Read Songwriting Without Boundaries Online
Authors: Pat Pattison
Songwriting Without Boundaries (7 page)
LINDA M:
Cupid clips a wing, thrusts a limping arrow through a grain of sand. Saltwater taffy laughed down my throat and tickled my tummy lining, a frantic fish flopping, a worm winding through my metallic veins …
Nelson focuses on a moment and takes you right there with a mix of sight, smell, and sound. Linda bounds away from the arrow into her tummy and organic sense. Either works. Both stimulate your senses productively.
Your turn.
DAY #6
“WHO” WRITING
It’s fair to say that object writing, as you’ve experienced it in this book so far, is “what” writing. Like “elevator,”
things
are your starting point, your diving board. There are other possibilities, too, especially
who, when,
and
where.
The fourteen-day challenge asks you to explore all four as the days roll on. Now, rather than working with objects, you’ll try “who” writing —looking at, or through, the eyes of specific characters.
“Who” writing is great for character development. In every song, you have to answer the questions: Who is talking? Who is she talking to? Sometimes the character is pretty much you, talking either to the audience or to a particular person. Sometimes it’s not. Either way, keep the character in focus. Practice creating characters with specific attitudes.
Use other perspectives. Your object writing can be from the perspective of an airline flight attendant, hurrying to serve drinks on a short flight. Or a volunteer at an animal rescue shelter. A car thief, as in Sting’s “Stolen Car” or his “Tomorrow We’ll See,” from the perspective of a male prostitute.
People watching is full of interesting possibilities. Ask yourself questions: “Does she play golf? When did she learn?” “What was his favorite game when he was little?” Of course, you’ll be drawing on your own experiences as you answer your questions. And always stay close to your senses. Specifics. Sense images.
I also recommend this kind of storytelling when hanging out with other writers. You might even make a special trip to the mall or the airport to exercise your powers of observation. (I call it the “airport game.”) As somebody passes you, ask your friend a question: “Who did he take to his junior prom?” “Does she get along with her younger sister?” Take turns asking questions.
You’ll be doing “who” writing for the next three days. Have fun.
Set a timer and respond to the following prompts for exactly the time allotted. Stop IMMEDIATELY when the timer goes off.
Sight Sound Taste Touch Smell Body Motion
5 minutes: Sailor
At sea, the wind flapping his clothes against his skin, making him feel alive. Breathing in the salty air like it was his lifeline, the antidote to city smog and the hustle of corporate life. Tasting this freedom with relish, as if it were a banquet for kings, a smile spreads across his stubble-ridden face as wide as the Arc de Triomphe. The sails stretch out towards the heavens, rattling against the mast and sounding as grand as a Beethoven concerto.
The mermaid tattoo spread over his whole back. The mermaid seemed to be smiling, although with age. Her tail, abnormally long, blue faded to light gray on her tail. The full lips once perfectly fire red faded to burnt orange. As he lay on the table the mermaid seemed almost asleep and I could smell the ocean drifting around his body. His skin, raped by too many sunburns to count.
I got to know both of these sailors: the executive out on the bay and the aging sea-worn sailor, body fading like the mermaid’s. By noting something specific, their character evolves quickly. Have you read Malcolm Gladwell’s
Blink
?
Write about your own sailor.
10 minutes: Waitress Clearing a Table
A wobbly fan circles above servings of unfinished breakfast. Rosanna spritzes the vinyl ketchup-and-mayonnaise-checkered table cover. The floor is sticky with syrupy sludge from the iced drink machine that twirls a cocktail of passion and punch. Rosanna piles up the plates; sodden crusts of cornbread, maple and egg yolk, lights a cigarette and lets her lipstick and soft bite hold it in place. She wraps a clean cotton apron around her waist in a bow, stretching pink latex gloves over her smooth hands and filling the sink with soaking suds. She pins a rose under her hairclip and rustles a straggly bunch of curls into a knot, turns the knob of the radio to a flush of flamenco and starts to slowly move her hips as she scrapes and scrubs. The morning fog is clearing out of the bay, the sun fumbling through. She pours a strong coffee, inhaling the fumes …
Wobble wobble, cups and plates, spoons and coffee dancing to the orchestrated sliding of swollen feet under blue-veined pylons swirling through the tobacco haze and idle chatter, bending to the slurping, dripping, mouth-dabbing hoi polloi littering the footpath between the drab facade of the bank and the retro-wear clothes shop, haunting the sticky, cracked pavement. She slips the greasy coin into the wishing-well apron pocket and moves seamlessly to the next table, eyes reflecting nothing of self-betrayal or the shallow conversation and miserly intentions of the patrons.
I love Rosanna: “She pins a rose under her hairclip and rustles a straggly bunch of curls into a knot, turns the knob of the radio to a flush of flamenco and starts to slowly move her hips as she scrapes and scrubs.” And John’s “She slips the greasy coin into the wishing-well apron pocket.” Both Deborah and John let the reader observe their waitresses—they
show
them in action. In getting to know them from the outside, it becomes possible to write from inside, too,
through
their eyes. You should take a shot at it.
90 seconds: Priest
White collar, leaning over, praying. Swishing around a container of incense. On the pulpit, thundering voice of god, hands and fists smashing the air, congregation in compartmentalized rows like a housing estate, the words of god flying out of his mouth like arrows. Never married, never known the pleasure of oneness except with god. Alone.
Wisdom lines framing blue eyes and pearly wavy hair tossed to the side. A soft black robe scented with incense as a bell chimes high. A dry, thin wafer turns to pasty mush to be washed down with tart red wine sipped from an old ornate cup. Air thick with devotion …
Hot spots: “A dry, thin wafer turns to pasty mush to be washed down with tart red wine …” “Congregation in compartmentalized rows like a housing estate.”
Now, your turn.
DAY #7
“WHO” WRITING
I hope your first day of “who” writing opened some new possibilities, maybe motivating you to do some extra writing on your own. Here we go again.
Set a timer and respond to the following characters for exactly the time allotted. Stop IMMEDIATELY when the timer goes off.
Sight Sound Taste Touch Smell Body Motion
5 minutes: Balloon Man