Connect the Dots

I'm listening to the new album by Broken Social Scene. Track 5: "All to All."

The very beginning is the best start up to any song. It's quiet and rheumatic; it's haunting. It's so very Broken.

Music is a dear companion of mine. My writing would be a useless artistic pursuit without it. Weeks ago, my cousin Omar and I had a frank discussion about "my method" and about creative writing in general. He asked what I did while writing and I immediately responded with "music."

"I listen to music. It carries me through the emotional plot line I want that given story to have."

I, as a writer, seek out these waves hoping to crash them onto my readers. I know that sounds like the most ridiculous metaphor but hey, I do write. And if you ever have had a serious conversation with me you would notice that the way I can convey some serious matters is through metaphors and similes. Why? I don't know. It just comes out that way. I have only recently discovered and acknowledge this a couple of weeks ago and writing it out for the first time here.

I speak metaphors.

I speak similes.

And in this literary line of thought, I find wisdom.

More times for others than myself, but alas, that is what this blog is for. Yes, I write about food every Friday (or at least I try) and yes most times I'm not just (hoping) to talk to myself, but in the end, this blog is more rewarding to me than any other person (that I know of). So I if I rock your world, let me know. I'll feel less self-involved.

However, I often tell people that being a writer is a rather selfish mode of creativity. No matter what people say, writing partners are trouble. It's hard enough getting into your own muse. Trying to deal with another one is fuckin' absurd.

My own current muse I have nicknamed "Hurt Atwood" because my short story is an inspired child between Margaret Atwood and "The Hurt Locker." But Hurt Atwood seems to be asleep somewhere in my sub-conscious and the biggest problem lies in the fact that I'm letting it.

It's that simple.

I'm allowing for Hurt Atwood to be lazy and tiresome. I need to be in charge of our schedule and say "WAKE UP," when it needs to be woken up, and I need to say "OK I'M DONE," when I'm done.

I'm hoping between me and my desk we can get Hurt Atwood in major, serious, working shape.

Every time I have relayed my initial brainstorm for the story to anyone the reaction is the same: "what?! that sounds sooo good."

And here I am: sitting on "soo good" because I'm at a stalemate with the story and I think too much about where it needs to go instead of letting it be and get there itself.

I'm going to get back to my music. I'm literally going to make a playlist. Normally I would shuffle through my collection but I find that it's disruptive to switch out of my Word window to my iTunes only to change the song till I'm satisfy with the melody.

Yes, the music is that influential.

So tomorrow (because I literally can't keep my eyes open pass 10:30 pm anymore) I will create "new playlist" and call it "Hurt Atwood" and I will make as long of a playlist as my own collection will allow and will musically weave this story's emotional plot line. I will make such dots and hope to connect.

Because when I finish my last sentence, or what have you, I care more about where you are, than where I am. I hope that my writing will always reflect that philosophy: you before I.

Because it's your journey with my words that makes my art important to me. And worthwhile.

So thanks to the few who read this. I'll remember you till the end.