Pretty Songs and Unsung Authors

I lead a chapter of Virginia Writers Club, and I try to dispense positive words in a monthly newsletter. Here is a portion of a recent one:

First, some thoughts:

Music had been playing on the radio in my kitchen for an hour or two. When I turned the dial to off, I wondered how I could listen to the radio for an hour or two and never hear a pretty song. I mean, a really pretty song.

More than once, when watching the American Idol TV show, I asked the one sitting next to me, "Why can't somebody sing a pretty song?" The lyrics were often repetitive and meaningless.

I mentioned this musical disappointment to a friend, and as I lamented, the thought occurred to me that maybe all the pretty songs had already been written. Could that be possible? Are all the pretty songs already written? I shudder to think it is true, just as I shudder at the notion that all the good books are already written, but a newsletter writer I subscribe to suggested that revelation. He stated there is nothing new to say and everything has already been said.

If everything has already been said, I should stop mid-sentence and never write another word. But it is not true. To a writer, everything is new, and there is much more to say, because whatever we are about to say through our pens and pencils will be distinctly different from anyone else's words.

To further explain the newsletter guy and in full disclosure, he admitted that each writer is unique and comes from a different perspective, and he encouraged writers to keep writing. Hallelujah. We who write know that one idea can be expressed in a multitude of ways, or we would not have synonym books more than thirteen hundred pages long. We who write know we can arrange and rearrange words until the cows come home. That is why the process is so satisfying and so challenging at the same time.

A friend of mine who sends me books pushes me to read selections I would never come across on my own. He has a knack for finding unsung authors and obscure titles which hint to my background and family. His picks remind me of the reason writers write -- because there is more to be said. There is also more to be sung.

Sometimes I listen to a music program where the host plays recordings that are about as far from mainstream as I am from publishing a book. Despite the unfamiliar artists and titles, a song will start playing that stops me cold in my tracks. I will be chopping carrots for a salad, and I will put down my knife and come to a standstill, so I can listen undistracted until the last note drifts off. It doesn't happen often, but it does happen. One phrase in the lyrics might take me back to a time in my life, or one minor chord might tug on the tenderest string in my soul, and from that moment on, I am forever endeared to the artist and the song.

Musicians have a way of finding their audiences, and authors do, too. In both arenas, an audience can be many or a few, and in both cases, the outcome can be viewed as successful, because success depends on one's definition. One might define success as selling a million copies and the movie rights to a book. Someone else might define it as one pretty song.

In closing:

Last month I attended my grandnephew's wedding in North Carolina. Luke and his bride, Anna, exchanged vows by a flowery altar at the edge of a lake, following a downpour. Luke is about six foot four, and Anna is about five foot one, if she stretches on her tiptoes. When Luke wears his cowboy hat, he looks like he ought to be stepping onto the stage at the Grand Ole Opry with a guitar strapped on his back. Anna could be on the cover of Vogue, if she wanted to.

They graduated from college, found jobs, bought a house, and are now beginning the rest of their lives as a married couple. Their stories have not yet been written, except for a few chapters. And so it goes for the rest of us. Some chapters still remain. That is why we keep writing, reading, and listening to music. We know that our next idea could be the one that takes off, or that our next read could become our new favorite, or that the next song could speak of some cool banjo licks and a thunderstorm. 

Have all the pretty songs been written? I hope not. That would be like saying the sun will never rise again.