I was sitting in a writer’s group meeting and suddenly there was elevator music. It was so soft that I wasn’t quite sure if I was actually hearing it or if it was a product of my over-active imagination.
“Can you hear that?” I mouthed to my friend. Indeed she could and I felt relieved I wasn’t crazy in that particular sense. I cannot vouch for other random craziness, as many will attest to, including said friend.
So I did what any sane person would do and tried to slyly discover the source of the phantom instruments. I really wanted to pay attention to the speaker (and thank goodness for handouts!) but the music was nutting me up. Please make it stop! Why won’t anyone make it stop?!
*cue “Life” light bulb moment*
This is how I write my stories! I hear monologues and visualize scenes no one else has experienced yet. My character has black, curly hair that is disobedient to any styling products. Trying to get the unruly hair across the page to the reader (without breaking the editors’ “show me, don’t tell me” rule) is akin to serving fish at dinner; some people will like the description and others will crinkled their nose and choose something else.
Any artist hears their own music. My brother writes songs and performs with a band. His wife is an amazing textile artist. God has blessed some as wordsmiths and others as photographers. And in His infinite sense of design, some people love oil paintings while others prefer watercolors. Neither is wrong…it’s just different and that is good!
I’m shameless in my plugs, but I hope you all would check out their magnificent books and read the music we writers hear in our heads.