It's Growing On Me

I'm not sure where I was exactly, but somewhere between last Wednesday and today I had an idea for my next blog post. Now, if you've been following my last two to three entries you would know that I've been coming up empty when it comes to ideas. Which happens to all writers, and people in general. Even to the best of us! But this week is different. This time I have com prepared. So, let me begin!

Unfortunately this fact may be universal but have you ever heard a song played on the adio so much you actually started to like it? Even though the first time you heard it you instinctively shut the radio off? Or perhaps you just convinced yourself that you liked it, or sometimes even forced yourself to like it just so you wouldn't have to endure that odious sinking feeling whenever it first starts playing...over...and over again.

I've been there before, and yes, I've actually convinced myself to like a song just so I wouldn't have to switch stations every time I heard it. Sometimes I let myself believe that I'm just being closed minded about new songs. After all, if you know me you'll remember that I love country music, but mainly the stuff from the 90's. Today's country music has blended so seamlessly with modern, main stream pop and rock it's like there was never a dividing line to begin with! so maybe it's not such a surprise I'm subsequently so turned off - no pun intended - to today's country music. What's even more depressing is that whenever I do hear an older song played on the radio I'm momentarily taken aback. It shouldn't be that way. Today's radio stations, country or not, shouldn't be dominated by whatever was just released. If I still listen to the old stuff, why shouldn't it still be played?

Another aspect of this doesn't involve radio, but long forgotten songs on albums you bought in the store. Now obviously before iPods, CD's were the reigning source of music for people, and I was no exception I liked one song on an album I would buy said album and then listen t all the other songs. Sometimes I'd like all of them, sometimes none, sometimes just a few. IT was like playing a game of cards. You took a chance on not wasting your money by buying an album where you'd only like one song.

But if you did happen to like one or more songs on that album, then you gained that much more music to enjoy. Once the iPod arrived though artists could no longer sell the album as a whole, but rather rely on singles released months, sometimes a year in advance of the album it was supposed to be on. Therefore fans of said artist and song could go to iTnes and download, all while sampling other songs on the album. Now you have the power to pick and choose, instead of buying the entire package and taking that chance. I think this has inadvertently eliminated something that I've found myself doing the past year or so.

When I would buy albums by certain artists because I liked one or two songs, listening to the ones I didn't already know was like an adventure. If I liked all of them, or even some, then great! If I didn't, well, that's the cost I paid I guess. But what I'm trying to get at is this. After falling into the habit of literally bringing my iPod and listening to it everywhere my CD's lay forgotten in their case stashed in my closet. Sometimes while cleaning my room or tiring of the radio's incessantly airplay of shabby, cross-over country songs I would pull out said CD case and riffle through it, popping a few into my stereo.

Have you ever bought a CD, listened to it a handful of times, then forgotten about it completely? Then a few months, or even years, later you unearth it and pop it in? Perhaps when you first listened to it you didn't like most of the songs and wrote the album off as a waste of money. But now, listening to it you find...you like some of those songs! That's what I experienced with one of Jo Dee Messina's greatest hits albums. I bought it because there were about three or four songs on it that I really loved and because although iPods had invented for a while then, I didn't yet have one. I listened to it completely through and ended up mildly liking a few other songs that I didn't know. This is another thing, you may decide that, yeah okay, I might grow to like this song eventually but...I don't like it as much as the others. Then, presto! a few years later you dig it back out, pop and in and find...man! That song, or songs, I didn't really care for back then is amazing now! And you find yourself putting it on your iPod and listening to it.

With Jo Dee Messina's album I had popped it into my stereo to listen to while I was taking refuge from the radio's blatant disregard for the era in country music that I love, and found out that...songs I didn't really allow to grab me per say had now firmly taken hold and weren't letting go. Said songs are now on my iPod and I'm left to wonder, why didn't I like them sooner? Why did it take this long for them to grow on me? Or for me to realize that I like them after all? Perhaps it's the timing, or perhaps it's just not the right time for us to her that song and really appreciate it for what it is. Now, that may seem ludicrous to you because after all it's just a song right? Yeah, it is. But you can't look at such a scenario and not consider the time factor in it all.

Speaking of factors, after typing all of that I'm really starting to wonder why exactly I write so much about music. I mean, obviously I love it, although like I mentioned before, no way am I one of those people that unconditionally loves all types of music. Nope, I'm pretty closed minded when it comes to that! I stick with country and rock. In fact I could narrow that further and say I stick with country, and most recently ventured back into rock.

That could be another thing! My tentative journey back into rock music. Just as when I first listened to Jo Dee Messina's album I vaguely noted that I liked two or three songs, but never acted further upon it, when I would ride around with my Dad and brother and they would be listening to older rock music I noted that...okay, I like some of this stuff. But of course never acted upon it until late last year. Now that had more to do with the fear of what my parents and brother would say to me about it, then anything else! After all, my reasoning was that that was the type of music they listened to, not me. Obviously I have shed that notion ad now am glad for the refreshing change in music. Does my brother think it's odd? O course he does! but only because he's accustomed to me listening to country music.

