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10xWrite: A Manifesto

I want to be a writer. I will be a writer. I am a writer. So fucking write then.

It is as easy as it sounds and as impossible as it sounds, all at once. This desire percolates in the back of my mind, in my belly, in my fingers. I can get words on the page; that’s not the hard part. It’s not even about getting the right words on the page; with time, I can keep getting better at the craft. The hard part is to write true. To expose myself completely in a way that is usually reserved for private spaces. Words are the domain of my inner life. Putting them on the page puts me out there without an exoskeleton.

My journey with writing is my journey with myself, for myself, but not by myself. Writing is so often conceived of as a solitary activity by nature. A thing one must do alone.

“The myth of a single ‘originary’ moment as the scene of writing is powerful and persuasive in the stories we tell ourselves about the process of literary creation.” (Pope, 2011, p. 254)

But it needn’t be that. It can be communal, connected, collaborative.

“But the compositional reality is much messier and more protracted, and often involves many more hands and minds than one.” (Pope, 2011, p. 254)

It can be whatever I need it to be because that is the nature of art. If I let it be the nature of my art. I, the artist, need only focus my intentions and will on pursuing that which makes meaning for me.

I have wandered in the worded woods and find myself in a clearing. From this clearing, I can see the tangled, brambly path of external validation I have left behind. The clearing is filled with people like me and not like me, but all there with one purpose. To cultivate hope, to resist despair, to grow stronger through connections, to share stories as understanding, to listen and be listened to.

“You can’t find your own voice if you aren’t listening for it.” (Le Guin, 2018, p. 17)

This clearing has created a space for me to declare myself, to myself, for myself. A place where I can translate my experience into my knowing and being.

Why write a manifesto? Well, why not write a manifesto?! When my supervisor for my master’s thesis first pointed me in the direction of writing manifestos, it was an immediate oh yes from me. I watched all 13 of Julian Rosefeldt’s Manifesto, 2015 short films in a day. Concurrently, I was using Pope’s work on originality and creativity from Rewriting the Critical-Creative Continuum: ‘10x…’ to frame my exegesis. He explores the Ten Commandments as a “general cultural resource” (p. 257) and encourages creatives to use the formula as a sandbox. So I did. And here we are.

This year, I am going to explore my writing manifesto¹ along the critical-creative axis as an approach to writing. Using a What-How-Why framework, I will explore and examine each commandment, then respond creatively. I will go where the art takes me (or where I take my art) to create what Skains (2018) calls “an optimal state for serendipitous mental connections and discoveries” (p. 91). Will you join me? Who knows what wonderful things we may discover together.

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References

Le Guin, U. K. (2018). Conversations on writing. Tin House Books.

Pope, R. (2011). Rewriting the critical-creative continuum. In J. Swann, R. Pope, & R.Carter (Eds.), Creativity in language and literature: The state of the art (pp. 250-264). Palgrave Macmillan.

Skains, R. L. (2018). Creative practice as research: discourse on methodology. Journal of Media Practice, 19(1), 82-97. https://doi.org/10.1080/14682753.2017.1362175

1. 10xWrite: A Manifesto
1. Write it out
2. Write through the box
3. Write for me
4. Write for my reader
5. Write what I want
6. Write often enough
7. Write word vomit
8. Write art with a heart
9. Write as a rhizome
10. Write down to my bones