Okay, I’m supposed to write a “Writing Manifesto.” Here goes. I sit down and open my laptop. But first I hear my wife’s voice telling me to sit up straight because my posture is terrible. My posture is terrible, but my house is crooked; I figure they balance each other out (no, seriously, my house is crooked. My daughter will drop a round toy and watch it roll all the way from the kitchen into the bathroom).
I arch my back, overcompensating, roll my shoulders, and lean in. Oh, great. Now I’m doing that young-adult-first-person-present-tense thing that I can’t stand. It’s everywhere! Stop it! It might have been okay the first time, but now its just annoying. It’s not possible for someone to experience what’s going on and at the same time be writing about it. This isn’t a documentary, this is supposed to be literature. Ugh. Sorry. Let’s get back to my writing manifesto. I begin to type:
The writer wakes up at five in the morning. He must do so if he wishes to accomplish anything word related before his children and wife wake. It’s still dark outside. Sitting down at his desk, he remembers something crucial: coffee. Five minutes later, mug in hand, he sits back down and stares at the white screen. The cursor blinks.
Blink. Blink. Blink.
He types a few words.
Writing Manifesto.—Eh, That’s okay, I guess. I’ll change it later.
Blink. Blink. Blink.
His stomach begins to hurt and he remembers something else: food. There’s no time to make anything too substantial, so he pops some bread into a toaster and sits back down to stare while secretly just waiting for his toast.
Blink. Blink. Blink.
Writing Manifesto.
Writing is a means — delete. No.
Blink. Pop!
Oh, relief! He pushes back from the desk and the taunting blank screen of his computer. The toast is retrieved, buttered, peanut-buttered, and hastily consumed, because the writer has important things to write. He sits back down.
He shifts his posture, rolls his shoulders, slumps back in his chair and sighs.
Blink. Blink. Blink.
Writing Manifesto.
I love writing. — delete. Stupid, and not really even true (don’t fire me!).
Blink. Blink. Blink. I want more toast. Why can’t I savor anything?
His hands run through his hair, he sits up, arches his back and rests his hands on the keyboard as he leans forward, as though his laptop will whisper the words he can’t find.
His vision blurs. He shakes his head and rolls his shoulders again.
Blink. Blink. Blink.
My Writing Manifesto.
Writing is a way of communication — delete, delete. Boring. Writing is the manifestation of thoughts in — delete, delete, delete! “Manifestation.” What a jackass.
Blink. Blink. Blink. Cry!
The baby awakens! There will be no more writing today. This is not the first time the writer wonders why he ever bothers attempting to create something on a page, and it certainly won’t be the last.
But he continues to bother the pages with his blank, vacant stares and the occasional tips and taps of his fingers on the keyboard, interspersed with sighs and groans of frustration and infrequent vocal undulations.
He stays up into the wee hours of the morning, knowing he will regret it in the morning when even his coffee fails to enlighten him. And yet, he pushes through, thinking and thinking and thinking, until, finally, writing. A gasp forms in his mouth as he surprises even himself. He has thought of something worthy of the computer screen! He types it! He reads it back to himself, and it is glorious.
Blink.
My Writing Manifesto. A Writer’s Manifesto.
Ever since I was young, I entertained the idea of being a writer; then I grew up.— Perfect.
He feels accomplished, therefore, he is done for the day. The next day he reads what he wrote.
Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.
My Writing Manifesto. A Writer’s Manifesto.
Ever since I was young, I entertained the idea of being a writer, then I grew up.— Are you kidding me? What trash! What complete and utter drivel!
Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.
He wants to delete it, erase it entirely for the universe’s memory, but the idea is still there. It needs to be communicated. So he changes the words. And he thinks it sounds better, and then he hates it again.
Then he is inspired:
A Writer’s Manifesto.
When I was younger, my imagination ran wild, but only in my head. I had crazy ideas, but I never shared them. I had an idea for a story, and once when I was twelve, I wrote some of the things down in a notebook. I made it four pages before I quit. It took me twenty years before I tried again. Looking back, I see what my problem was: fear.
I was afraid to try, not, or at least not solely, because of a fear of being mocked for my silly ideas. I was afraid to try because I did not want to fail. I did not want to have put in so much effort only to have it amount to nothing. I would write occasionally, but I constantly questioned if what I was writing down was the best way to say it, or if I had credibility, or if people would just laugh at me. This still happens today, and this is why I can honestly say, that most of the time, I hate writing.
