, a story as intimate and raw as any can be, losing any degree of control felt terrifying. going the self-publishing route felt safer in that sense, but it also risked the chance of my book not reaching as many readers.
i didn’t make a decision then. i still haven’t. but i did say something that’s just as true now as it was then.
“honestly, if my book finds just one girl out there who needs to hear my story as much as i did when i was her age, that will be enough for me.”
just one girl who needs my story.
i didn’t know it then, but in that moment, i was identifying my one. and that one is who i’m thinking about now, as i return to these words i began writing almost four years ago and begin to share a few more of them with the world.
she might be five, or fifteen, or twenty-five, or fifty. age doesn’t matter. i was twenty-six when my lost girl was found.
whoever she is, wherever she is, and however old she is, she’s who i’m telling this story for.
and no matter how long it takes, i believe that these words will find her.
