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Parallels in Music & Writing

Last week, I sat on a committee assigned to interview someone for a choir director position. There are two things you should know about me and choir:
1) I don’t sing. Unless I’m alone or trying to get my kids’ attention;
2) “choir” – and “committee” – mean interacting with others in close quarters. I’m a writer. I hang out on the fringe. I observe, take notes, sweat at the thought of “small talk.”

Still, for unknown reasons, I was asked to join the group of interviewers, and, even more surprising, I said yes. Sometimes it’s good to get out of your comfort zone.

The person we interviewed was as passionate about choir and music as I am about writing, a testament that creatives aren’t that different, no matter the medium. He spoke of music in ways I understood. I sat there, smiling, nodding, almost imagining myself in the ranks, singing alto, belting a tune or two.

Almost.

I definitely took notes on how he viewed music.

Music as invitation.

Music keeps us engaged, he said. Once the notes fill our ears and graze our hearts, there is an irresistible pull to lose ourselves in song. Music begs us to participate.

Much like a good story that hints at questions and prods us to seek answers. A good story, with vivid images and inescapable narrative, stimulates our brain with “sights, sounds, tastes, and movement of real life,” as Lisa Cron says in her upcoming book, Wired for Story:

That’s what accounts for the…visceral reactions we feel when we can’t stop reading, even though it’s past midnight and we have to be up at dawn.

When was the last time you stayed up late to finish a book? Or to listen to one more song on your favorite album? And, what was it about that story or song that held you?

Music as relationship.

Music is the glue that connects us, a medium that brings us in communion with each other with notes and harmonies that surround us and instill one message or another.

RE:Union - A story of cancer in the familyWriting, too, brings us together through experiences shared in a memoir or in the empathy and emotion evoked in poetry or fiction. A small detail or a passage strikes a chord with us; we immerse ourselves in the story, because we relate.

Music as spiritual experience.

The melody in a song has, at times, taken hold of my heart and squeezed it a little bit, just enough, then released it so I may catch my breath again. Other times, it the words intermingled that strike me and stay with me.

Certain stories have done the same for me, shifted my perspective on the world. I’ve read a particular Stanley Kunitz poem over and over, because, each time, it soothes a pressing ache.

While the person we interviewed spoke of music and its effect within the walls of a church, so much of what he said translates into a broader spectrum of understanding, in music and in writing. In this interview on The Rumpus, Nikki Lane hints at what must have been a spiritual experience for her, with music, and she wasn’t anywhere near a steeple (I’m guessing):

I remember the day I first heard Neil Young; I remember what everything looked like, what tennis shoes I was wearing. It just blew my mind.

You know it’s good, the story or the song, when, years later, you still remember the shoes your wore.

* Photo credits: imelenchon on morguefile.com and mescon on flickr.com

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Interview with Andrew Cotto, Author of Outerborough Blues

“…[M]en were restless souls chased by the past after something that couldn’t be found. He said the key to salvation was in our hearts and not in our feet.”
~ from Outerborough Blues, A Brooklyn Mystery

We are tied to our past, no matter how hard we try to pull away, until we find reconciliation — within ourselves or with others. This is true in life and in fiction. When I was younger, my moves to a new house or apartment often were inspired by an effort to separate myself from some person, place, or event. But memories of what, or who, I left behind resurfaced again and again, refusing to be ignored, until I dug deeper to understand them, and myself.

Andrew Cotto’s novel, Outerborough Blues, A Brooklyn Mystery, tells the story of Caesar Stiles, who is on his own mission to escape his past, albeit a much more complicated one than mine ever was. By setting down roots in Brooklyn, Caesar hopes he will break a family curse. But, a mysterious woman pushes him to search for her missing brother and, in turn, sets Caesar off on a journey of unexpected discoveries that eventually forces him to face what he left behind.

Brooklyn comes alive in Cotto’s novel, in the imagery and details, as Caesar and the story move in and out of neighborhoods, brushing against the lives of characters in the mix.

I’m pleased to host Andrew Cotto today to talk about his novel and about writing. Also, he’s offering an autographed copy of his book to one lucky reader, so be sure to leave your name in the comments; the winner will be chosen on Friday, June 29th.

Now, welcome Andrew!

CC: The prologue in Outerborough Blues introduces readers to Caesar and his family’s dark past. It also hints that this novel, while a mystery, is also a story of self-discovery, one that takes Caesar through the winding complexity of a city at large. What inspired you most to write this novel, your character, Caesar, or the diversity of the place where he lives?

AC: I’m always inspired by how characters have to reconcile their past and subvert their own self-image in order to achieve acceptance or transformation. The character of Caesar Stiles certainly falls into this category, both from his family history and, as a result, his own identity. I was inspired by some of the mythological characters of literature reconfigured into a noir archetype of the outsider. Caesar’s family history and transient existence helped shape a character, when immersed in a mystery, who works within these contexts.

CC: In this article on The Good Men Project, you say how much you love storytelling for “the images and language and devices that make the narrative art form so compelling.” Outerborough Blues, set in Brooklyn, is filled with vivid and intimate images of the urban landscape. Were you born and raised in Brooklyn, or what did you do to familiarize yourself so well with the setting?

AC: I grew up in numerous places around America. I’ve always been inspired by urban settings, and I’ve been particularly inspired by the people, cultures, architecture, and general atmosphere of Brooklyn since moving here in 1997. One of the reasons so much Brooklyn ambiance is on display in the novel is that the imagery, as described by Caesar, is a way to reveal his character. This is not a narrator who favors emotional exposition, so I tried to use his descriptive prowess to reveal his nature and aesthetic. This was also done through his cooking.

CC: You write nonfiction (for the The Good Men Project and for the New York Times) as well as fiction, and common themes, like relationships and a strong sense of place, run through both genres of your work. How is writing fiction similar, or different, for you from writing nonfiction?

