For the e-course “Writing into the Heart of Your Story,” Jenna suggested we create our own writing manifesto. I’d written one of these a few years ago (when Jenna was my writing coach!). It hangs on the wall over my desk and when I looked up to read it I knew things had changed since then. Not so much in the content, but in the things that I didn’t express. I’ve developed some courage and a healthy attitude of who-cares-what-others-think – I do care, but not in that live-or-die kind of way that used to keep me zipping around emotionally like one of those crazed wind-up toys – I have lots of compassion for that version of me. So, this morning I put on my woolly sweater, made a cup of hot chocolate and sat out on the balcony to write a new manifesto. I heard my little gremlin that loves to tell me I’m way too dramatic and I smiled with delight because it’s true.
Writing Manifesto 2013
I write to make sense of my contradictions, to give a voice to all the parts of my psyche clamoring for air time – even the demons who get tired of me trying to bury them under concrete.
I write because if I don’t my mind becomes a hoarder’s clutter of ideas teetering in lopsided stacks.
I write in hopes of creating something beautiful, even about those times when the mud of life seeps through the cracks in my defenses.
I write to tell the truth in a world of white lies and wicked deceptions.
I write because I feel lonely and bereft without the intimacy between me and the words I spill, shape, revise, erase, re-shape and sometimes fall in love with.
I write because I fell in love with the sound and rhythm of words in the fourth grade, when Miss Green read poetry to us at the end of the day. I’d put my head down to rest on my arms, close my eyes and wait for the “music” to begin.
I write to stay connected to myself and to the world around me.
I write to see the difference between what I know and what I need to find out.
I write because I believe the world needs the curious magic of words mindfully arranged on the page – they can make a difference and the world so badly needs “a difference.”
I write because I need the breadcrumbs of my words to lead me back home to myself when I get lost.
I write for the freedom – I love filling writing journals with the trinkets of ideas, pieces of conversations, observations and those moments when something out of my grasp suddenly makes sense.
I write to bring order to confusion as much as to throw order into chaos.
I write because my inner and outer landscapes have bright orange hills tinted in fuchsia and sometimes the sky burns the dark purple of midnight.