Who You (SHOULDN'T) Write For

by Juan-Pablo Pina

Photo by Kaitlyn Baker on Unsplash

Never write a story for everyone.

For example, I’m writing a story about a young soldier fighting prehistoric wildlife and savage magicians in a primordial world at war. As you could probably tell, that’s not a project for everyone. However, I will pour my sweat and soul into that story because I know exactly who it’s for: younger me. Because, truth is, the book is about the journey from the end of boyhood to manhood. It’s about how the extra weight placed upon your shoulders once your title of “kid” gets ripped away at a certain age, the expectations of those around you, and the rapidly accelerating feeling that the world you knew for so long is slipping away. But it’s also about the good in manhood. The love you feel, the lessons you learn, the escapades you wind up in, the dreams you chase and reach, and the brotherhood you can build.

That “mission statement” comes before all else. Even the prehistoric-fantasy theming and setting which, though prominent, is just the seasoning atop the actual food. This is a book meant to teach me about those things which no one taught me before life threw them all at me at break-neck speed. The setting just so happens to be a sword-and-sorcery world with civilizations, dark magic, diverse ecosystems, dragons, monsters, and (lots) prehistoric animals. So, when I tell you to tell a story that’s not “for everyone”, I sincerely hope that you take comfort in that. This means I hope you will not spend days consulting with market data and analysts looking at 5-year-old numbers that would be 7 years old by the time you could act on it. That leech craft would have you chained and crawling on all fours like a beast, trying to create a story that appeals to everyone. 

Meanwhile, we’re now up to our gills with stories that have been vivisected and cauterized to appeal to everyone. Go to the “young adult” section of any library or book store and I’m willing to wager that almost all of them are going to be from big publications seeking to reap the financial harvest whenever they pump out another Harry Potter or The Hunger Games rehash, only with even more overt romance and maybe a new idea sprinkled on top (if you’re lucky). It turns out the words of the publisher and author Seth Godin were true: 

“When you make something for everyone, you make something for no one. When you chase everyone’s money, you earn no one’s money.” -Seth Godin

Let’s do a little thought experiment. Think of your favorite stories, the ones that have meant the most to you. There’s a very good chance that they weren’t made for everyone. They were made for someone. It just so happened they became available to us. We like stories that meant something to someone. Those are the stories that stick with us.

Now, it’s worth noting that this doesn’t mean that you or I should be deaf to the voices of others. It’s wonderful to hear from people. Encouragement and support can genuinely be fuel in a storyteller’s tank. Critiques and suggestions can be useful as well, but they can only be useful when a storyteller knows who the story is for. And believe me, you’ll know it when you know. 

For example, I’ve come to notice that there’s a kind of story that is no longer being told. A protagonist archetype we haven’t seen in quite a while. I only know this because these things meant the world to me when I was younger, and I miss them in modern media and/or am tired of seeing polished shreds of them. When we survey the storytelling landscape these days, we see a lot of safe choices and compromises. It’s like looking at a magnificent bird strapped in a small cage. Especially with behind-the-scenes content that abounds these days, we can see where a good idea had its corners sanded down by a nervous writer’s room, then sanded down further by consultants and studio heads until that original idea is nothing but splinters and dust.

Now, some of the only stories that really hold value or impact are the ones told by people with courage. Even relatively-simple yet totally original films like Sinners are seen as remarkable for what they dared to do and the ideas they dared to share (evident by the fact that Sinners got 16 Oscar nominations, the most in the institution’s history). I’ll gladly concede to the point that good storytellers can still be clever marketers and charismatic influencers with a wide audience. But I think that in this strange time, the stories that will last will come from people who had the courage to say, “I’m making something I believe in.” I think the singer and songwriter David Bowie said it perfectly.

“Never play to the gallery. You never learn that until much later on, I think, but – never work for other people at what you do. Always remember that the reason you initially started working was that there was something inside yourself that you felt, that if you could manifest it in some way, you would understand more about yourself and how you coexist with the rest of society. I think it’s terribly dangerous for an artist to fulfill other people’s expectations. They’ll generally produce their worst work when they do that. The other thing I would say is that if you feel safe in the area that you’re working in, you’re not working in the right area. Always go a little further into the water than you feel you’re capable of being in. Go a little bit out of your depth, and when you don’t feel that your feet are quite touching the bottom, you’re just about in the right place to do something exciting.” -David Bowie

I really believe that the people that can be courageous when it’s hard can trade in that courage for the trust and support of their audience. The creators we are most loyal to are the ones who don’t compromise their vision. They don’t sign themselves away. They don’t listen to the most concerned person in the room. They keep doing what they believe in even when it’s hard. To quote one of my best friends/mentors:

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

I hope that encourages you to be courageous. 

Now, mind you, I’m saying this as a teenager that just wants to make an adventure story where a young soldier faces the journey of manhood while fighting prehistoric wildlife and savage magicians in a primordial world at war. I’m not Homer or Pythagoras, and this isn’t the next great American novel that will be squeezed into the minds of future high schoolers alongside The Great Gatsby and the works of Shakespeare. But I don’t need it to be. 

So long as even one young man feels a sense of kinship with the perils and thoughts of the characters, is enthralled in this world I’ve created, and is a little more prepared to take on the adventure of growing up than I was, then I’ll be more satisfied than I ever would be with a thousand sponsorships or gold-plated awards.

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Now, I don’t want this to be like one big cynical or heroic rant. So, I’d like to offer a last note for any hesitant storytellers out there.

I think stories are important. We use stories to look back from history to legends. We use stories to speculate about the future. Our best moments become stories we tell and retell for the rest of our lives. And when we die, we hope to leave a story worth telling. We shape our own lives off the stories that impact us the most. Real and fictional characters can inspire us to become better tomorrow than we are today. If someone I knew told me I remind them of Aragorn from The Lord of the Rings or Mufasa from The Lion King, y’all are welcome to slap that right on my tombstone. 

Stories can shape not just individuals, but entire populations. They’re a powerful tool, and they’ve been used benevolently and nefariously. I don’t know about you, but it feels like it’s harder to find stories that can be described as the former. However, I must point out that we are alive at an incredible moment in history. The tools necessary to not only create stories, but to get them into the hands of the intended audience are more accessible and powerful than ever before. 

We need stories. We need good stories. Not perfect, not award-winning pieces of high art. Nor the next great American novel, but stories that inspire, that change people for the better. No matter how small the audience may be, the proverbial “old trees” are falling. Sunlight is starting to pour in through the gaps they’re leaving in the canopy. Seeds planted now have a near-historic opportunity to grow in these turbulent times. Some may not survive. Some may not grow large, but the window is bigger than it’s been in several lifetimes. If you ask me, it’s a risk worth taking.

So tell your story.

Make the time.