Well, somewhere along the line I had intended to talk about other things that have a tendency to grow on us. Like perhaps, the notion of signing up for a Facebook account - like I did somewhere late in 2009, or starting to accept one of your annoying, snobbish cousins and actually making an effort to be kind to her. Or even attending a different school that at first you had gladly snagged every effort to resist said change and resented everything about it. Or it could be something simpler, like receiving a sweater or shirt for Christmas that at first glance you thought I'm never wearing this! but a few months later found that it matched a pair of your earrings perfectly and you received warm comments when you wore it.

Whatever has grown on you throughout your life, I would love to hear about it! I regret that I've just rambled on about music - again - but such is the case with my blog! At least, that's what I'm coming to believe. Perhaps I relate to music more than I know, or love it more than I know. Perhaps I should just ask a shrink or something and end this mystery! Either way I'm glad some songs have grown on me, and other things as well. Because most of the time, it's for the better.

Connected?

I apologize for not posting a blog post last week Wednesday. Truth be told, I forgot about it! Once I did remember my creative well was coming up dry, and there was no time to dig a new one. But I felt guilty about it, even if they're only a handful of people reading it. Which isn't to say that the people who do are insignificant. They are far from it! It's simply that I look forward to writing a blog post every Wednesday, even if it at times seems cumbersome or like last week...I am fresh out of ideas.

How does that happen anyway? Before I had no problem pulling an idea out of my bottomless hat but sometimes? I don't have any ideas just magically appear and I'm left on the stage in front of a snickering audience, with nothing to give them. As I've mentioned numerous times on the Internet this blog doesn't have any initial thought pattern. Whatever comes to me each Wednesday I write down. It could be about music, writing, life in general, old houses or any number of things! Now I realize that most of my posts run in the same vein. Like this one for instance runs in the vein of writing and the many benefits and frustrations it brings to my life. So I guess you could say that my blog is a commentary on the things that interest me most in life. I'm still contemplating why exactly I enjoy talking about music so much. I never struck myself as one to do so. I always thought that was for those columnists that work at record companies where they hash and praise the album's that come out, or rave about this song, or rant about that song. What I have some to realize is that I love music! Now I'm not just talking about all genres. As much as I'd like to be, I'm not that open minded. Perhaps it's just a fear of branching out of my musical comfort zone or just a lack of sense of adventure on my part. But in my defense I'm getting back into 70's, 80's and 90's rock! Which is a grand adventure so far I might add.

But back to the point of this blog post, if there is a point at all that is! You'll notice that the title is connected with a question mark. Why so you ask? It's because of this question I posed to myself yesterday, when I finally got back to a story I've been meaning to finish for way too long. The question is: when I unintentionally or intentionally neglect my stories, does my creativity for my blog posts suffer in turn? If you didn't understand that question, I'll rephrase it!

Often times I won't get to work on my stories as much as I'd like to. There's homework, chores, classes, school preparation things...and so on. So they sit there half finished, almost finished, barely begun or just a simple chapter or two of a thought or scene that sprouted in my mind and screamed to be written. These thoughts are referred by me as story thoughts. Because that's what they are. They're a story in progress but still a thought. These both feed my writing and kill it. For example, I'm on the last chapter of a novelette I finished last year and I had logged onto my computer a few days ago with the full intention of finally closing that cumbersome gap between the unfinished and finished parts when...a story thought invaded. It was a simple image of an outdated, sun-drenched kitchen in a c.1900's bungalow somewhere in the Great Plains.

Now, that may seem like way too obscure an image to build anything upon. But you have to understand how my brain works. If that's even possible! All I can say to help you understand is this: most of my stories are built off of a single image. Most often that image is fictional, such as the bungalow, but it'll be based off of a real house, or something else in the real world. The inspiration for the launching of the first installment in the first series I've written entitled Wide Open Spaces was a beautiful, gray and white bungalow near Lake Michigan where I live. With that single house in mind I managed to build an entire fictional world around it, and drop in five characters that the story follows. Just as with the previously mentioned bungalow I was able to squeeze out ten pages. Since I love houses so much I'm going to through a house analogy at you! Think of that first, initial image as the house's foundation. You don't know what the house is going to look like yet, but you have something concrete to build upon. When you get a few chapters in perhaps a few walls go up. Now you have a better idea. Once you get several chapters in and one or more characters developed soundly, those walls may become insulated and siding will go up. Pretty soon you stop to breathe and realize there's an entire house around you, and all it started with was a simple foundation. A mere outline upon the land.

Perhaps you've figured by now that most my stories are inspired by houses, especially historic ones! But I must also point out that my favorite style is not in fact the bungalow but Victorians, specifically Second Empire. I just realized now that perhaps there's more to my bungalow penchant that I give myself credit for!

Well, it's almost time for me to go to my Creative Writing class. This was definitely a good way to spend the forty-five minutes I have before it starts! In all honesty the title for this blog post didn't really tie in to anything I said, which is sometimes the case because I have a humorous way of sidetracking myself until I'm so far from the path I had intended to go on...it's not even worth trekking back! But I will say this, sometimes the path you find yourself on is better than the one you had intended. And sometimes it's best just to let your writing guide you rather than your mind or a logical thought pattern. Let one thing lead to another! Who cares if you're scribbling all over the page instead of in the lines! Someones bound to read and like it. It may only be one person but that's better than no one right? Besides, as long as you're pleased with it, that's all that matters.

