You are an artist and you have a decision to make, because a gun called opportunity is being held to your head.
Do you give the public what it wants, or make the public want what you’re giving it?
Perhaps you are clever and think the second option is more dignified. And perhaps it is. But the dignity you gain from the second option is minimal. A marketing firm thinks like you.
Instead of writing to please the public, and instead of trying to change the public’s demands, consider giving the public some vaguely condescending answers to its questions, then go home and prank-call it late at night until it gets so upset that you, too get upset. But keep going — let the anger out. And then, when you’re on the verge of being discovered (your actions, not your work), break down, apologize, and beg for it to give you another chance. It will say no, because you’ve proved yourself creepy. But at least you showed that bitch for a few weeks, when you called it while it was sleeping and said you were going to slit its throat, and hurt its loved ones. You are a creep. But nobody’s fucked the public quite as well as you have in your mind. And the beauty of it is that when they send you that restraining order, and you’re told to stay away from the public for a long time, perhaps forever, you will have a lot of time to make your art powerful, bitter and only implicitly aimed at the public. When you die and the public has forgotten just how weird you were, and your papers are discovered, the public will be shocked — for while your late and secret work was filled with anger and frustration, it was in that work that you finally made your mind intelligible to the world. Your prank calls will become legendary. Your restraining order will be included as an appendix to your work. Someone will love you.