A writer’s Manifesto

Why didn’t I ever see it before? Writing is all about connections – with myself, with others, with past, present, & future – connections with characters, how they interact, connections with plots, how events impact other events, how situations affect us, how we respond emotionally…

I write to speak to scream to whisper to shout to teach to learn to tell to show to try to give to share to parade to deepen to unfurl to open up to look within and see what is is.

I connect with the verbs & parts of speech with what I know, what I’ve learned what I still want to learn –

And where would writing be without readers? That’s a connection too – writers write for readers and readers encourage the writers to keep going….

I write because I can

I write because I have to get it out

Or I want to show you something

I write to create order of chaos

I write to explode safely on paper

I write to practice my talent my gift my duty my journey

I write because oh why the hell not?

I write because teachers encouraged me

I write to make people laugh or smile or forget their troubles for awhile

I write to get closer to God

I write because I wish I lived my the sea and I don’t so I just imagine the beach so I can smell the sea again and almost feel the warm sun on my shoulders and see the glint of silica in the sand

I write because I can’t experience things I want to – not enough time or money or opportunities –

I write because I can’t help writing

I write because I love the process

I love creating it keeps the blues away

or better yet it lets me face my blues and tell them which way to go –

I write because it heals

I write because it empowers me

I write to transform my pain

I write to keep from going crazy

I write to save myself from boredom

I write to please teachers and readers and myself

I write to play with words, my little friends
I write because stories help me make sense of the world

I write because what I produce often surprises me

I write to answer questions I didn’t know I was asking

I write and I keep writing whether anyone else ever reads my work

Because when I quit writing once before

It felt like my soul had been raped,

Profoundly robbed of something so very precious.

By Kerry Vincent © 2008

New ATCs

Yesterday I took my niece Micah and nephew Dakota to our first ATC class.  These are the ones I did.  The one with the sepia tone says “This is my good side – DON”T cross it.”

The one with the John Atkinson Grimshaw “Fairy of the Night” Dakota did the background for using pastels.  I think it needs a name or quote or something to finish it – any great ideas out there in SFC land?

Kerry 2008

Scavenger Hunt

(inspired by Mad Challenge – headlines collage)

Kerry Vincent (c) 2008

Life is like a Scavenger Hunt.  I go around collecting experiences, taking them home, dumping them out, seeing what I found.  I put a little bit of everything in my bag:  good, bad, silly, weird stuff no one else has any use for.  I recycle the bits and pieces and try to make something new. 

“Knock-knock” on a neighbor’s door.  “Do you have any sad stories to spare?  Some old memories you’re tired of dragging around?  Disapointments you’d like to forget?  Any slightly-used jokes?  I don’t mind second-hand material.  Got some characters getting on your nerves?  Dump ’em right here in my sack; I’ll find a way to use them.  Tired of your old routine?   I can help.  Timing is everything.

I’ll haul anything away, no questions asked.  I can make something out of almost nothing.  My bag can hold more than you can imagine.  What do I do with all this junk?  Take it back to the party, see what the other players found.  Mix it all up, make something new.  What’s the prize?  I don’t know.  Don’t really care.  I just like playing the game.  

Dark Muse

(Inspired by Soul Food Cafe prompt to give thanks to a creative ally)

He fears the blank wall but he must face it.  The pen burns his hand but he cannot let go.  The words are ghosts that haunt his body and his mind.  He does not want to see them, but there they are, a cold presence, that must be released to find peace.

She watches him.  She will not let him go.  He must face his fate, dree his weird.  He has things to say, things he does not know, that he will not know until he says them, until he writes them on the wall of his soul.

He is naked.  He can hide from himself no longer.  His way is lonely, but he must go on.

He nurses at the dragon’s teat.  He sucks the danger, spits the poison,  sacrifices himself to save his people. 

No one knows of his silent suffering,

but a few others chained to the Muse.

It is the way of the artist,

the salvation of creativity’s soul.

by Kerry Vincent (c) 2008