If McCartney can go platinum with "whoa whoa whoa my love does it good," I don't have much excuse

[slipjig3]

I used to think that not having topics to write about was the universal problem with being a songwriter. I've since learned that this is true only if your friends don't actually know that you write songs. Once the word is out, the problem becomes having topics to write about that are actually yours. This, anyway, is how I quasi-volunteered myself (at scifantasy's suggestion) to set the epic tale of the Great Arisia Barfleet Massacre and the Running of the Horta, and then got dared—DARED, I say—by cluegirl to write about magical counter-scrubbing beer-coaster shiruken cookies. (I'd chip in context, but it would only confuse the matter.) And yes, I could theoretically just say no, but y'know how that little gnawing vole of a creative idea starts nibbling at your backbrain? Yeah, that's happening. Sigh.

On the plus side, I fixed the page and a half I got written on The Noise of Endless Wars, so my day hasn't been a total wash.

Comments

[slipjig.livejournal.com]

I truly envy your world view. I keep seeing the expanse of my life and not finding the things to wrap a song (or poem or story or novel) around. On the other hand, I've managed to maintain this blog for going on ten years, so maybe I'm selling myself short on that.

[chris-walsh.livejournal.com]

Now I'm wanting to listen to country. Here's to stories everywhere.