AC: In both genres I’m trying to tell a story, and those themes you mention (along with a few others) tend to find their way into my narratives, in both fiction and non-fiction. The biggest difference to me is just the scope of the story, and, of course, the component of imagination in fiction. In both cases, though, I’m always trying to create something insightful and descriptive and reflective of our times.

CC: What are you reading these days?

AC: I just got done teaching a literature class where the novels were all pre-selected by the department chair, which dominated most of my reading time for the past three months, so I’m pretty excited to have the summer to choose my own books. I’ve started with the two widely-acclaimed novels of my fellow writers published this year by Ig Publishing. Both Ghosting by Kirby Gann (reviewed recently by the New York Times Book Review) and Jonah Man by Chris Narozny have met the high expectations. I have a “Beat Generation” class to teach in the fall, so I’ll probably spend the rest of the summer preparing for that by reading On the Road, Howl, and some maybe some lesser known “Beat” titles. I’ll also delve into some James Lee Burke and re-read Mystic River.

CC: What piece of advice do you share often with other writers?

AC: Figure out how to self-promote. Almost every writer these days is obliged, if they want to succeed, to connect with their audience. I know a lot of writers, by their introverted natures, don’t dig this idea, but it’s part of the job description these days for any of us who are not household names. There’s ways to do this that are not as painful and time consuming as they seem, and I strongly suggest getting started sooner as opposed to later with having a routine of social media promotion alongside that routine of writing.

~

Andrew Cotto is a writer and teacher who lives in Brooklyn, NY. He is the author of two novels: The Domino Effect is a coming-of-age story about a kid from Queens with a damaged past and a complicated present at a boarding school in rural New Jersey; Outerborough Blues: A Brooklyn Mystery is an unconventional noir about a drifter seeking a missing person and a remedy to his family’s curse in the dawn of urban gentrification. Andrew’s articles have appeared in many national journals, including the New York Times, Men’s Journal, Salon, the Good Men Project and Teachers & Writers Magazine.

Find out more about Andrew and his writing on his website, follow him on Twitter, or like his page on Facebook. And, don’t forget to leave your name in the comments for a chance to win his book.

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2 Questions That Will Stunt a Writer’s Progress

ConfusedWriters are inquisitive people. We’re always asking questions, about our characters, our story, plot points and structure. About the spelling of that word we read every day but that looks all wrong as soon as we type it on the screen. There are two questions, though, that writers should be wary of asking too often:

  1. Am I a writer?
  2. Am I any good?

Spend more than two minutes obsessing on those two questions, and you’ll find yourself shutting your laptop and watching Netflix movies that you’ve seen a hundred times already. Or knitting dishrags. Not that I’ve done either one of those things.

Am I a writer?

This question kick starts a writer’s insatiable search for the perfect qualifier: a blog that people read, a published piece, then two. Maybe an award. Yes, that’s it. When I win an award, then I’ll be a writer.

I’ve been calling myself a writer for a few years now. I even have a t-shirt blazoned with Mother Writer on the front, and I wear it. On occasion. When I’m feeling extra brave. You see, even with my work published and an Honorable Mention on my resume, I still let that question sink its teeth into my confidence. I don’t get paid to write, and, as Carolyn Roy-Bornstein says in this post on Beyond the Margins, “Here in America, [doesn’t] that still disqualify me from calling myself a writer in public?” Sometimes I let it.

Am I any good?

This one gets me even more. Just when I stake my claim as a writer (which should have been self-evident already by all the books, pens, and paper I carry in my purse), “Am I any good” creeps on up to the surface of my conscious and brings with it a nasty little lackey: “You’re probably just wasting your time.” On a bad day, I check my email with the sole aim of finding a message in my inbox from the universe (or some editor of this or that) that will confirm my late-night efforts at this writing business, give me a boost of confidence, and keep me going for another year. Because, as long as I dwell on these kinds of questions, I can’t find that confidence in myself.

What helps is to read what others are saying….

Jody Hedlund, on the brinks of publishing her third novel, addresses negative self-talk in her post, “Is All the Hard Work Really Worth It?”:

[I]f we ever want to ‘make it’ we have to practice the power of positive thinking. . . . when we fill our minds with ‘is this really worth it?’ we’re essentially talking negatively to ourselves. While we’re wise to evaluate our situations from time to time, we can’t let those negative thoughts cloud our view—at least for long. We can’t walk around threatening to quit every time something discourages us. . . . the writing journey is a marathon not a sprint.

…and to listen to sage advice from those who’ve gone before us.

This month, The Sun reprinted excerpts from Citizens of the Dream, Cary Tennis’ book of advice on writing and the creative life, and that very question – “How can you tell if you have talent?” – is answered with these wise words:

[Writing] is an important act regardless of whether it garners fame or praise. So your question about talent is moot. It is more a question about how to persist in writing through the fear, discouragement, and disappointment that are endemic to the activity. . . . All the practice you get makes you better. Whatever stops you from practicing makes you worse. One thing that may stop you from practicing is the belief that you are no good. So the belief that you are no good may prevent you from becoming good — unless you persist in writing despite it.

Then, and most importantly, he says:

For reasons psychological, spiritual, and philosophical, one must learn, through practice, to regard one’s creative work with some compassionate detachment and not to equate it with one’s worth as a person.

Negative mind-chatter will kill my creative energy and ruin my day. I can choose to listen to it, or I can recognize it for what it is: fear, and a bit of a bruised ego at times.

One final note from Carolyn Roy-Bornstein’s post:

Attitude is important. We may be what we do for a living, but we’re so much more than that. We are our goals.

How do you turn off that negative self-talk?

*photo credit: Guudmorning! on flickr.com