Music and Writing

Writing in a crowded place is tough. Words float to my table like soap bubbles, and like a schoolchild, I follow them. The way a conversation moves; the way a person phrases his ideas; these things transport me.

Being transported is fun, but if I'm trying to meet a word count or a deadline, it's bad. I need a way to drown out the voices. I turn to my headphones, but I sometimes find more soap bubbles: lyrics. They fill up my senses like a night in the forest; the stain on my notebook says nothing to me; and the words just c[o]me out wrong. In order to enjoy writing in a café (as in #4 of my five favorite places to write), I turn to a trusty set of instrumentals.

The playlist includes the album Miles of Styles by Shawn Lee's Ping Pong Orchestra and Shawn Lee, tracks from The John Scofield Band and Dave Brubeck, and this happy tune, 102% by The New Mastersounds:



Are you easily distracted by conversations in a café or lyrics in a song? How do you deaden the sounds around you so you can better focus?

This is the fourth entry regarding my five favorite places to write. If you'd like, you may check out the others: My house, empty; First thing in the morning; and Librarians rock.

Librarians rock

I've been working through my top 5 places to write, and we are now at number three, a conference room at my local library.

When I'm trying to work something out, when I've got a lot of parts and pieces that need to be welded, there's nothing like a flat surface. A clean flat surface. An uncrusted-with-sugared-cereal flat surface.

Beyond the giant tables, writing at the library is fantastic because librarians rock. They know how to research. For example, I worked on this essay about the Rivera Court at the Detroit Institute of Arts. I wanted to include some technical details about the space, but couldn't find them. I went to the desk looking for help, but what I received was a complete and gracious takeover. The librarian foraged as I wrote, dragging another librarian into the process, eventually emerging triumphant. They found the perfect bit of information from solid, credible sources.

Librarians are so much more than book-checker-outers. Test them. They seem to enjoy it.

First thing in the morning

My dream morning grants me sleep until I awake on my own. Opening my eyes and grabbing my laptop without leaving my bed, I sit and write, uninterrupted. 

There's something about that moment. Ideas stir, sharp and fresh. The details of the day have yet to burrow into my brain. I've made no foolish choices that I need to regret. I have no sleepiness I need to suppress. 

Rare, this type of morning. Near fantasy. Reality finds me going to bed late and getting up with my family. They need socks and breakfast and homework papers signed, so I step away from my interior life and into the kitchen. Coffee it is. Order it is. We are packing lunches; we are preparing for the day; we are on schedule.

Once I'm up and going, I find it hard to resettle into the easy place of ideas. I walk through the house and shut off the lights; shut off the TV. I return to my room, or maybe sit on the couch with my laptop and a blanket, and in the first of ironies, work myself back to a relaxed state. Sometimes I forget that this is my goal and I check email and social media sites. The distractions worm their way into my work, and now I'm fighting not only the caffeine and the household chores, but the desire to connect with people. This is the second irony: in order to connect with people as a writer, I have to limit my time connecting in easier ways.

Some days I press. Other days I waste. So the day begins.

This is my third post about my favorite places to write. The list came first, then a discussion of my house, empty.

My house, empty

I'm participating in WordCount Blogathon 2011 (you can see a list of all participants here). Yesterday those interested wrote in response to the theme, "What are your five favorite places to write?" I posted my list, but I'd like to take a little time over the next few days to discuss each place.

I type at this very moment in a full house. Sponge Bob and Patrick loudly help Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy. My little one plays a game that is too much for her. My bigger kids avoid their homework. All this promises that I will be interrupted; I will need to interrupt. I have a moment, but only a moment. I will need to care for my family.

I love to care for my family, but trying to write at the same time doesn't work. I don't write well interrupted or interrupting. I don't care for my family well when I'm uninterruptible.

When empty, my house encases quiet itself. It does not interrupt. It has things that need to be done, but its voice is easily suppressed by a cup of coffee, the 'do not disturb' button on my phone, and dim lighting.

I've discovered that I am capable of ignoring the phone, happiest when the TV is off, love to soak in the quiet and comfort of my own space. My house, empty: it fills me.