Writing Alongside Music

     Do you write alongside music? Do you write with music streaming from another room? How does it work for you––or doesn't it?
     Music carries me through the day––from early morning coffee (New Age) to winding down for sleep with violin and piano melodies. Dione, John, Lang, jazz, and a mix of classic '60's and '70's  help while I prepare dinner. When I need an energy boost, there's something contemporary to be found on Sirius Radio.
     I take my iPhone out to the Cathedral of my garden where it serves up background music for the myriad birds, rustling leaves, and buzzing bees (two hives). Nothing gyrating or pulsing, just favorites off my Playlist to encourage enjoyment of and reverence for the natural world.
     This year marks my fifth year of piano instruction. I've come to the ivory and ebony late in life. The learning, the listening, the act of two hands training to act in disciplined independence is immensely rewarding. I listen to Mozart, Beethoven, and contemporary pianists with a new ear. Music, especially piano music, uplifts me, and I wonder why the nuances, the subtleties of music listening had escaped me for so long.

Illustration by Izar Cohen

     Sitting at my computer a few weeks back, in what felt like the zillionth draft of a story, I became aware of gliding as a feather through the tedium of it. Gliding! Feather! Inconceivable!
     There was a difference from previous rewrite times, and the difference was I was proofing/editing with background music. Nothing emotional, loud, or grating. No. The music was soft and harmonious. An invitation to my creative muse.
     I leaned back in my chair. I was not performing a mindless task. Yet, I was productive in the task at hand. The music didn't distract me. Rather, it inspired my focus. Revelation, chance, or fact?
     I bring to your attention an article published in The Wall Street Journal (2/18/2013) titled "Music Ability Helps Reading." Check it out. I've also found other studies in the same vein prove the same outcome.
     Since the opportune discovery of writing alongside music, I've begun to do more of the same. I've decided discordant notes do NOT work, nor do arias or high-pitched lyrics––too heart pounding, too distracting. But when I chose to have backdrop music in my fiction and poetry writing, and reading––and by that I mean harmonious music, music in the tempo of my story and/or characters––it reveals itself to be a part-to-part relationship. And what I think is a good partnership.
     I'll end as I began: Do you write or read alongside music? Do you write or read with music streaming from another room? How does it work for you––or doesn't it? Do let me know, please.

Dictionary~Thesaurus

     Recently, I adjusted the stance of my hardbound reference books––Roget's Thesaurus, Rodale's The Synonym Finder, Webster's New Collegiate Dictionary, and The Chicago Manual of Style––which listed precariously close to the shelf's edge, despite a weighted bookend. Straightened in their place of honor, they are again easy to reach from my desk chair when I write.
     The dictionary and thesaurus are the most frequently retrieved of the above group, and they show the grasped use with chiseled edges, re-glued alpha tabs, and spines working loose. I thought about the role of these two volumes as I made order on that shelf. I wondered if one had become more important than the other, and if so for what reason? To find out, I made a list of what each book contributed to my writing endeavors. I share my findings with you.

DICTIONARY

• provides an alphabetical list of words with definitions, parts of speech, phonetic pronunciations, and etymologies;
• you start with a word and look for its meaning
• its purpose is to define and pronounce words
• precise words provide articulation to your written voice

THESAURUS*

• a book of words grouped by ideas
• you start with an idea and find the words to express it
• look up the idea word in the index, and find beneath it the closest synonym
• turn to the numbered section you choose from the index to find synonyms, suitable antonyms, phrases, and expressions
• provides parts of speech

* the plural of thesaurus is "thesauri" or "thesauruses;" its adjective is "thesaural"

     About the time I was pondering the merits of each of these two volumes, another of John McPhee's articles in his Writing Life series (Draft No. 4) appeared in the April 29, 2013, issue of The New Yorker. I provide a portion of it below, but please note underlines are mine.

