As for the Why Write at All?
Here’s the bit I (likely mis)remember from university, the bit that—with a leap—wedged itself into my pocket of intentional misunderstandings:
[P]erformative utterances are sentences which not only describe a given reality, but also change the social reality they are describing.1
I figure, we didn’t start using language just so we could state facts.
Science has to do with facts, art with phenomena. To science, phenomena are of use only as they lead to facts; and to art, facts are of use only as they lead to phenomena. — John Ruskin
A two year-old pointing at a frog isn’t stating a fact, she’s imposing her will on the people around her. “Frog!” is a command: “Look” is the imperative subtext.
“Look at the frog”—“Look at me knowing it’s a frog”—“Love me”.
Or maybe she just wants the frog delivered to her hand.
I’ve been there/done that, in terms of the rearing of the toddlers thing, and I’m convinced our first instinct as children is to boss everyone else around. All the consideration, compassion, and gorgeous sonnets come later.
And when we’re writing, I believe we’re still trying to shape the world as we want it to be. Or at least nudge it into change by providing readers or an audience with transformative questions.
This is my why for writing: I hope I write for good.
To question. To nudge. To learn.
And probably, yeah, also to say, “Love me”.
“All the world’s a stage…”
(Or, in praise of hypomanic leaping.)
Friedrich Dürrenmatt said that a playwright should never begin with a theme: when we create a character and put obstacles in their path the theme will emerge.
But what if we begin with a desire to change the world in a tiny way?2
When it comes to creating drama in real life, I have to admit to having (and therefore presenting you with) something of an unstable character. Probably as a consequence, coming up with obstacles is no problem. They’re on my doorstep. In my kitchen. On the screen in the palm of my hand. Obstacles are what inspire me to put my fingers on the keyboard.
I believe that how a character negotiate complications is how they develop “character”, a personality—life. I think the same is true for ourselves (we, who read, witness, and write).
So I practice compassion for the harsh world when I write poetry, and I attempt to calm my manic thoughts by indulging in discursive prose process journal.
But let this be a disclaimer, if I sound like I’m making proclamations about the truth of this or that, repeating or contradicting myself: I’m allowing myself to consider the world from one perspective at a time.
Because we all contain multitudes.3
One of mine is a recovering Drama Queen. Bear with me. I will try not to indulge in melodrama.
Wine is bottled poetry. — Robert Louis Stevenson
A scientific postscript: Wasps are really cool. Without them there’d be no wine.
Photo: Schubert Theater of Vienna. ‘The Faces of Hedy Lamarr’ in 2023 at the Dhaatu International Puppet Festival in Bangaluru.
Performative utterance - Wikipedia
This pinned post has been edited since the newsletter was released. You could say: themes emerged.
https://poets.org/poem/song-myself-51
I always liked William James Lectures and in turn J. L. Austin’s lectures on Performative Speech Act. But using this linguistic perspective for writing a play or even a novel is an interesting opinion.
Friedrich Dürrenmatt was always one of my favourites - I even wrote a prize-winning essay on his work when I was 18 (dear God, a life-time ago). I disagree with him on one thing, though - I think we have to let our characters put their own obstacles in their way, and just chronicle how they overcome those obstacles. I've always firmly believed that all I do as a writer is watch my characters and write down what they do and say and think. That's why I never know an ending (nor a theme) until it arrives.