muscle memory

When I was in middle and high school, I played in the school band and in some ensembles. Sometimes, amidst the cacophony of a piece, I could hardly hear myself among the other French horns, the trumpets, trombones, timpani & all the other instruments in the room. It hardly seemed important that I entered at the right time or even if I played at all. At other times, during quiet pieces, it was much more noticeable if I missed my cue. I had to pay attention.

When I became a high school junior, I moved from third to first chair, not because I had improved that much but because the two people above me had graduated and I was "it." I remember Mr. Ebbers, the band director, telling me that he was depending on me. He also assured me that I was ready for the position. That I could do it. Of all the teachers, Mr. Ebbers was the one who I most did not want to disappoint. Not only was band the only class where I had individual instruction, it was also where I felt most at ease and most competent. Even important.

By the time I was a senior, I had earned my first chair. I had tried to be good about practicing in my free time, but of course, one can always do more. I did know that people depended on me, so I certainly worked at it. By the time I graduated, I thought I would major in music. Several years later, I settled on English as my major and, sadly, I was no longer the French horn player I had been.

You have to practice to keep good at anything. Certain muscles have to be used repeatedly so they stay limber and remember what to do. A few years ago I took up the mandolin, and though I'd not played my horn in ages, my brain saw the fingerings on the frets as valves on my horn. It was very strange the way the instruments began overlapping in my mind and it took awhile to learn to think in different keys and to think in strings. But I loved the sound of it as I played each string and tried to play songs from memory. I haven't played much lately, but just thinking about it makes me think it's time to get those callouses going again.

Playing a musical instrument, biking, knitting, writing. They all take practice and they all take thinking. But some of the best moments can come not when I'm trying to think something through, but when I just let something happen. Like when I realize the notes I've just played make up the phrase of an old Beatles tune, or when my mind drifts and suddenly I'm farther down the trail than I thought. Or when one word or idea brings on a wave of clarity I had not anticipated when I first touched my fingers to the keyboard or placed my pen on a blank sheet of paper. Sometimes, we have to not worry about thinking and just feel.

whatcha writin'?

What will you write? Another guidebook? Update the current one? Fiction? Freelancing? So many questions are coming from my friends about what I will be writing now that I have my new job. But first, before I begin a project, I must become a student.

When I was younger, I was a musician. I still am, though I rarely play the French horn these days. To be a musician takes practice. Hours of repetitive practice. Scales, challenging pieces. Exercises to expand your range. Keeping the embouchure in shape. Writing is a lot like music. It must be practiced regularly for one to develop and progress. When I took up the mandolin a few years ago, I started all over with scales, toughening the fingers, learning to hear what note would come next when playing by ear.

I've been a non-fiction writer for most of my writing days, dabbling in poetry now and then, but not really imagining that I could write fiction. Now I want to expand into fiction and I know it will take practice. In a lucky opportunity, the one evening I could attend the free public readings when UAA's summer MFA low-residency program was in progress just over a week ago, I found my answer for how to begin. The featured readers for the evening were poet Linda McCarriston and fiction writer & essayist Josip Novakovich. After McCarriston's often moving, sometimes political poetry, Novakovich began his readings.

His ability to inject humor into a piece about a man working in a forced-labor camp in the former Yugoslavia was captivating. His voice lent authenticity to the story, making it feel like the sequence of events really could have happened in the way he described. After the reading, I approached the table where books by all the presenters were offered for sale. I took the plunge and picked up Novakovich's Fiction Writer's Workshop. In it, I've found exercises for helping me tap into my creative side without the worry that I won't finish a piece, that I won't be able to figure out how to end it.

I've just begun working through the book with his lists of exercises, some which challenge me to write about topics that are not always comfortable. Subjects where I don't have all the information, but permission to just make it up as I go along. Freeing my mind to run with ideas that I never would have approached before.

I hope to work through a few exercises every day, just like one would practice an instrument every day. The thing I've noticed since starting on this new endeavor is that I've already begun looking at my world a little differently. Looking for clues and cues that can be taken and fabricated into a story. I guess I've always done that to some extent, but I'm watching and listening a little more intently now, becoming a student for all my waking hours.

It also may be time for me to start picking up the mandolin each day, maybe begin with a half hour at a time to toughen the fingers. Practice is practice.