Wonders & Woes of Writing: Music

            I was going through some papers with world details for my manuscript and I came across a song that I’d written for one of my characters, Katja, to sing.  This resulted in me getting out my guitar, which I hadn’t touched in probably two years, and after tuning the instrument, attempting to play it.  Long story short I should stick to writing stories.

            I am not musical.  I can sing if I know the melody, but I can’t sight read and am barely music literate.  This wouldn’t be significant if I didn’t come from a musical family.  My mom majored in vocal performance (she’s an opera singer) with an accompanying minor, and my dad grew up singing things like Handel’s Messiah, played both the trumpet and French horn, and also plays the piano, although not quite as proficiently as my mother.  Additionally, all of my many siblings play at least one instrument and sing beautifully.  (My family is like a small choir when we’re all together.  It’s quite fun.) 

Technically speaking I have played the most instruments, but I never played them with any level of skill, unlike my siblings.  When I was six my mother tried teaching me piano, which I basically the only reason I can read any music.  When I was around eight I talked my parents into buying me an acoustic guitar, which I still have.  (I may not play well or often, but I do take good care of my guitar.)  Then in fifth-grade band, I played the French horn.  Terribly.  The next year our tiny school cut the music programs.  I’m not sure how much my horrid playing had to do with that decision; my parents traded in the French horn for a trumpet since they’d already paid enough for the blasted thing to do so.

 My best friend in middle school played the clarinet privately, and I persuaded my parents to get me a clarinet and lessons.  I did practice faithfully for at least a few months before losing interest.  I played a lot of music from Brigadoon, which I was somewhat obsessed with at the time.  During middle school, I also tried to convince my parents to get me a harp.  Wisely, they refused.

In high school, I didn’t play any instruments.  I did choir my freshman year but then quit because I couldn’t stand the teacher.  I ended up taking a bunch of art classes instead, which I did quite well in.  Eventually, when my brother started playing the clarinet, I bequeathed my instrument to him.  None of my siblings ever pursued playing the trumpet. 

So today when I got out my guitar and strummed a few songs I was reminded first, of how much I love music, in particular, my guitar, and second of how much I hate to practice!  I think my big hang up is that practice brings no tangible results (besides callouses).  With art or writing, I can see how much I have accomplished in a given amount of time.  Playing an instrument has so many factors that the forward progress fluctuates and is often hard to recognize.  You may play something perfectly in rehearsal only to botch it in the performance.  There are so many things that affect the results, and there’s no way to go back and correct it.  What’s done is done.  With writing or drawing not only can I go back and edit and improve, but also when I am finished the project stays finished.  I don’t have to constantly go back and make sure that I’m still capable of writing or drawing that particular piece.  I already did so and am thus able to turn my efforts to another endeavor.