Typing with my eyes wide shut

Soon I may have mentioned that I’m taking writing classes. I started taking classes at Writers Village again mainly to get writing again. Which I Am! Score! I’m pushing myself, writing new things and coming up with writings.

In one of my current classes, the goal was to write a flash story without looking at the screen. If you have a monitor, you turn it off. On a laptop, you change the font to white. I have a laptop. White on white did not work for me.

I tried, oh how I tried. But those darn red squiggles were driving me batty! What’s a girl to DO? The story was going nowhere.

So I tried an old standby: turned on my iTunes and started writing with my eyes closed.

And it was marvelous.

I’m not sure what it is, the symbiotic relationship between the arts. Music, writing, dance, painting and so many others. It’s as if we all have the ability to help spark that next person… no matter what our preferred form of art is.

Till next time

Shifting Sideways: Daydream Believer

Hello, my lovelies. This post took a surprising turn for me at the end. Let me know what you think.

As writers, we spend a lot of time in our own heads. Daydreaming, star gazing, muse courting in a thousand different ways. Some have rituals that have to be precisely followed in order to start writing. But even before we as writers, as artists, as creators, begin to start actively start our project…we are daydreaming our creations into existence.

But what happens when the daydreams stop? How do you get it back? Still writing letters, still sketching things out… until you aren’t. Until it’s you and blank paper and brain.

At first, I told myself I needed a rest. I’d been writing this and that, poems and micro essays, cranking them out, filling up the spiral notebook. And then I wasn’t.

A week. Then two.

Then I got bored with the talk radio I had started listening to. I’d been listening to it because it centered me, made it easier to get through the day at the real job. With all that was going on in my personal life, I needed it. My writing was all over the place, emotions rocking through me. I had to have something to get me through the day without loosing it.

But then I didn’t.

It wasn’t until I switched back to music, music that I love, that I realized the mistake I had made.

Often, while driving to work and rocking out, I get lost in a daydream. The music tickles a spot of creativity and I’ll go off on a tangent. Sometimes singing along, pretending it’s my song. Sometimes letting the story of the song move through me, morph, become a totally different story.

Bon Jovi is my favorite, but there are more coming up strong. Hoozier. Fun.  Ozzy Osbourne. P!ink. Sam Smith. If I start hitting the same daydream notes during a song, I’ll put it on repeat (all of the above are on my hated iphone) until I shake it loose.

And I’ve started shaking it loose again. Playing with the poetry in my last post, tuning it to say what I meant –even though the subject matter is heart breaking—filled my heart with joy. Joy, tenderness, grief, love and despair all rolled into three little poems and a blog post.

I don’t know where I’m going as a writer anymore. That daydream is loose. Even though I know what I want to do, I don’t know how to get there. I am off the map that I carefully drafted all those years ago while daydreaming my life as a writer. Since I didn’t get a bestseller and a mansion at the age of eighteen (without having written a novel), I was already off course.

So.

Hello,

My name is Wynelda Ann Deaver.

I am a poet who didn’t know it.

I like micro, macro, flash writing.

I am still finding out who I am as a writer, and trying to become.

I may be lost, but I can enjoy the journey all the same.

But I am always, always a believer in daydreams. You never know what stories they’ll whisper to you.

Have you taken a turn off your carefully planned route? Enjoying the new ride, or scared? Let me know how you’re doing!

©2015 Wynelda Ann Deaver, All Rights Reserved.

Meanderings: Music and Writing

Hello again,

Well, I haven’t been reading as much lately because I’m living in my brain, working out the important people in my new story and who goes where. I’ve done novels both as a seat of the pants thing, and as a strict outline and I gotta tell you… Neither work for me.

My outline is loose– I like to be able to take detours. But the outline itself helps to remind me where I’m trying to go. Getting from one place to another becomes easier when you know the surrounding neighborhoods because then you can find interesting paths.

I’m also listening to Bon Jovi’s new album, “Because We Can”. Specifically, track 5. I don’t know the name of that song, but it should be Amen (which if you’ve heard the disc you’ll agree with my titling of it). It just fits… because the story is becoming more about 2 broken people figuring out how to be whole than just the one.  So that’s what I’ve been up to recently.

If you want to check out a scene I wrote back in the day, go check out my friend Rie’s post at Mocha Memoirs Presses blog:   http://mochamemoirspress.blogspot.com/2013/04/putting-sizzle-in-steamy-scenes-part-one.html

Music has always been a big part of my writing. I used to make a play list of songs for a novel that I’m working on. The songs range in genre: rock, pop, classical, jazz— the story itself decides the tempo.

Rie’s post is about writing sex scenes as a writer, so hang on to your blushes! But it’s a good article. There’s actually a lot of great posts by MMP’s writer’s going there. I believe I mentioned that I write on the blog on the tenth of every month. But there are several of us who picked a day to post, so feel free to poke around.

Till next time, my lovelies!

