Songwriting
There were certain offices at my college that the general student body thought had issues. The Register's Office was one of them. We swore they were stoned - 100% stoned. They told me that even though I was a second semester senior I was "not senior enough" to be taking Photography, even though they were letting in sophmores left and right .....hum......They also told me that as a Fine Arts major none of my fine arts required classes would count for my graduation. I needed one more fine arts class that was not required for my graphic design major so I could graduate. Mind you this was not true for any other major on campus. First they told me my only choice was Theatre then by senior year that one never counted in the first place now it was Interpreting Classical Music. Eh?! So tell me when I will ever be using that again! Within the mixture of random other required courses there was Creative Writing.
I was terrified of Creative Writing. My thought was I would have to read some classic novel in a week and write a book by the following week.... No ....way... I pushed it off until the very end of my college years until I had no other choice but to take it. When I did I loved it. Poetry over time became lyrics and short stories became chapters and novels.
When I first started toying with the idea of writing lyrics it was for any reason but the thought that I wanted to actually write lyrics. It was more I wanted to work on Kenny Chesney's concert tour and hang out with the craziest of musicians. I imediately shot myself down that I could write, really write, songs. I hadn't played an instrument since the 3rd grade (french horn- which is not verey helpful with songwriting)
I made up every excuse on why I couldn't write. At first the top two were I couldn't play an instrument and a I didn't have any connections therefore I quit. Immediately after that I started meeting all sorts of musicians. So I started writing.. I then hit the wall late with the excuse that I didn't know anything about melody. I QUIT! I though the journal against the wall of my bedroom flopped over and went to bed. Then I started dreaming songs being sung to me from, the likes of Kenny Chesney, Tim McGraw, SheDaisy, Pat Green and so on. I went on writing for years. FInally. I found the wall again. Sending up more of an anti prayer and dropping an F Bomb or two I told God I couldn't do it, "TAKE MUSIC OUT OF MY LIFE!!!!!" About three hours later the other cashier beep brought me back to reality after watching the paint dry for who knows how long. And I stood dumb-founded. I was pretty sure I was looking at Joe Walsh about seven feet from me. I dismissed it on account of reality- then I thought I saw Timothy Schimdt acosss the store as well. I picked the much more logical reasoning. Rather than two of the musicians (excuse me; immortal gods of the music world) - from my all time favorite band were standing in my book store, it had to be Arby's drugged me. Much more logical. At the end of the night I found a guitar pick on the floor that had a skull on it with a few words that read "Music = Life"
I am still writing.
I was terrified of Creative Writing. My thought was I would have to read some classic novel in a week and write a book by the following week.... No ....way... I pushed it off until the very end of my college years until I had no other choice but to take it. When I did I loved it. Poetry over time became lyrics and short stories became chapters and novels.
When I first started toying with the idea of writing lyrics it was for any reason but the thought that I wanted to actually write lyrics. It was more I wanted to work on Kenny Chesney's concert tour and hang out with the craziest of musicians. I imediately shot myself down that I could write, really write, songs. I hadn't played an instrument since the 3rd grade (french horn- which is not verey helpful with songwriting)
I made up every excuse on why I couldn't write. At first the top two were I couldn't play an instrument and a I didn't have any connections therefore I quit. Immediately after that I started meeting all sorts of musicians. So I started writing.. I then hit the wall late with the excuse that I didn't know anything about melody. I QUIT! I though the journal against the wall of my bedroom flopped over and went to bed. Then I started dreaming songs being sung to me from, the likes of Kenny Chesney, Tim McGraw, SheDaisy, Pat Green and so on. I went on writing for years. FInally. I found the wall again. Sending up more of an anti prayer and dropping an F Bomb or two I told God I couldn't do it, "TAKE MUSIC OUT OF MY LIFE!!!!!" About three hours later the other cashier beep brought me back to reality after watching the paint dry for who knows how long. And I stood dumb-founded. I was pretty sure I was looking at Joe Walsh about seven feet from me. I dismissed it on account of reality- then I thought I saw Timothy Schimdt acosss the store as well. I picked the much more logical reasoning. Rather than two of the musicians (excuse me; immortal gods of the music world) - from my all time favorite band were standing in my book store, it had to be Arby's drugged me. Much more logical. At the end of the night I found a guitar pick on the floor that had a skull on it with a few words that read "Music = Life"
I am still writing.