Monday, April 25, 2011

I Sure Wrote A Lot About Not Being Able To Write

Words are tricky little things, aren’t they? I find it ever so hard to find the right words to represent what my mind is trying to express. My mind works way too fast anyway. This is why, when speaking, there is a lot of tongue tripping, slurring, and multiple usage of ‘fucking’ before an ‘awesome’ or ‘amazing’, masking the fact that I don’t really know that many adjectives, or words really, thus adding the ‘f’ word and calling it “passionate emphasis”. Well, that and also I’m always a little drunk.

I have the most admiration and respect for writers. No wait, musicians first, then writers, then artists (as in painters and what not), and then me for the full list. Writers are neat, n’est-ce pas? In fact, I would say they really aren’t 2nd place on my list, but 1st place as well. The musicians I love and admire write their own songs. Band leaders, singer songwriters, people call them. I call them Gods, and sometimes on my nights of confusion and romantic fantasies, I call them Lovers. I have always been addicted to music. I like to think that I do have a pretty eclectic taste in music, and when it comes to what I love it has to have a great voice, great sound, and especially great lyrics. The Greatest Trifecta, if you will.

I play music. My instrument of choice is guitar (electric and acoustic, and sometimes both at once. I’m not a player I just... yes, actually, I am a player. Ha.) I don’t know if I am very good, but boy do I love it. Yes, boy, I really fucking do. I could spend hours just playing along with my favorite songs or just putting chords together in an attempt to make something of my own. I have tried to write my own music. After so many years of playing, how could I not? However, I am afraid I have a bit of A.D.D. when it comes to writing a song. I can never seem to stick to one long enough to finish it. I quickly move on to another riff that could very well be another song all together... or maybe it’s the intro to a tv show. Everything I make either feels bad or like it may sound like something else to me. Perhaps it is the case of ‘we are our own worst critics’, or perhaps I should just never quit my day job. My very unfulfilling, sometimes stressful, low paying, horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day job. Have I digressed enough?

I was hanging out with a new friend this weekend, who is a very talented singer songwriter, though modesty prevents her from admitting it. She had with her an acoustic guitar and two new songs. I felt very privileged to be hearing these brand new songs, and to possibly add something to them. After I heard them, I was in awe. “They are very good. I don’t have the talent to add anything good to them. I am not worthy,” are things that went through my head. But more than feeling like my guitar skills weren’t up to par, it became clear to me that I couldn’t write lyrics to a song. Her words are simple yet brilliant and mine are always very plain. Trust me. I wrote a verse to a song I wrote weeks ago and it was super lame. It would fight crime if its super lame powers weren’t, ya know, lame. I also realized that if I had been blessed with the gift of a singing voice, I would quickly hide behind covers of songs I love so as to say “I agree with what the singer songwriter is saying in this song, and it may or may not have happened to me too.” Perhaps there is a little fear of putting myself in a vulnerable place (because, let’s face it, most of the good songs are about some type of hurt), but it is mostly, I think, that my words would not be good enough. Needless to say, I crossed out ‘writing lyrics’ off the list of things I can do.

I love music so much, so so so very much, so much that I would marry it and not cheat on it even if I was drunk one night and angry because we had a fight. If I can’t make it, the list of music related careers/jobs/hobbies/etc. is a little shorter. I have a friend (Yes, mom I have a friend. You can break open the bottle of the bubbly and bake a cake) who is a writer/music journalist/awesomeist. She has the coolest job in the entire world (Next to rock star of course. Although she is pretty rock star in her time off, I am sure). She gets to meet and interview musicians/artists, listen to tracks/cds/EPs/LPs before the world gets to so she can tell us if they are good or no good. Always listen to her advice when it comes to music, is what I have learned, and also when it comes to books. Every time I hear one of her stories of the time she interviewed a favorite artist, I cannot help but imagine myself for a second doing what she does. I say for a second because, judging from the times I met Lizzie Powell and Ellie Goulding (Not on the same night. That would’ve killed me), I would not be very good at speaking to these people that I love and admire. My interviews would go thusly:

Me: “Hi! It is so awesome to meet you!

Them: “Hi. Nice to---“

Me (interrupting): “I am a huge fan!”

Them: “Oh. Thanks. I--.”

Me: (interrupting again): “I swear your last album was amazing!”

Them: “Thanks. Um. Do you have any questi---“

Me: “I love you!”

Oooooorr they would be more like:

Me: “Hi.”

Them: “Hi! How are you? Nice to meet you.”


Them: “Do you have any questions?”

Me: “um…uh…”


Them: “Are you crying?”

Me: *whimper*

Scary stuff, I know. I also imagine I would be terrible at reviewing music, based on what I say when people ask me about what an artist I love sounds like. My music reviews would go something like this:

Good Review: “This album is fucking awesome! If you don’t have it already go get it! *insert artist/band name here* is fucking amazing!!! Everything they do is fucking awesome and fucking amazing! I fucking LOVE them!!!”

Bad Review: “This is fucking crap! Might as well have been done by Fergie and called Hotel California. It makes me want to hit people.”

So, yeah. Let’s cross off music journalist from the list as well.

For the last year six months three days and some hours, I have been reading quite a lot. I’ve been reading books, magazines, newspapers, posters, cereal boxes, street signs, gang signs, instruction manuals, menus, public restroom walls, people’s vibes, but especially books. No, not Twilight or Harry Potter and such, nor any downers like the ones we read in high school. Um, really Mr. V?! You want us to read Winesburg, Ohio during the most emo time of our lives?! I might’ve missed the point of that one with all the comparing I was doing between myself and the grotesque people of the town. The main character in that book was a writer, was he not? Oh why not me!?! All this reading is making me want to write. I used to write when I was younger. It wasn’t very good, so naturally it has all been dumped long ago. I don’t even remember what I was writing about because I don’t think I have anything interesting to say, she said in her 20th blog. Ha. It was probably real awful fiction. With a lot of ‘fucking’ in them… err not the act, the word. Ya know, because I use that word a lot. Ugh. Wrap it up Y.C.!

In conclusion, I would like to say thank you to all the good writers out there (emphasis on ‘good’). Anyone who finds it easy to put words into songs, or into paper, pages of magazines and books, screenplays, scripts, etc. and such, is my personal hero. I heart you, and I shall heart you forever. I am in awe of you and quite frankly a little envious of your talent. Sleep with one eye open, because I will break into your house and attempt to steal it, realizing that it is impossible to steal talent, I would end up taking your iPad/laptop and cd collection.

In another conclusion, more things in life should be written by Sloane Crosley. Word.

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