When I write, I begin with the assumption that everything is connected to everything else. After all, everything that we are and all that we know began with the Big Bang which happened around 13.8 billion years ago.

Not only did it occur. We were part of it. We were all there. At least all the matter – hydrogen –

that eventually became us was there. With such dramatic beginnings, it is sometimes hard to see how we can ever feel bored.

Boredom happens when you cannot see any personal relevance in what is being said. But if everything is related to everything else, then nothing is truly, intrinsically boring. Part of the job of a writer is to find links between seemingly unrelated information; to make the impersonal personal; to find the universal in the specific.

However, when information is complex or requires prior knowledge to be understood, establishing common frames of reference becomes exceedingly difficult and makes the charge of “boring” more likely.

Complexity aside, it is necessary for writers to build good “bridges.” If I have bipolar disorder, how do I make that matter to those whose moods are normal? The phrase “bipolar disorder” does not trigger strong feelings of recognition in most people.

For that reason my work is cut out for me. My success or failure will depend on my ability to establish a common frame of reference with those who do not have a mood disorder, the first orienting plank of my bridge.

With bipolar disorder, it is not that hard. Although not everyone has a mood disorder, everyone has moods, both good and bad. And while not everyone has hallucinated, everyone has experienced dreams, which are hallucinations people have when sleeping. Already I have two planks for my bridge to Bipolar Island.

I am an island that has strange features, but building word bridges lets others cross to it. To go further and create reader interest, I have to do more than lay down common frames of reference. The purpose of a bridge is to introduce the familiar while promising a path to something new.

The familiar orients; the new intrigues. But writing can do more than intrigue. If I write a piece about how I got past a depression, someone who is depressed can read it and, if all goes well, envision themselves crossing to the other side. Maybe there will be steps along the way that they can follow to reach their own exit.

What kind of bridge should writers create? There really are no “shoulds” in writing. The type of bridge depends on the goal of the writer. Some bridges are easier to cross than others, and the easiest tend to use easy, direct, and accessible language. If a writer is seeking a wide readership, an easy-to-cross bridge is not a bad idea.

However, some writers are interested in inviting a more select group, such as those who already possess knowledge in a subject, such as genetics. Terminology unfamiliar to most may be required. Most people will not be able to cross, but a few appreciative readers will. The article was still worth writing, if only for those few.

Those who do not understand it may look at it and call it “boring” but genetics is far from boring. It is relevant to everything and everyone alive. The bridges leading to understanding of it may be slippery and maze-like, but the relevance is there for those who have the patience to grasp it.

The type of bridge a writer builds is a creative decision, but a bridge is almost always necessary. Whether intricate or simple, it establishes common ties while enticing the reader to wonder what lies beyond. No matter how fascinating my island is, without a bridge, I remain isolated on its shores, muttering to myself and making lonely marks in the sand.