thoughts

alchemy

I love writing songs.

I love taking an idea and toying with it, looking at it from a million angles, then exploding it onto paper, combing through the debris for hidden treasures.

I love messing around on an instrument, just moving from one sound to the next like a flint striking until something suddenly sparks and smolders.

I love hammering words into a smooth line, bending and easing and forcing them into a useful shape, grafting in new ones and chipping out old ones and buffing over the seams.

And I love most of all the assembly process of piecing it together, puzzling over the square-peg words and the round-hole notes, turning them every which way until suddenly - click! - it’s a single thing, a song, an entity to itself. A thing that never existed before this moment and yet somehow seems as if it has always been there.

Alchemy.

I love it.

thank you, Evan Hansen

I write all the time.

You’d never know it by this blog, of course. It’s a virtual wasteland. I didn’t figure that it mattered much, since no one was really reading it, because I hate marketing myself therefore I wasn’t trying to promote the blog. So probably no one knows it’s here.

Enter Evan Hansen.

Dear Evan Hansen is my middle-schoolers’ latest obsession (they have great taste). So we are listening to it pretty much every day in the car.

“If you’re falling in the forest, and there’s nobody around, do you ever really crash or even make a sound?”

(this gnarled mess is a pretty accurate map of my emotions these days)

(this gnarled mess is a pretty accurate map of my emotions these days)

Try keeping that one from sticking in your head. Especially when Evan sings it a bunch of times in a row.

I open my bulging journal. “If you’re falling in a forest….”

I open my bulging Evernote app. “...and there’s nobody around…”

I knock over a pile of notebooks and scraps of paper in my office, all filled with half-finished songs. “...do you ever really crash…”

I rearranged my office and nightstand to make room for TWENTY-SEVEN filled journals. “...or even make a sound.”

If you’re writing in a vacuum, and there’s nobody to read, do you even really write or ever say a thing?

Point taken, Evan Hansen. So here you go. Dusting off this blog here. Going to hit ‘publish’ more often.