(Download the instrumental version of the song here.)
This was originally posted on lorenkleinman.com a source of much inspiration. This whole piece is the product of a conversation we had on Twitter. You should definitely follow her at @LorenKleinman
“In writing, you must kill your darlings.” –William Faulkner
What are Darlings?
When Faulkner says, “Darlings” he’s talking about the poetry that wanders into our novels. He’s talking about the colorful descriptions in our black and white detective stories. The hyperboles that get lost inside our stark realism. The esoteric language that finds its way into modern thrillers.
Music can be a writer’s best friend. A stopgap for the noise pollution around us. A check against the gridlock orchestra laying on their horns, against the food court percussion section scraping the food out of their instruments, against the mouth breathing choir in line at the DMV. Music provides a way to tune out all that chatter and turn up your internal monologue. It adds tone to discord, order to abstraction.
When I write spooky stories, I prefer songs that draw out the tension, rather than rush to the crescendo. I need my conductor to move with a slow and steady hand. To lure my mind into the cellar, to tug me down a long narrow corridor of nightmares.
I prefer atmospheric soundscapes to orchestral scores. I prefer rain and thunder to a bombastic brass sections. I prefer synthesizers to string sections, programmed beats to kettle drums. I prefer beats because they repeat. They keep my mindset consistent. They give my words a rhythm. Continue reading Soundtrack for Writing→
Writers are always told to read more. Read enough good stories and one might rub off on you. Don’t worry about taking notes. Don’t worry about deconstructing the text. Just read for pleasure and your subconscious will absorb everything in the background. The meaning will be found for you. Take your imagination for a walk and your subconscious will count the steps.
Let the story pass by. Read it on autopilot. Don’t worry about following the plot. The twists will present themselves in due time. You’ll recognize the land marks and feel brilliant once you arrive at your destination.
If writing is the act of sending telepathic messages, then reading is the act of receiving. You have to listen to the language before you can speak it. You have to discover someone else’s voice before you can find your own. You have to turn your internal monologue down and let another’s take over. Continue reading Don’t Just Read More, Watch More→
The room is dark. The air is thick with a musky scent. The aroma is intoxicating. Not like a fine wine is intoxicating, like chloroform is intoxicating. The fragrance is familiar, but it’s the purest version I’ve ever smelt. It starts sweet, rises to a head, and finishes spicy.
I’d swear I was lying in a fresh meadow, if it wasn’t for the chair rocking beneath me, or the door creaking open on its rusty hinge.
My eyes water through the lids. It’s a struggle to keep them squeezed shut. The odor fills me with each breath. My mind slips. I’m dizzy with pungent petals. The smell clogs my nostrils with sugar, fills my mouth with cinnamon, and pours pepper down my throat.
I’d swear I was buried in a bed of roses, if it wasn’t for the twist ties digging into my wrists, and the footfalls echoing around me.
This audio blog is about writing through the noise pollution. It’s about turning up the volume in your head to drown everything else out. It’s about keeping track of your ideas through an earthquake.
Once you’re finished listening you can read the second part here:
When friends on Twitter post photos of mountain-scapes and forest trails, I get scenery envy. I want to unroll a blanket and write beneath their sky. I want to be able to stand up and pace around with my ideas, to take my thoughts for a walk. Continue reading Writing Space (Audio Blog)→
I wanted to be a musician in a past life. The problem was that my lyrics were too personal, and I couldn’t be bothered with casting myself in a positive light. I subscribed to John Lennon’s philosophy of songwriting, “Gimme some truth.” My favorite song writers always gave me a jolt, like they pulled the words right out of my head. Their lyrics were honest and self-deprecating. They turned the thing that made me feel isolated into a universal experience. Their humiliation numbed my own. Continue reading Pigs Will Fly (on writing song lyrics)→
Writers are always on call, in case inspiration strikes. It doesn’t matter if it’s an inopportune time. We toss on our thinking caps and we get the job done. It might strike while we’re in the shower, while we’re behind the wheel, or while we’re operating heavy machinery.
Writers have to spring into action, to jot their ideas down before they can go wild. It’s for the public good that we do this. It’s for your protection.
It doesn’t matter if we’re in bed. It doesn’t matter if we’re at a dinner party. It doesn’t matter if we’re on the clock. When inspiration makes its presence known, we writers have to do something about it.
This is a story about when inspiration struck while I was at work, and how I struck back.
The music was inspired by Ennio Morricone’s theme for The Thing. A bass synth pulses through the piece like a heartbeat. The melody creeps by just underneath the rhythm. The story has a mock-horror tone. What better way to convey that than with an homage to the scores of John Carpenter movies?
As a writer on the internet, I want people to read my work, but I don’t want to lose their attention. That’s why I do audio recordings. My philosophy is this: if I can’t get people to read my stories, then I’ll read my stories to them.
If this is the age of multitasking, then why fight it? People should experience my words the way they want to. On a long road trip, as they chase the horizon. On a woodland trail full of leering shadows. On an elliptical machine, skiing in place.
Help you summarize your story by identifying the elements that audiences look for.
Help you remember each of those elements with a simple memory trick.
The audio component isn’t a podcast, where I discover my statement halfway through making it. It isn’t spoken word poetry either. It’s a guided visualization, set to a beat. It’s fun to listen to, but I invite you to participate. To shape images from your work in progress and place them somewhere in your childhood home.