Last night I started reading, Writing Better Lyrics by Pat Pattison to become a better writer. One of the exercises from the book is to write for 10 minutes about any object using all five senses to describe the object. I have been trying to figure out a way to be more vulnerable on my blog so I am going to start posting my writing samples. This makes me very uncomfortable to publish writing that is extremely raw so bare with me while I begin, I've never tried this before.
Object: Guitar
My golden guitar hangs somberly on the wall as if it hasn't been played in years. Signs of common house dust cling to it's soft round edges and under the steel strings. A sweaty ball cap hangs over the headstock like it's a hat rack. I'm not going to move it so it might as well stay for a while. If I were to pick it up I'd have to tune the strings and stretch my stiff fingers because they haven't played since I can remember. I can hear the music now, rough fingerpicking thumbing through chords to get back where I was three years ago. I want to make music a priority but there's always something else in the way. If I just made that hard decision to practice I wouldn't be wondering so anxiously about it early in the morning. The sun is not even up yet and maybe that would influence my decision to play. Wouldn't want to wake the neighbors, we're like a bunch of matches in a box we live so close to one another. Sometimes I can hardly breathe let alone sing and play guitar. It saddens me to look at guitar on the wall being played so little. It's such a special, beautiful instrument yearning to be picked up, tuned and loved on so it could sing from the sound hole.
Object: Guitar
My golden guitar hangs somberly on the wall as if it hasn't been played in years. Signs of common house dust cling to it's soft round edges and under the steel strings. A sweaty ball cap hangs over the headstock like it's a hat rack. I'm not going to move it so it might as well stay for a while. If I were to pick it up I'd have to tune the strings and stretch my stiff fingers because they haven't played since I can remember. I can hear the music now, rough fingerpicking thumbing through chords to get back where I was three years ago. I want to make music a priority but there's always something else in the way. If I just made that hard decision to practice I wouldn't be wondering so anxiously about it early in the morning. The sun is not even up yet and maybe that would influence my decision to play. Wouldn't want to wake the neighbors, we're like a bunch of matches in a box we live so close to one another. Sometimes I can hardly breathe let alone sing and play guitar. It saddens me to look at guitar on the wall being played so little. It's such a special, beautiful instrument yearning to be picked up, tuned and loved on so it could sing from the sound hole.
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