As I’m writing this, it’s a quiet Sunday morning. Out my kitchen window I can watch the wind twiddle the leaves of a tree in my neighbors yard. I find quiet to be difficult to sit with, to enjoy. There are so many opportunities for noise, for filling my time with busyness.
Today, after writing seven songs in seven days and launching a new forum to support the Fearless Songwriting community, I aim to enjoy, (or rather struggle) with the quiet, let myself be a bit bored—a little like a toddler struggling to avoid a nap.
I’ve read that doodling helps many people think better. Maybe it’s the kind of repetitive activity like washing dishes that lulls a persons judging brain to sleep.
In doodling, single line could become a flower stem, or part of a ladder, or maybe a bemused smile like the Mona Lisa’s. The stakes low for doodling and the possibilities are nearly endless. Even a person who thinks they are at art might allow themselves to make swirly spirals in the margins of their paper.
Which makes me wonder, couldn’t a person doodle with words in a similar way. Just start writing words like doodling loop the loops on a page. Both activities merely require a person to start moving their pen or pencil on the paper.
[I end most blog posts with a fun drawing. This week I’ll posting a little musical sketch from “The Fearless Songwriting Challenge,” I host. To find out more join the email list below!]
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Like the wounded wielding swords Like the sun rising up side down When the ocean tip toes in a rain drop The rain drops is going to drown
Like singing a song with the swans Like telling the charcoal to stop When the beggar is begged out business the penny is going to drop
Too Soon Last fall The while clouds are drifting downwards St Peter is calling for Paul
Like footprints falling in the snow Like a parasol caught in the rain When a parachutes swung by it’s ripcord The ground will embrace the plane
Too soon Last fall The white clouds are drifting downwards Unready for the call
Like dreams that don’t come to pass Like autumn wrapped up in a shawl When the basinet bows to the bough break The hammer is going to fall
Too soon Last fall The white clouds are drifting downward to catch me when they call
There’s a balance between shipping consistently, and aiming to create great work. One school says work your craft daily, and it will improve. That the process is the purpose.
Another school says the work in honing the skill, making the craft as good as a person can.
School one says the process of creation and completion hones the craft—do that as often as possible. The other says completion for its own sake, can lead to a shoddy product. There’s truth in both approaches.
Is it only one or the other or could there be a mix of the two? What’s the best path forward? These voices duke it out in my mind a lot.
[I end most blog posts with a fun drawing. This week I’ll posting a little musical sketch from “The Fearless Songwriting Challenge,” I host. To find out more join the email list below!]
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The Breeze in the window And the cat is there too It’s six in the morning There’s songwriting to do
And the birds are all calling As they flit tree to tree The sun just arising Just beginning to see
And it’s fleet as a fox is It’s swift as a bird The light on the house is Music unheard
The Breeze in the window And the cat was there too
When I started writing, creativity—writing in particular—was often described as a sprint. A dead run away from Resistance and the censor, gremlins galore. I was told, if I write fast enough, those voices couldn’t catch me. It’s advice that often works.
But, we aren’t built to sprint more than a hundred or two hundred yards at a time, and sprinting can be exhausting. A sprint isn’t a long term plan—maybe a series of sprints is?
What if instead I could see my resistance and fears for the ghosts and empty husks they are? Jumping mad illusions that can’t bite, only bark, just bay at the moon?
How would a person do that?
(The first step might be to merely ask the question).
[I end most blog posts with a fun drawing. This week I’ll posting a little musical sketch from “The Fearless Songwriting Challenge,” I host. To find out more join the email list below!]
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Punch Drunk The call from on high Abraham is climbing the mountain with his son at his side Hallelujah The knife gets knocked from his hand If faith and love are blind what makes a man man?
Is it strength Is it guts Is it Jacob who wrestles the angel to say what’s what?
Black Jack Dealer hit me one more Eros and Mars at the table baby what’s in store? Hallelujah Let’s play roulette The sword and the scales are level let’s place a bet
Is it faith Is it love Does deaf and dumb and blind describe us?
Rain and Fire Fire and rain You and me and four horsemen on the ride again Hallelujah String up you bow Takes shots at each other with loves arrows
Is it caring Or generous Could the warmth of a kind embrace embrace us?
As long as a person shows up and brings something to the table they’ll walk away fed.
It doesn’t matter what a person brings to the potluck, they get fed all the same.
It won’t always be exactly what I wanted, but if I show up with my efforts at the table of creativity, I won’t be left wanting.
[I end most blog posts with a fun drawing. This week I’ll posting a little musical sketch from “The Fearless Songwriting Challenge,” I host. To find out more join the email list below!]
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Have you ever watched in wonder the wildness just outside The broken shards of sidewalk The cracks that we can’t hide Cries called from Cairo to Castro Halos hidden under lids Bushels bulge with business Angels dancing on a pin
Have you ever slept all weekend Have you lived the life supine? Drank to Dionysius Found mission in the moonshine Read the braille of lovers Touched on every hill and dale But still found your candle covered An empty holy Grail
Have you heard love on the grapevine In the glow of reddened cheeks The fairest maid the stars aligned All is fair in war and peace Have you seen the boisterous shoreline That the watch the tide erode Sipped a bible from the bottle Forget the ocean for the words
