My son is home for the summer, visiting us in Sao Paulo.
These days, I spend the majority of my days sitting in my office chair and editing academic books. Typically, when I edit, the house is quiet, the only sound from within the soft snore of terrier pups, or their bated breathing as they battle over bones (well, antlerz).
From the street sounds the hissing susurration of streaming traffic, punctuated by the peppered peeping of petulant, dyspeptic people on mopeds as they swerve and squeeze around slow-moving sedans.
But with Scott home, my days are made melodious with music. I love the sounds of strumming strings and my scion’s singing as he stands on the veranda, serenading the city scenery! His tempered tenor is truly transporting!
When he’s not singing and playing guitar, the music continues, as he introduces me to new bands and new melodies. I usually can’t concentrate with cacophonous chaos, but his music choices are mellow and mellifluous, so I don’t mind. My own writing is enriched by the influence of these songs, as I listen to the transporting tunes.
Listening to Scott’s own compositions, I am enchanted by his use of language in his lyrics. In the past, I have pooh-poohed some of the people whose music he preferred, proffering my opinion, pronouncing lyrics pedestrian and poor. But not so with his. His lyrics are poetic and pure, punctuating his empathetic personality. Proud parent, perhaps, but picky. He proved his prowess.
When I run dry while writing, I welcome music. I listen to what others have wrought, and I find my own creativity whetted and welling.
Music is a mighty motivator to maintain my momentum when writing.
(Okay, so this is an odd entry; I thought I’d answer a challenge put forth by the WordPress crew. Writing for sound.)