You draw a box not only around any word that does not seem quite right but also around words that fulfill their assignment but seem to present an opportunity. While the word inside the box may be perfectly O.K., there likely to be an even better word for this situation, a word right smack on the button, and why don't you try to find such a word? If none occurs, don't linger; keep reading and drawing boxes, and later revisit them one by one. If there's a box around "sensitive," because it seems pretentious in the context, try "susceptible." Why "susceptible"? Because you looked up "sensitive" in the dictionary and it said "highly susceptible." With dictionaries, I spend a great deal more time looking up words I know than words I have never heard of––at least ninety-nine to one. The dictionary definitions of words you are trying to replace are far more likely to help you than a scattershot wad from a thesaurus. If you use the dictionary after the thesaurus, the thesaurus will not hurt you.

I summarize my list, and feel somewhat blessed by Mr. McPhee's remarks:

• I reach for the dictionary first to be sure the word I've chosen fulfills the definition of my intent. This is the book that presents (for me) the best choice of words.
• After that, the thesaurus comes to desktop for 1) finding a more nuanced word, and 2) to avoid the repetitive use of a particular word. But even then, I will go back to the dictionary to verify that the new word is suitable.
• I use the two books hand-in-hand to be sure I convey the right word for the right context and prevent confusion. 
• In the revision process, the thesaurus works overtime, allowing my writing to have more variety or wordplay, but only when I'm careful.

Do you prefer one word reference book over another? Is it easily at hand? 
I'm curious to know how other writers perceive their dictionaries and thesauri, and why?

Creativity Multiplied

     More than once I have observed that the work and process I invest into writing is no different than the investment I make in the study of classical piano. Both require mind and body to work together as partners. Both require discipline and dedication to increase skill and confidence. Both require principles of relaxation, visualization, and concentration. To enhance the flow of words to paper and the flow of notes to keys, requires my inner muse to stay by my side.

     Equally interesting is the time needed for incubating, distancing, illuminating, and verifying. For instance, the writing process:

• the mulling around or incubating of a character or tone. The subconscious simmers with possibilities if I leave it alone, and I'm rewarded with insights and solutions when I return.
• distancing and illuminating work hand-in-hand. When I put mental distance between myself and the project by taking a small break to let it incubate––I return refreshed because I've been, in a way, "working" while cooking, gardening, or driving. It's a paradox, I admit.





Donna's desk with the tools
for practice, writing, and study.

• verifying is testing what I've done in the other two processes.  Only then is the project ready for rewriting, for smoothing out the wrinkles, for polishing and perfecting until I'm satisfied with the final version.
• acquiring the language of writing, whether fiction or poetry.

Here are my writing tools:

• a writing surface (desk)
• pen, pencil, and paper 
• journal-type books
• reference books
• computer, a mechanical instrument made up of keys
• item for inspiration (a snake skin in a plastic baggy)

   The process for piano study is quite similar:    

• incubating, the mulling around, of time and key signatures, to think and feel musically. The subconscious simmers if I leave it alone. I'm rewarded with insights and solutions when I return.
• distancing and illuminating work hand-in-hand. When I put mental distance between myself and a piece by taking a small break, or practicing scales, or some other piano activity, I allow the music to incubate for just the right time––I come back to it refreshed. Even if I return a day later, I'll have resolved playing/fingering/notation issues because I've been, in a way, "working" while cooking, gardening, or driving. Again, it's a paradox, but one that works


     

Donna's Baldwin with the tools
for practice, writing and study.

• verifying or recognizing patterns is similar to what I've done in the other two processes. I concentrate, in practice and study, on melody, rhythmical harmony, and finger patterns. It makes for better sight reading and improves memorization and interpretation. Only then am I ready for polishing and perfecting the details.
• acquiring the language of music for the piano.

Here are my piano tools:

• a piano, a mechanical instrument made up of keys
• #2 pencils (no pens allowed)
• metronome
• lesson books
• sheet music
• book of blank music sheets 
• items for inspiration (angel quartet with string instruments)

     Relating these similarities, reinforces for me, that writing and piano study complement each other. My piano is my computer, and the tools vary only by what the discipline requires.

     Writers are artists, and art takes many forms. If another art form is in your life, have you been able to identify with the similar traits?