Magic Happens

*Magic- noun; an extraordinary power or influence seeming from a supernatural source.

*Merriam Webster’s second definition of magic intrigues me, especially the, “from a supernatural source” part. Humans define supernatural sources differently. To find magic some people would look to a god or the goddess, some to amystical ether that is calling, and some might just suggest fate. I am not sure where I stand on it all. I do know that I have found joy in the magic I have been creating. Looking back at my relatively new music- making journey, specifically my lyric writing experiences, I am continually surprised by the mystery of what I have created.

More often than I care to admit, a lyrical phrase of a song that I’ve been working on will wake me at 2 a.m. Literally, W-A-K-E  M-E  U-P with a jolt and demand my attention. I toss and turn for a bit, hoping to head back to a peaceful slumber, but most often I haul myself out of bed in search of pen and paper. (I am not sure why I have not learned to have these items right next to my bed?!) As I start writing, the 2 a.m. lyrics begin to flow. Mystically, I finish a line, a verse and then a song which I might or might not have been working on. Sometimes within 20 minutes I have dictated and transformed the song in my head to paper. Only then am I able to go back to bed and sleep. It is the weirdest, most mysterious happening of my current creative endeavors. An almost fully formed set of song lyrics is waiting for me to hand to my musical partner in the morning. Sometimes, I feel like the shoemaker who gets a new pair of shoes made by elves in the middle of the night.

Some would suggest that this waking up in the middle of the night is my subliminal intuition working through my song lyrics and that there is no magic involved, that this process is just the silence of sleep and the subconscious at work. I get that. But, I would argue that the immediacy and flow of the lyric writing which occurs after I wake up are way more than just my subconscious working out a problem.

On one particular night I woke and wrote four complete verses about my father’s death and the existential questions I had about the last five years of his life. The power of that experience was that I was working on a song which had nothing to do with my father.  My music partner and I had completed a fully formed chorus, yet I was struggling with a story to tell in the verses. 

I had been moping the previous afternoon. Billy V. had pointed out that the song we were working on needed a story.

“Your wheelhouse is creating global phrases that work for choruses, but you need to push yourself to make your verses tell a story,” he said.

Dammit, I thought. I believed the song we were working on was complete. Now he was telling me to head back to the creative drawing board. Ugh. I knew he was right. Now the problem was what story to tell with my global chorus that worked:

Chorus:

We are hanging on the corner of here and now.

Arms wide open, heart takes a bow.

Shifting ground makes your story grow.

The truth is certain if you just let go.

Possible storylines appeared in my mind that afternoon as I struggled with the verses of this song:

• The surprise I felt along with the sadness of not seeing my grown children individually more than two-three times per year. Gathering altogether as a family, maybe, once a year.

• The nagging fear of my looming retirement from a 26-year career as a public-school teacher. How was I going to shape and fill my time?

• The relationships between mothers-in-laws and daughters-in-law. Why are these relationships such a challenge? Where do my adult sons fit into my life?

[Interesting that the possible storylines I came-up with to explore aren’t actually storylines, but big themes, Dammit again!]

As I pondered all these possibilities, my inner critic entered my over-worked psyche,

 Maybe all you can do is write global statements. Maybe you have no worthwhile stories to tell. Maybe what you think is a story worth telling is one no one- I mean NO ONE - would ever want to listen to!

Ahh, we artists are all about dichotomy, aren’t we?! The inner doubt which creeps into the creative process is stunning. If artists choose to listen to their inner critic, the world would be a baren wasteland of unfulfilled art. (This artist may lean toward the over dramatic, as well as insecurities.)

When my father’s story woke me in the middle of that very night. It was magic. A miracle of sorts. You see, I came to writing right after my father died to tell the story of my experience with his death and dying process. This experience was so dramatic for me that I felt others might benefit from it, if I could only ever write it. 

What I didn’t know five-ish years ago was that my writing would be connected to music. I still write personal essays, which have been published by a friend in a blog. But my creative focus these days is music. I have learned how to sing better, struggled through the creative process with a collaborator, bought and am learning to play a guitar, and am now writing lyrics to songs which are completed by my musical genius friend. All of this is the magic, magic which I am continually amazed at and am grateful for in my life. When I sing, I feel as though I am floating. It’s such a joyous experience. Now that only happens after lots of practice and trying to perfect the lyrics and hit the correct notes. But when that happens, it is as if I am transported to another level of being. Where all sense of time is lost.

The music I have been a part of creating these last two years is about to be released into the world.  Lifelines, an eclectic group of songs which tell stories of the magical life moments of my music partner and myself, is currently in the editing stage of sound production. Once the sound professional has worked his own magic, we will release the album on all musical streaming services. My name will be connected to an album which people, I don’t know, will be able to listen to. That is magic. The fact that ‘unknown’ people may or may not listen to our art is not the point. The magic happened because we were brave enough to put our musical baby out into the world.

I like to think that magic occurs when I am open to new experiences. If I say, “YES!” to experiences which I never dreamed would be presented to me, is that where the magic lives? For now, I am working to accept the hard work of learning a new thing, learning to trust the creative collaborative process, and trying to tell the stories that I experience with as much grace and gratitude as I can. We shall see where this magic leads.