Right now it is 9:00 AM and I am sitting at my desk in the same clothes I would wear to a business meeting. I have learned a lot about myself as a writer, and one of the things I’ve learned is that there are two levels for me of being ready to write.
Nothing can interrupt my thought process, and this includes the itch of a tag or a watch that cuts into my wrist just right. Therefore, before I write, I dress to the nines. It’s a new thing that I do (as of about three weeks), because I used to write in my PJs and dress for the day afterward. I realized that I felt better if I did it the other way around, because then I could shed off the day before and start writing without worrying about my itching scalp or bad breath or any number of things that will drive me to distraction. It really wasn’t a shame thing- I was getting up at 5:30 to write. It wasn’t like I was lying around idly. I write early in the morning because entries come from directed dreaming the night before. It just feels so much better to continue that directed dreaming haze into my shower and shave time, because it adds to the editing time before I sit down to write.
When that is accomplished, I sit in front of a blank page and spill out the tapes that have been running since the last time I hit the pencil icon (the one in WordPress that creates a new post for the unfamiliar). Sometimes, I put on the Argo playlist, one originally created so that we could share tracks across Spotify and has now become a catchall for everything I listen to when I’m in the car, writing, etc. It is seriously everything. Aqua, Tupac, Ed Sheeran, Indigo Girls, Cake, Fiona Apple, Eminem, Wilson Phillips………. it is music that reflects the nature of our relationship, which is that we’re different in every possible way and yet combined together, harmony rather than discord………. when we don’t skip any tracks.
I’m digressing because I don’t know how to describe the second level. It is the part to which no one is party, because it is unexplainable even to me. When I am lost in my music, I am often singing and typing and one energy feeds the other in a beautiful way. Right now, it’s “The Wood Song” by The Indigo Girls. In my mind, I am dancing around the house, because as Emily sings melody and I stretch my vocal chords down into “ballsetto,” my nickname for the range that Diane calls the one you have to “cigar and vodka down.”
I’m a soprano, but never with them, My mind is too fascinated with the mathematics of harmony to be bothered with the simplicity of “only singing the melody.” My sound fills my office and something clicks that I said yesterday that needs some clarification and all of the sudden, I am literally. LITERALLY. typing 100 words a minute trying to describe what I feel to you.
When I am not dancing and listening to music, I mentally take someone out for a beer and try to further the conversation. I particularly love doing this with dead people. It really cuts down on their ability to react in ways I don’t want them to. The music comes from my own head- trying to create peace out of nothing and have resplendent Rutter-like chords come from Charles Ives dischord.
With people that are alive, I still try to send as much peace as possible and hope that their world explodes with my agreement to do it.