All Lost (on the way to) the Supermarket:

“I’m all lost in the supermarket,

I can no longer shop happily,

I came in for a special offer,

A guaranteed personality…” ~ Joe Strummer and Mick Jones (of The Clash, from Lost in the Supermarket)

I’ve often written about how large a role music plays in my artistic journey. For me, the best part about doing things that are often considered chores, like mowing the lawn or driving twenty minutes each way to the supermarket, is having the opportunity to listen to music as I do them. I might more aptly describe this as getting lost in music while doing something that can be done by rote. It’s always been a big part of my creative process.

So this week both my trip to the grocery store and the time spent mowing the lawn proved to be no exceptions. In both cases I cranked the iPod and got to it, body doing one thing, brain doing a dozen others. Music allows my mind to work in a unique way. The best way I can describe it is to say that music seems to distract me enough to actually allow ideas to flow freely. Sometimes they flow directly from the music or lyrics, other times not so much (as in: seemingly from nowhere). They just flow. But music seems to be the stimulus. I hope that makes enough sense to continue reading. If not, thanks for trying. Please come back for the next post.

Doin’ the Epiphany Shuffle:

 “I was born in the middle,

Maybe too late, everything good had been made, 

So I just get loaded, And never leave my house,

It’s takin’ way too long to figure this out.” ~Tim Showalter (of Strand of Oaks, from Shut In)

Of late, the main thing I’ve been pondering while under my musical spell is the state of my current rewrite. I work through plot issues and character conflicts, of course. But I’m also often wondering if I’m even making it better. Of course my intent is to improve it, but over the years I’ve received enough conflicting feedback on rewrites to keep me guessing. It’s probably a good thing; the intention of my muse to keep me on my toes. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck to always be second-guessing myself. I’ve found it can’t be helped, though.

While mowing, with my iPod on shuffle, the Strand of Oaks lyrics above caught my ear: “Everything good had been made.” In that moment it seemed sort of futile. There are so many great books! Classics! In the moment it felt like all the great stories had already been told. What’s the point?

As I stewed on that notion, along came Just a Song Before I Go, by Crosby, Stills & Nash. Most people would consider them and this song a timeless classic. And I thought, ‘Well, this is a simple story, a simple melody. Not one of their best.’ But then I knew what made it special: the power of their voices! Such talent! People listened to their later, more subdued songs because they knew and trusted their talent. As I worked that concept through, up pops The Smiths’ How Soon Is Now? “I am the son, and the heir, of nothing in particular.” How strikingly different! And less than ten years apart. Although The Smiths rank high on my list of all-time favorites, it seems I’m in the minority in considering them classic. Less than a decade after the likes of The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, The Beach Boys and The Stones hit their high marks, bands like The Clash and The Police, then The Cure and The Smiths, were changing rock. And yet, were they? Wasn’t it just a unique spin on an existing genre? Who would say that one set of groups supplanted the other?

The clincher of my epiphany came when I heard Wild Horses by… The Sundays? Yep, a venerable Rolling Stones classic, gorgeously rendered by Harriet Wheeler and her jangly post-punk band-mates, twenty-one years after the original. It’s a song I love. Both versions. What a shame it would’ve been if The Sundays had considered it to have been “already done,” not worth their effort. In my book, both versions are timeless classics.

The Song Remains the Same:

“There are no new ideas. There are only new ways of making them felt.” ~Audre Lorde

I admit it. I’ve spent a lot of needless worry. Historical fantasy? Set in an alternative version of ancient Europe? A young man who is the subject of a so-called prophesy? Is he the heir to kingship? Oh Lord! It’s SO been done, right?

What about voice? Do I even have one? Is it unique? Are the elements of my novels novel? Are readers not by now tiring of archaic dialog, my good sirs and ladies? I durst not contemplate. (No, I don’t use durst. ‘Tis in bad taste, is it not?)

Will it ever sell? Can it be made better still? Without compromising my original vision? Will it ever be worthy of a traditional deal? Am I kidding myself? Should I just self-pub and move on? Will I know when enough is enough?

“Know my name, know I mean it,
It’s not as bad as it seems,
And we try in our own way to get better,
Even if we’re alone…” ~Tim Showalter (also from Shut In)

Know this, and know I mean it: None of it matters! I’ve been working on this too long to look back or to have regrets. No matter how many times I revise, the story remains the same. It’s an elaborate attempt to convey the yearnings of my heart. If I’d written it any other way, I wouldn’t have been passionate about it. If I hadn’t been passionate, I wouldn’t have found my voice (yes, I do believe I have one). The conflicts and passions of my characters may not be new. They are merely human. But the way I have felt them in the writing of my stories is uniquely mine. Perhaps that uniqueness can one day be conveyed to readers.

A Choice and a Non-Choice:

“Rejoice, Rejoice! We have no choice, but to carry on…” ~Stephen Stills (from Carry On)

Will I know when enough is enough? Yes, I think I will. And I’m not there yet. I recognize the choice, and I’m trusting my heart on this. I’m not willing to bet my record collection that my work will ever be considered classic. But I think, if I strive on, I have a shot at being on someone’s list of favorites. In a world chockablock full of books and songs, that chance alone is worth the effort. Each of us has a unique voice. It’d be a shame if we didn’t consider it worthy of striving to make it heard. All we can do is carry on, regardless of how we choose to share our work. On this we have no choice.

In the meanwhile, writerly angst and doubt aside, it’s not as bad as it seems. And I try, in my own way, to get better. You do too, I know (or you wouldn’t have followed this crazy thread this far). And even though we work alone, we’re not alone. We have each other. And our music. On shuffle.

How about you? Do you have your own list of classics? Do you think there are any new stories left? Is your voice worthy of being heard?