I don’t write to be famous, I don’t write to be known, I write because I am and I want to be read. How sad to fill a room with paintings no one sees or play music no one hears. Writing is talking without sound, singing without score and dancing without movement and yet, it is all of them. It is a solitary art conjured from thought and expressed by the need to communicate.

HEAD SLAPS, SPEED BUMPS and LIGHTBULBS, one woman's WTF, oops and ah-ha moments of life.

They were published once, and as every writer knows, once is not enough.

Saturday, May 18, 2013

The music of words

While listening to AOL Slacker Radio, New Age is my station, on my computer this morning, the woofer was so cranked that my Sally Hansen #29 Honor, #33 Fly Away and #14 Dreamy Pink nail polish bottles danced across the shelf above the computer right onto the floor.  The sound was so beautiful and so ‘filling’ that my proverbial emotional cup ranneth over and I started to bawl. Melody does that to me. That another human being can create something so audibly spectacular crackles my allegretto.

Years ago when dreams were even bigger than they are now I used to write music; very Enya-like without the electronics. The equipment which is available today takes music to levels beyond even my grandioso imagination. When my tunes were performed it was a kick beyond imagining and when I think of what I could have done with one of those fancy musical computer systems now, you’d have to hook me up to a defibrillator. There is just something about sound which seems to reach directly to my soul. Having said that, it is with sadness I admit I have hearing loss, it runs in my family. Losing hearing isn’t like losing socks, more like losing one’s virginity, when it’s gone it’s gone.

Call me Scarlett, I’m not going to think about that now, I want to think about words which have moved me the same way music brought me to my knees, filled my cup and left me weeping. As I write this the first book which comes to mind, because parts of it moved my soul and changed how I actually view and interact with another species, is Garth Stein’s, THE ART OF RACING IN THE RAIN. If you have read it than you know what I am talking about or rather what Enzo is talking about. If you haven’t read it, DO, now. It’s a symphony, a hymn, a ballad sung by a sweet musician without a voice or any ability to play an instrument. It had me crying in my beer and I don’t drink beer.

                                        What book made you cry?

1 comment:

  1. THE STORY OF EDGAR SAWTELLE - I mean, the kind of crying they call jerk crying. HIccuping, snot running faster than tears crying. Because of the dogs. And yes the boy, but mostly about the dogs. Can't explain the pain I feel when it comes to them.