Music at the Museum

Different segments of the arts often intertwine. Music, paintings, sculpting, words used in both poetry and prose… they all influence each other. Many times an author has a “Play List” included in their Author Notes, and our words are often bound with a work of art on the cover.

The Haggin Museum often has a music program held in the room with the thirteen naked ladies. (I don’t know the name of the painting, but suffice it to say that it is a hallmark in my life, is much prettier than “thirteen naked ladies” implies and I have postcards and the magnet of it.) The first time I went with my father, it was for a talk on the Stockton Opera by Jaffe, with musical selections on the piano as well as a soloist.

My father cried. Happy tears.

We went yesterday to hear the Divertimento String Quartet. The first selection that they played was everything I imagined: so light and airy that if you closed your eyes you could see the pretty girls dancing across polished wooden floors.

The second piece…not so much.

The piece was played well, but I have to say I’m glad that Velickovic gave a little talk about it  before hand, explaining the strife and anguish, the political climate of both the country and the composer at the time it was written.

Because that piece took my anger and amplified it right out of context.

Have I mentioned lately that I have anger issues?

We ended up leaving, right after the second piece was finished. It had nothing to do with the performance, but I had to pick my son up from his other grandparents and quite frankly my father could tell I was ready to pop a cork.

At the first movement washed over me, I thought of scenes such as to be found in swords and sorcery. As it escalated, so did my pissed-off-itude. I started thinking of the piece I kept starting to write, what I wanted it to be and what it keeps ending up being. And until yesterday, I have to tell ya, I had no intention of every really writing it.

It’s a rock opera using Bon Jovi songs. Originally intended as The Mommy Monologues,  I was going to talk about raising my little ray of sunshine.

The best intentions…

It keeps coming out as the Meth Monologues. As in my husband was a meth addict and I’m still pissed off not only at him but also at myself and want nothing more than to beat the crap out of something. I have always dealt with my anger through my writing. Always.

Still, I have tied my fingers into knots, trying *not* to write that story.

There are a million reasons why it’s not a viable project: I’ve never written a play, could never in a million years get the permissions needed to stage it, and even if I did it would be too hurtful to ever allow my son to see it.

It’s not a viable project.

But apparently, it’s what I need to write. I’m tired of keeping the crap  inside, battering at my fingers every time I sit down to write.

Maybe then I can start to forgive myself.

Happy Mother’s Day

The church hold’s a Mother’s Day Tea the Saturday before M-Day every year. This is the fourth year I’ve attended. The first, I attended with Jane, very pregnant. The second, Ray was growing, and Jane and I were there together again.

Last year was rough. I ended up a neurotic, crying mess. Jane didn’t come because she wasn’t feeling well. Of course, Dad was home with her. Brian was in the kitchen helping the other men cook for us, Ray was in the nursury with his Auntie Gacca, and I sat alone and miserable. Someone else even snatched Ray’s high-chair, so I couldn’t even have him eat with me…..

I was feeling pretty sorry for myself.  Like I said before, I ended up crying. Missing my mom, Elaine, with a fiercness that shocked me. I was an emotional wreck.

There was one, bright, shining moment that made all the emotional mayhem worth it, though. Carol sang the Etta Jame’s song, “At Last.” I ran back to the nursury, grabbed Ray and brought him out with me to watch her sing and sway and dance to the music.

His jaw dropped when he first heard her singing. He has always loved music– classical, country, rock, pop… What ever I’ve thrown at him. But he had never heard a person singing like that in real life before.

This year, I had lower expectations for the tea. I didn’t expect to really have fun, make any connections… Just maybe a little fellowship, a little break from the day to day. And at first, that’s exactly what I got.

I sat in-between two groups. At first, I felt… out of place. Like I didn’t belong. Even though I am a mommy, everyone else was paired up. Except for me. Then I caught M.E.’s sense of humor, and it is so like my own that I nearly wet myself a couple of times. And I talked with G, a lot. More than I ever have before. So much so, that I ended up feeling as if I had come to the tea with her and Y. Connection made.

I shared the story wof “At Last” with Carol a few weeks ago. This year, as some of the door prizes, she made CD’s of her music, and THE SONG was on it.  But even better, she sang it again. And once again, I went and grabbed Ray. His jaw dropped. He ran up and grabbed her hand and danced between us, her holding his left, me his right. He was entranced. Mesmerized.

At last, I’ve found my way.

Happy Mother’s Day Mommy, I hope it was a grand one.

Wyn

Wyn’s Top 5 / 5

Top 5 Hymns to Sing:

1. Joy to the World
2. Amazing Grace
3. Praise God from Whom all Blessings Flow
4. (Don’t know the name, but it’s basically the Gloria chorus for In Excelcius Deo?)
5. Ode to Joy

 

Top 5 Hymns / Religous songs to play:
(Note: Some of these I used to play a long time ago and no longer have the sheet music for)

1. Whispering Hope
2. Morning has Broken
3. This is my Father’s World
4. I come to the Garden
5. Joy to the World

Joy to the World is actually just one of my all time favorite songs. Period. The other four in my “play” list are because they were my mother’s favorites and I can still hear her sing along with them. Of the above, I can play the easy version of Whispering Hope and of Joy to the World.

