The Pen is Mightier Than the Drumstick, said I

Then I spent a week at the Ontario School of Piping, where my name tag distinctly said DRUMMER. Not mother, not writer, but DRUMMER. To be honest,  I started drumming with our pipe band  a few years ago to hang with my children. I ended up at this school  in large part to chaperone my teenaged piper (and carry her instrument, according to her), then signed up for classes to avert the temptation of gadding about Toronto spending money having fun while she worked her butt off realizing her dream. Worlds collided in a skirl of drones, snares and clinking bottles as musical callings clad in Highland traditions waged war on my introvert’s soul. And it was perfect. Here’s why:

In addition to awesome instruction that revealed the can-do’s for my drumming, I discovered this sparkler of a gem: week-long  immersion in Highland pipes and drums literally drowns out the rest of the world, giving my brain on one level a rest from routine while allowing other levels to explore and create new connections.  Among those connections are these little nuggets that work not only for drumming, but writing as well.

1. Ego. Check it at the door if you want to learn or accomplish anything. There is always someone better, and when you become the best, someone is working like crazy to take it away from you. Don’t worry about them, but about you: develop your talent to YOUR goals. That’s truly being the best.

2. Give yourself permission to suck. Because on some level you do. As does the little phenom sitting across from you, and the gold medal winner instructing you. We all have something we’re good at and something we need to do better. Criticism is like ye olde haggis – sounds frightening and looks God-awful, but nourishes in a way like no other.

3. We learn better with wine. Or Scotch. Or Diet Coke. Or an herbal tea. Whatever can be shared during Happy Hour, room chats, or pre-dinner mixers, enabling conversations that tell us we’re not the only ones feeling awkward or overwhelmed, that offer advice for how to navigate a complex tune, or give a safe space to perform and share. Writing and music practice are solitary pursuits, but they don’t have to be solos all the time.

4. Let it flow. The pen, like a drumstick, is an extension of our arm and our personality. If we’re tense or afraid, nothing moves. Relax. Open. Trust. Relax some more. Dropping the stick every now and then is good. It’s better than holding on too tightly.

5. Practice. Remember those grammar exercises from school?  Spelling tests? Hated then, but appreciated now. Same with drumming. Three minutes is an eternity when repeating rolls, taps, buzzes… but over time, the connections are made and the notes meld, the words blend … and music is made.

6. Build up to it. Going from zero to eight hours of writing a day is going to cause aches and strains, just like suddenly drumming for an afternoon non-stop when you’ve barely touched the sticks in months is going to make your muscles and brain feel like road kill in a matter of hours. Start with small measurable daily steps, and when those become comfortable, add more time, speed, or another challenge.

7. Good food. Recharging from a hard day of work, be it learning left-handed flams or fleshing out a new character, is much easier with a quick tasty filling meal to ease the tummy rumbles. Fresh premade meals or a trusted soul who can whip up some comfort food? They are as valuable as instructors in ensuring the success of any creation.

8. Be brave. My drumming instructor told me this in an effort to loosen my grip on the sticks. In reality, courage was needed to step into the room at all, with some  of the best musicians in their field in the world. I could have said I wasn’t good enough to be there. But because I went, I learned from them, and now I’m better. Same with writing. Stand in the presence of the greats; if they truly deserve your adoration, they’ll welcome the opportunity to share a teachable moment, or two, or 10 …

9. Record the experience. Have your camera or phone fully charged and the memory clear. Use audio and/or video to store lessons and performances. Take photos. Write a funny song or poem. Journal. Message others about what you’ve learned and experienced. Lessons continue long after the schooling ends.

10. Believe in yourself. Own your talent and choose what to do with it. If it’s to improve the quality of your work, then invest the time and sweat equity, wholeheartedly. Workshops and lessons to impart wisdom, a few minutes a day, every day to keep the momentum going. You’re worth it.

I will never be a champion musician, but I can be a drummer good enough to enjoy and share the experience.
I may never win a major award, but I can be a writer skilled enough to enjoy and share a good story.
That is what those five days of school taught me.
And, that I should drink more, since relaxation is good for the flow.

You bet I’m going back next year.

Thanks for reading.

