So, a funny thing happens when you give yourself permission to say nothing, because you think you have nothing to say: you suddenly want to speak.
I love music, and spent the better part of my youth studying, practicing, and performing it. I also love literature, and wrote a novel about a filmmaker, Shadows and Ghosts, because I happen to love movies, too. I wrote three novels before that, but none of them were published, thankfully.
My last work-in-progress was a novella, in more versions than I can count; but I think they’re all cursed. Every time I go back to one of them, something bad happens. The last time I tried to revise was in January of 2020. Need I say more? All of its incarnations are now on half a dozen thumb drives, which is where they’re going to stay.
Which brings me back to music, and the memory of all those youthful hours I spent hunched over staff paper.
After years of stubborn silence, sounds are finally filling my head again. They may turn into something worthwhile, or they may go the way of those three mediocre novels I wrote a long time ago, or, perish the thought, that cursed novella. But, whatever they turn into, giving them a little air will be a good diversion, in addition to my continued scribbling about language and art and food and family. I can’t stop observing. There’s a lot to see, and, as it turns out, a lot to say….
Life is funny that way.
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