Untitled Poem

I'll admit, I was so excited about seeing a dear friend of mine today that I completely forgot about posting this weeks blog post! And to everyone who expects it every week I sincerely apologize. It's just that I don't get to see this friend very often. I have a full schedule and she's working all the time so...needless to say there aren't many opportunities for us to get together. I'm sure you've all been there before. You have friends that live so close by, yet you haven't them in forever. It's frustrating isn't it? Life has a way of creating gaps when there's really no gap at all. If that makes any sense. If you've been reading my blog long enough and know my writing style and general thought process...then perhaps it should! Or perhaps you'd wish not to get inside my head at all but are content with skirting the picket fence around it. Either way is fine by me! There's an obvious irony when I write. Whether it be a weekly blog post, a paper for my college classes, a short story, a novel, a poem...or anything else...I tend to open myself up to the fullest while in real life...I'm as introverted as they get and don't particularly open up to people until I've known them a while. Maybe such a personality quirk isn't news to you, but maybe it is. I'm sure many other writers out there could vouch that their true personalities and a hidden part of themselves comes out when pen hits the paper - fingers hit the keyboard in my case! It's that side of yourself that's only accessible through writing. Like only being able to access the basement through a pair of exterior cellar doors. There's only one way you can tap the vein of that side of yourself. Perhaps you know that side well and are comfortable with the voice it portrays through words and images. Or maybe you're tentatively treading the waters, feeling your way around like walking into an unfamiliar room drenched in darkness as you search for a light switch.

No matter where you are in your writing life, I wanted to post a poem that started out as an"image" in my mind. Whenever I write I get a picture in my mind that's as clear as a photograph. It's then my compulsion as a writer to convey said image in immense detail so the reader can in turn picture that scene as clearly as I have. This particular poem came about after I'd recently heard my favorite Patsy Cline song, Walkin' After Midnight. for some reason as I was listening to the song I kept picturing the young woman singing to be lying stretched out on a cold, warped wooden floor. Perhaps it was melancholy that held her there, or grief, or confusion. Perhaps she wanted a fresh perspective on everything, on how she ended up this way. Whatever reason you come up with, or whatever you may think about my interpretation of the song...I took the idea and ran with it! The result is the untitled poem you see below. If anyone has a title suggestion I'd love to hear it! Like I've said many times before, I always look forward to comments.

Untitled Poem

Every time we argue I wind up
On the floor. Not just any floor
Will do you see, it simply has to
Be the warped floorboards of
The parlor, where we foolishly

Throngs of company
Would assemble with their
Amiable laughter and cups of tea.
There was laughter in the beginning.
It was ours wasn't it? Or am I dreaming?

I do not know why I lie on the
Cold wooden floor. These wide plank
Boards are rough and unforgiving
Much like the words you don't hear
Yourself speak, yet you love their sound.

perhaps my own words, left unspoken,
Pile against my heart until I bend
Beneath their weight, sinking to the floor
In a parallel stance to even out the pressure.
I feel the house breathe from where I lay.

One would assume when you lie
On the floor that you'd stare at the
Ceiling. sometimes I do, and can't help
But notice the spidery cracks and stains
In the old plaster we meant to repair.

I love to trace each window with my gaze,
Much like I outline your muscular frame
When you don't know I'm watching you.
Trying to carve out the man I married,
To chisel him out of the box you've locked him in.

A chill seeps into my bones as I lay here still.
As if I was sleeping upon gravestones.
I do not shiver, nor do I fetch a blanket.
The cold is numbing, as is the perspective
I gain on the world we've built and torn down.

Is it the view of a child, so small and innocent?
certainly he must look up at the world around
Him. He looks down on no one, and perhaps
Sees things the rest of us cannot.
Am I becoming a child as I lay here still?

You have never seen me like this, and
A part of me prays you never do.
For I have no explanation for you.
All times of the day, whenever angers
Arises, you will find me here, in this spot.

In the morning hours pale sunlight
Filters through window's wavy panes
To finger the brass chandeliers draped
Elegantly in cobwebs like fragile
Lace upon the bones of a skeleton.

Tall and narrow windows rise above me,
Their curtains reaching out bout never
Touching. I can see clumps of dust
Beneath the furniture, hiding like the
Ugliness we so easily hide from our neighbors.

These plaster walls cannot possibly
Refrain every argument we've had.
Whenever I walk into a room I can feel
Their combined weight fall against me,
Urging me to this spot, sending me down.

As weeks wore into years and age has taken
Its surreptitious toll, I realize that this house
Has age with me, for it too has endured the
Anger between us. If you should happen
Into the front parlor, after I'm gone

And stand to the left of the fireplace.
In front of the Victorian couch you
Bought on our anniversary you'll notice
A slight, oblong groove in the floorboards.
Someday you'll learn it was me, silently loving you.