Vague

I seem to have developed a singular talent for producing writings just vague enough that they are able to inspire equally obscure responses from some readers. I mean to say that from what I write, some readers derive meanings almost perfectly in tune with what I did NOT write. It happens, I suppose, but more often in poetry than in prose.  I believe that I have been succinct, mind you (I do not set out to be vague), and yet I will learn in this or that case that I have somehow ended up saying what I did not intend to say at all. In fact, I have somehow said what I did not say. It's perplexing. 

On the other hand, there are some readers who apparently see themselves at the center of all things, such that any pronoun is interchangeable with the reader's own name, or such that any general sort of statement becomes particular. What can be done about it? I don't know. 

When I used to write novels, people would pick themselves out. "I'm so-and-so," they would say. 

"Umm, no you're not." 

"Yes, I am. And I'm not happy, by the way, with what you said about me." 

So it goes. The poor writer, who has said nothing at all about the person in question, has somehow ended up saying it all. 

Or perhaps this has something to do with the particular reader's expectation, such that the role he finds himself playing is the role he himself has cast himself in. 

It's worth a thought.