Jennifer Hatt is author of the Finding Maria series.
www.FindingMaria.com

The healing power of a loving legacy

It feels like barbed wire across the heart to say goodbye to someone we love. What’s stronger than the pain? The memory of how this person made us feel.
Anyone connected to our Nova Scotia town or East Coast music needs no introduction to Fleur Mainville. But explain her to those who never had the privilege? That’s tough. Fiddler, singer, composer, recording artist, teacher, manager of our Farmer’s Market … her CV is pages long, without even touching on her role as wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, mentor, role model, community advocate, and divine spirit. She was all of these things and more, not just the sum of her parts but the energy that brought them all to bear. To meet her was to marvel at how she did so many things at once and still managed a kind word, a thoughtful gesture, or one more gig.
And now that her body has been taken by a rare and virulent cancer, we are left with the barbed wire, grinding into us the awareness of what will be no more – her voice that carried notes of crystal across a background of velvet scores, her ability to coax from four simple strings a tidal wave of delights – knee-slapping reels, fierce stories of battle, winsome laments, intricate sonatas. Her squeals of delight that preceded her all-consuming hugs, her fierce pride in community and passion for the stage, and her investment in the future by passing on her knowledge and her enthusiasm to anyone of any age open to the message.
As we wade, gasping, through the grief, we are reminded that what made Fleur such a brilliant part of our lives was not her body or her deeds: it was how she made us feel. She had a way of making each of us in her presence feel talented, beautiful, and optimistic, just as she was. We loved her; she loved us first. And now, as we mourn a life gone too soon, we are reminded that throughout our time with her it was much the same. Every gig, meeting, lunch date or evening with her ended with a hint of sadness that begged for one more hour, five more minutes, just a few more words. Now, with her spirit set free, we have all the time in the world with those feelings she evoked in us. We have the memories of our lessons with her, the conversations, the teasing grin, and the warmth she spread from the inside out.
As I write this my son is preparing for his fiddle lesson – not to take, but to give. His student is age 8, the same age he himself was when he first picked up the fiddle. For half his life Fleur stood over him, then beside him as he grew to her height and then some, imparting her wisdom on trills and rests, then strathspeys and concertos, and finally lesson plans and drills as she nudged him out of her safe harbour and toward his own stage. As he coaches his young student, I hear more than his voice. I hear Fleur’s legacy.
We could not stop the disease that took her in body, but there is no stopping the spirit that will outlast and continue to live us all. The pain will ease for us as it has vanished for her. As  the barbed wire tightens its grip, we can remember this and for me, for a moment, I smile with all my heart.

Say it with a song: Kiss Day Nine

Week One of Keep It Super Simple evolved into nourishing the physical: water, food, exercise, rest, sleep. With essentials covered, it seems my body is ready for more emotional input. Two days ago, I actually looked forward to writing. Two nights ago, I had a memorable dream for the first time in six weeks. Yesterday, I heard a noise that at first I didn’t recognize. I was humming. The surprise of doing it was sad enough, but that I had forgotten what it sounded or even felt like … how much we lose when slowly consumed from the inside out.

So today and every day, my gift to me is a song. I am creating a playlist song by song, day by day, of tunes that pop into my head. No thinking, no pondering, no alphabetical order or Top 40 or strategic alignment of classical next to jazz. Anything goes. Today? Songbird by Fleetwood Mac. Don’t ask me why, it’s a song that is always there when I least expect it. I heard it on Glee a couple of years ago, and i couldn’t stop thinking about it, to the point where I squeaked open my ITunes account and bought it. A month later, I stumbled across my Rumours CD in the basement, and there the song was, listed right there on the back. I had it in the hosue the whole time and didn’t even know. That is part of what has launched this process for me, being surrounded by beautiful things and being too out of touch and overwhelmed to acknowledge, let alone appreciate them. Today I am reconnecting, one song at a time.

Want to share in this beautiful tune? Check out the link here.

Thanks for listening. See you tomorrow.

Music Monday: Spine-tingling mystery of Unchained Melody

I was watching The Wonder Years with that adorable little Fred Savage (yep, my Senior years are on the horizon) when I first heard the song. There he was, slow dancing with the love of his life Winnie Cooper in their school gym. As sweet as they were to watch, it was the soaring notes and the simple yet gripping flow between major and minor chords that to this day conjure up the TV image from so long ago. I relived that moment in 1990, when that gorgeous creature Patrick Swayze paid a visit to his pottery-making love in the movie Ghost. I’ve never been able to look at a pottery wheel quite the same way again, and the haunting memory of that song remains.

Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore in Ghost (Paramount Pictures, 1990)

One of the joys of being a writer is being able to bring to life (or back to life) favorite memories and things to share with readers. Unchained Melody is one of those things. Our new book in the Finding Maria series, on the Scent of a Mandarin Moon, set for release later this year, includes a love scene between the two main characters where the strains of Unchained Melody are carried from a point unknown across a city street drenched in rain to wrap them both in a moment of impulsive, tempestuous connection. While I can’t share any more of ths story right now – but please stay tuned 🙂 – I can share a few new-to-me facts I discovered about the song:

What’s in a Name? Search or listen to the song lyrics and nowhere is the phrase Unchained Melody used. So, why this name for the song? As for many songs, this tune was birthed by a movie. Unchained, released in 1955, is the story of a convict torn between escaping prison to return to his family now or enduring the years of his sentence and sacrificing the years ahead with them to legally be with them in the end. Unchained Melody, written by Alex North with lyrics by Hy Zaret, is the lament of this prisoner for his wife. The movie soundtrack featured Todd Duncan on vocals, and since that time the song has been recorded in every genre from rockabilly to comedy, making it one of the most recorded songs of the 20th century. Pick an artist and he, she or they have probably recorded or performed it. Elvis? Check. Tom Jones? Of course. Queen? Yes, indeed. Even Cyndi Lauper, nicely grown out of her pop girl phase, has added a new dimension of haunting beauty to her new version. But the cover that carries my two characters away in a haze of passion is the one with which we are no doubt most familiar: the 1965 jukebox staple sung by Bobby Hatfield of the Righteous Brothers, which with his crystal-pitched vocals and Phil Spector’s soaring backgrounds can still shoot tingles down my spine, even after hearing it several hundred times over the last few decades. Try it and see:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iEshQf-tCJE&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Songs tell stories in their own right. But also fascinating are the stories behind them, and the stories they give rise to, including mine.

I’ll be sharing hints of the new book on our Facebook page, www.Facebook.com/FindingMaria, if you want to like and learn more. Meanwhile, thanks for joining in today and sharing in one of my favourite songs. Is it your favourite, too? What song makes your spine tingle?