What are your favorite church songs?

Sunday

Well, today was the day. Mark it on your calendars. The first time in waaaay longer than I care to admit that I played the Prelude and Offeratory at church. I also tried  to play a praise him for people to sing along to. Only 3 problems with that.

1. My music was different than what they were singing. Still, I made it through the first time, and then when they joined in (the second time I played).

2. The first time through when they were singing, I was able to keep where I was at because I had the words. The next 3 verses, not so much. So I didn’t play all the way through.

3. I suck. Not really, I just haven’t played regularly in over 20 years, and I have NEVER played for people to sing to before. Or, at least, people other than my mother.

I am also happy to say that even tho my brother was there, at church, LISTENING TO ME, he DID NOT jump up, point at me and say “You Suck!” In fact, everyone was so excited and nice about my playing. I kind of felt bad that I hadn’t tried before. Of course, playing for people singing had me more nervous than I’ve been in a very very long time (like since my wedding) and I wanted to rip poor Brian’s face off.

Ah, the joys of marriage.

Alls well that ends well, though, right? And tomorrow I’m off to church to practice a bit more on the beast as she’s going to be called. Cuz she’s kind of…. Quirky. The church organ- my Quirky Beast. I like it!

Luv to all,

Wyn

PS- Potluck was Yummy as always, and I am happy to announce that Ray made it through both Sunday School AND Nursury (church time) for the second week in a row. YAY! Although after I played for the last time, I went back and had a little peek. Walked off the nerves, more like it, cuz when he cries you can hear it all through the church.

Kisses!

Oopsies

I just realized today that… I’m going to be playing the organ in church on Sunday. And not only that, but my music teacher thinks I can actually play one of the easier hymns while people sing.

Never done that before. Ever!

Ok, so my mom used to sing along to my practice sessions when I was young and doing it as a chore. But anyone else? Nope, never happened. The church in Fremont, where I used to play, even had their organ way up on a balcony (which was for a choir we never had). So I could go up there and hide, and didn’t have to worry about whether anyone could see me. Or were trying to sing with me and I made a train wreck of the whole thing.

SIGH.

I had a nightmare that I played and my brother was there. After I was done he stood up and said, very loudly “That Sucked.” PLEASE NOTE: THAT WAS A NIGHTMARE. He’d never publicly humiliate me in that way about something that I was so insecure about. Private humilation is a different matter.

So I practiced today, and all I could think of was all the other people and I ended up messing up stuff that I can play in my sleep. SIGH.

Oh dear. I think I’m going to puke.

(I’ll let you know how Sunday goes. The good news is, it’s potluck Sunday, so my empty stomache will have lots of yummy stuff to much on).

Wyn

Make a Joyful Noise

So.

I kind of got myself into trouble. As a teenager, I used to play the organ. For church.  It was, for me, a chore. I did it for my mom, and she loved to hear me play all those hymns. I, however, was kind of skeeved that I wasn’t playing the stuff that I wanted to be playing.

So. I grew a little lazy in my playing. Learned enough reading the the left hand to recognize by sight the chords. Otherwise, I faked it– relied on fingering clues.

Well. And so. My church is a small one. And I am now going to be taking lessons again. I can still read the melody, but time still sometimes jumps up and slaps my hand. I get hand cramps, or more accurately, on my right hand, my pinkie sometimes locks.

As I’m practicing, the locking is getting better. There are some songs that I can play well, and others that I’m still working on and working on and working on. I’m sure my neighbors are getting sick of hearing me play the same song over and over. If I keep messing up, I’ll resort to playing the melody over and over again until I’ve got it almost right, then add in the chords.

Yeah. I still remember some chords. C, G, G7, F & D, to be exact. But I can’t read the music and it’s driving me batty. I’m just reading the letters up above the melody. SO. Today, when I was doing my hour practice, I sat down with “easy” sheet music and started to figure it out. Actually reading, figuring out what notes needed to be played. Individual notes, not chords. After that, I’ll work on adding some more chords. I really want to play Morning has Broken.

See, part of the problem is that I *can* play the easy stuff. But I don’t want to. I want to play the hard stuff. So, I worked on that for a little while until I just about had a fit over it the frustration level was so high.

Through it all, I’ve noticed something. My attitude has changed drastically. I can’t imagine anything that I’d want to play more, unless it’s Morning has Broken or Joy to the World (the real version, not easy peasy). It feels right, and satisfying to be playing these songs again.

As if I’m pleasing God.

Lots of things that I’m doing right now I’m doing because it feels right. This blog is one of them. God didn’t give me words to leave them sitting in a computer with no-one to see. And just because you have a talent doesn’t mean that you have to make money at it ( Don’t get me wrong, I’d LOVE to make money out of it)…. You have to use it for the greater glory.

So… I’m writing for the greater good. I’m playing music for the greater good.

And hopefully, God is smiling down and the joyful cacophony I’m creating.