“Play that funky music, white boy.” – Wild Cherry

Image found at: weheartit.com

I have to believe that every writer, spanning every genre, writes differently. Meaning, they have different internal guidelines and methods by which they write. I’ve read material that I vehemently loved, and I’ve read material that tasted sour to my mind. Regardless, I respect them all. And always will.

I treat writing much as I do music. I firmly believe there’s a place for all kinds within this big beautiful world. I’ve had friends urge me to listen to a song that they couldn’t get enough of, yet when I do, my ears can’t stand the sound of it. However, other than for the purpose of my internal and private preferences, I carry no gavel of judgement, when it comes to creative endeavors.

I have a very singular method by which I write. I write with rhythm. I don’t know why I do this, yet undoubtedly, I do. My sentences carry rhythmic beats. And much like when a drummer drops an out-of-place beat, if my sentences have a syllable that is out-of-place, I’m forced to recraft the sentence. I don’t recraft the message, I recraft the beats held within the sentence.

I imagine these beats are known only to me; felt by me; heard by me. Although I will say I’ve read many a review in which my writing was likened to music; that it moved along much like a song. So perhaps others, without realizing it, hear the music too.

In my novels, each chapter has its own tempo. Some times the measure is fast, hard and deliberate; other times it softens and slows. My children’s books are written with the same ear, yet with their own unique tempo. I wonder if this is why, for the moment, my first three novels center around music within their story lines – perhaps. I can say the next two novels that are on deck within my mind, take quite an abrupt departure from music. Maybe this has something to do with maturing as a writer; maybe its coincidence.

I heard something last night that stopped me cold; a writer was describing the first book he wrote. He said that he didn’t channel the book and yet while writing it he knew that there was more than just his thinking mind involved in the process. Something larger, with far more knowledge and talent was at work. Yet, he was present and very much a part of the process just the same. He merely followed the energy. My first novel came about in exactly the same way. And to an extent this is how I write even now. If I let go, the words flow. Often words I do not even know will emerge in their perfect place, in perfect rhythm upon the page. My logical mind says this just can’t be. Yet, something deep inside knows not only that it is, but that this is how it’s supposed to be.

I trust this energy. Whatever it is. The trick – is to follow it – not just when I write, but as I live Life.



2 thoughts on ““Play that funky music, white boy.” – Wild Cherry

  1. yeltnuh

    I feel that minor trill of recognition. I write with rhythm and I am trying to train myself to read that way, too. Sometimes, to be honest, I like the rhythms even more than the more overt ‘meaning.’ I guess all those piano lessons paid off?


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