I’m in a comtemplative mood today. While I did my NaHo cleaning today, I listened to Cat Stevens. What can I say? The T-Mobile commercials got to me. I had quite a crush on Cat in the 70’s. (And for those of you who’ve read Brevity visualize that era Cat Stevens as Renee’s Demetrios, and a good bit of Jalal too.) But back to contemplation.
When I listen to any music that I love (and I have quite a range of faves) it’s like a B-12 shot for my creative soul. I suppose that’s how we choose our favorites songs and artists, eh? So my Cat Stevens compilation DVD was set on repeat and my mind drifted along as I listened and worked. And then, suddenly I tuned back in. “Sitting” is a song I’ve heard countless times, including three times today before it got my attention, but something about it slapped me the fourth time. To be exact it was this part of the lyric:
Now I’m not making love to anyone’s wishes,
Only for that light I see
‘Cause when I’m dead and lowered low in my grave,
That’s gonna be the only thing that’s left of me
I don’t know what Cat meant when he wrote those words. I only know what I felt when I heard them. Sometimes I forget why I write. Sometimes I get so focused on publication that I feel desperate. Sometimes I lose sight of the true goal. The written word is a means of communication. Plain and simple.
I don’t mean that all written word should be life-changing, of course. My novel The Brevity of Roses, is just a story I want to share. The story won’t solve any of the world’s problems. It most likely won’t solve any of your personal problems. But it might take you away to a lovely place for a while.
And that’s the light I see. That’s why I write.
I can state -- almost unequivocally -- that the title of this blog does not refer to my mental state. It refers to my writing, which does, of course, flow out of my mind. Sometimes the process of writing is messy, sometimes weird, sometimes beautiful -- and always harder than I wish, but I love it. As I wander back into the real world from time to time, I hope to entertain you with my musings.
It’s so true. Sometimes we need to step back and see why we started writing in the first place. It’s so easy to get caught up in the grind of it all.
I’m glad cleaning is giving you perspective.
I’m expecting some really deep thoughts from all this because I’ve decided a clean house will not be enough.
I hate housework!
And that’s the best reason to write of all, isn’t it? To give someone a light, a tiny bit of joy, or emotion of some kind, in their life for a moment.
To share what Stephen King calls mental telepathy with the reader for just a little while.
To bring a little story, a little entertainment, and pass the time with whomever chooses to spend it alongside us. Is that what we, as writers, do?
Contemplative, indeed. But very worthwhile. Thanks for helping me remember.
I love that part in King’s On Writing. Yes, making that long-distance “personal” connection is what it’s about.
A to the men.
I grew up listening to my parent Cat Steven’s records. And know I have to admit I have a few of his songs on my ipod that I enjoy listening to. You’re right about the writing as a means of communication. Some of the first things I remember truly crafting were letters to people I loved. In many ways those were just as satisfying to write as my novels.
I also think we write to communicate with ourselves. To work something out. Or just to amuse ourselves. And if I ever lost that sense, I’d quit writing.
Writers live so much in their heads, it’s a good reminder to see how focusing on your hands, doing something physical, brings on that contemplative mood. You’ve inspired me to pull a weed or two.
It makes sense that the occasional retreat inside is a neccessary thing for writers. To nourish, replenish, the soul from which our writing springs.
I came in twice Linda, TWICE and couldn’t find the right words to say how lovely I thought this was.
So lovely will just have to do for now.
:0)
Thank you, Karen. I will take all the lovely I can get.
OMG, when I clicked on that YouTube video and heard those first notes, I went back so fast to 1972, I think I have whiplash.
And speaking of sitting, I just sat here stopping all brain and hand function to concentrate on where that music took me.
Now I’m listening to the rest of the album as I type this (at this second The Boy With the Moon and the Star on his Head). I LOVE music. LOVE it. Thank you for this trip back in time.
I’m glad you enjoyed the trip, Cynthia.
On top of Jackson, you’re having a good musical week!
You know, I’ve been wondering lately how I got away from music so much. There was a time that music played in my home during most of my waking hours. Somewhere along the line, I got accustomed to the sound of silence, but music energizes me so that I think I must re-develop the habit.