Wednesday morning at the breakfast table. Three days after the choir concert I still wake up with a mixture of melodies by Billings, Barber, Copland,Shaker tunes and Spirituals in my mind, playing a musical guessing game with myself, trying to match each fragment with the right piece. It’s raining, pouring - if it pours like that next Tuesday, I can’t go to the meeting on my bike. The leaves have come down from the treetops in the back yard, clusters still left around the stems. The “Coco Pebbles” cereal is disgusting, but I ran out of other options so I’ll eat it anyway.
Stream-of-consciousness-writing, musical notes strewn around at random. It is the way the spirit flows, sometimes a source for creative ideas. The spirit wanders around, looking for places to stop, for ideas that resonate, for sparks that light a fire strong enough to carry you through the long journey of a new creative project.
Writing like that throws a light on the process. Then, you set out on the journey of finding the right words, notes, colors, shaping and refining the idea, so it can be shared.
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