May 4, 2002

May 04, 2002 02:38 AM

I wrote twenty sets of words for music over two months time. Two nights ago, I shredded the pages and began again. It felt like murder. I’m not grieving.

Always the thing about writing words and music is I have to have an honest relationship between it and myself. I can’t fool myself and I have to believe in it.

If I write from passion, I wait for that passion to subside before again listening. Over time and editing, the piece evolves into something that references the original story but encompasses a view with another aspect.

The distractions are also hovering. It interests me how women with family responsibilites can have a creative life outside of that world. I am a loner and have spent most of my life alone. Yet, it is not that I am a reluctant loner or not, it has simply always been this way. I have a memory of a time of innocence – first grade in school (4 or 5 years old)- when I was actually the most popular girl in the class. This was a time before kids smirked at something “uncool” like being the teacher’s favorite student. The teacher in first grade took a special interest in me due to my ‘advanced aptitude.’ I could read and I knew big words like “island” which I also knew how to correctly pronounce. The other children would clamor amongst themselves as to who would get to hold my hand as we all marched two by two out to the playfield.

The attention I received as an “outsider” and as an “exceptional” child in school is exactly what enabled my utter love and complete ease upon the stage as a performer. I got used to being a spectacle. I got used to the attention. I got used to ridicule for being a non-conformist. Always alone, I got used to having no friends outside of the spotlight.