It is so hard, and I second-guess everything, and I will spend hours and only be happy with less than five percent of what I have written. And even then I’ll look at that five percent the next day and toss the whole thing. But every once in awhile, I’ll write something I don’t mind that much, so I decide I’ll keep it.
I realize, now, why I hate writing most of the time, and it’s because I fear it, in a way. Writing is incredibly vulnerable. It makes me self-conscious, because the reality is that writing is a way of communication, so, logically, someone else should read it. Writing isn’t just a person’s thoughts, it’s his polished thoughts. It’s his prepared-beforehand thoughts, and, therefore, he has had time to decide if this is what he wants to say, and how he wants to say it. That says way more about what his real thoughts are than if he were to just have a conversation.
I had another realization. I don’t have to share all of my writing, so I shouldn’t obsess over how I’m saying what I’m trying to say. I should just say it, or in this case write it, and worry about the “how” once I’ve actually fully figured out the “what.” I need to let go of my fear before I can truly write, before my thoughts can fully manifest into my writing. — Get it? Writing Manifesto? Manifest into my writing? Moron. This is stupid. I have a better idea. This will be hilariously and pretentiously meta:
(Go to the top of the page. Read from there.)
This is REAL life. I applaud and admire the sheer honesty in your writing. It is raw, meaningful, and insightful. I was struck by your realization of fear, and the way it has hindered you as a writer. It is painfully frustrating when you know something is holding you back and limiting your potential, but you can’t put your finger of it. What an amazing thing it is to finally pinpoint the issue. Although identifying the problem doesn’t make it miraculously disappear, calling out the culprit can then open the door to tremendous growth, inviting us to face it head on.
Yes, Hailey! That last sentence you wrote is exactly right and often it’s facing things that’s the hardest thing for us to do! Good thing we are surrounded by tutors that love to help!! 🙂
I loved reading your stream of consciousness. I enjoy this style of writing because it gives the reader a new perspective of the writer’s raw attitude and blunt feelings. Your discovery that fear had been limiting your motivation to write really stood out to me. How some writing is made to be shared, (polished thoughts) and some writing is made to be private. I really connected to that because when I want to share a piece of my private writing, I spend days editing it and preparing it to be read by another person and I want to make sure I get my point across in my text. I love that realization!
I identify with your thoughts of fear holding you back from actually writing anything. I also had a head full of ideas when I was a child (and still do) but struggle actually putting anything on the page. Writing is very personal, and to this day I still feel nervous when someone is reading what I have written, especially if I have put a lot of work into it. So I appreciated that you showed all of the various stages of your manifesto, deleted sections and all. It made it very interesting, fun to read, and connected with me.
Incredibly visual and relatable. I may not have a wife and daughter at home, although my friends and roommates will often remind me of my own posture, but this still speaks volumes about writing. I filled notebooks with random stories and ideas when I was younger and then stopped entirely after someone found and read one. It took me a long time to get over the fear and embarrassment of my own writing, but I’m so glad I was able to get back into it, even if I am far too critical of my own work.
I loved this! I was laughing throughout the whole thing because it was raw and real and humorous at the same time. I feel like we have to be able to laugh at ourselves sometimes. I really enjoyed the part where your wife yells at you about your posture but your house is crooked, so it balances. I could definitely relate to some of the challenges you faced while writing, which is why I think I found it so comical.
Awesome job, Michael! I can’t wait to see what picture you attach to this. This whole piece is wonderfully honest and vulnerable and all the things you hate about writing. I’ve also had similar struggles with writing, and I have to say that flash fiction changed my entire point of view when it comes to writing fearlessly. Being part of a group that wants to hear what you’ve written, even if it’s not perfect yet, changes the way you approach your writing and ideas. You have to join us next time we do it!
Your use of the inner dialogue with yourself was fantastic; it’s something I think we all go through during our writing processes. I’ve called myself a jackass numerous times – did I really just write that? I can very much identify with your apparent self-efficacy with your writing; it’s something I’ve struggled with as well, and I think Hailey’s comment above said it best: identifying the problem won’t solve it directly, but it can open that door to help us achieve personal growth. Wonderful.