Today's blog entry is a short little number, a piece I wrote once while almost in the middle of a class. Anyone who's a writer will understand how a particular piece of writing can just leap into your head in a flash and demand you write it, not letting go until you have done so. It was all I could do to contain myself until the end of the lecture. Here it is.
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It was an ordinary phrase, musically speaking. A little crowded, perhaps, a little packed. When someone looked at the sheet music, he or she saw an awful lot of notes, mostly connected by those little thick black bars that make any musician, upon first looking at them, sigh in a combination of fascination and dread. If he was a wind player, he would be wondering how he was going to play it without growing an extra pair of lungs and two more tongues. If he was, say, a guitar player, his fingers would send twinges of clairvoyant pain down his spine, recalled from a future in which stinging agony could be the only end result.
If he was a drummer, he would be searching for his good sticks and asking all the other band members why they looked so glum.*
But no musician could look at it without imagining how amazing it would be when he finally got it right. And when a group of musicians finally did get it right, no audience could listen to it without wondering how it was that what they were hearing could possibly be played. The phrase seemed to bulge with music, seemed to overflow. It was as if a simple four-measure phrase contained more sound than it was possible for it to hold, as if the notes were bumping and clanging against each other in their haste to be heard. It was complete and utter chaos that somehow managed to resolve into an elegant, if cluttered, seven or eight seconds of aural marvels.
* It is considered wise not to imagine the mental state of a drummer, even at the best of times.
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That's it. Short, I know, but I like it.
And as for the party for Fred...I really don't want to get into it. I just...I don't. It was sad, but good. That's all I want to say.
ON TO RESPONSES
Mom: I have to say, I couldn't quite foresee such a response when I originally wrote that out, I was just looking for padding. Still, if it helps, read it over again when you feel you have sufficiently calmed down. And yes, that movie stunk.
Vic: I'm sure that with sufficient ingenuity (and perhaps a wad of bills) you can find a way to get to the game. If not, eh, no sweat. Just come to one of the band practices the week prior and stand on top of the garage. <3
Steve: Forsooth! For thou hast, er, astounded me...(thee?)...with thy noble prose, and...uh...by my troth...You know what? This isn't working. I'm going to smack you down, that's all you need to know. And yes, your zig-zag patterns have not gone unnoticed by me. Maybe you need to start thinking in a straight line.
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6 comments:
No matter how fantastic the show, I doubt that it worth skipping Sanskrit. I'm lost enough attending all the classes, I would never catch up again...
Vic
YOU USED THE WORD BLOG!
~Kelli
(P.S., I can swallow milk and water without pain now! :D)
Haha! Old English speak is overrated anyway. That was an interesting segment on music. You're good at stretching one idea across several paragraphs while maintaining a fresh feeling through good decription. The next Stephen King? Doubt it, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't try. I've got some smash bros to play, but I'll be back later to respond to your blog/journal/whatever that you come out with later today.
-Steve
Lucas, your short piece on music is imho the best writing you have ever done! It's evocative; full of feeling; uses the right words, not their second cousins; great descriptions; and above all you have eschewed surplusage. Not too many words, in other words. I tell you it's the best!
chapeau,
love,
Mom
ps. To get some of my ref. such as eschew surplusage, read Mark Twain.
I agree: probably your best piece of writing ever. Succinct, incredible imagery that really came alive for me, just really marvelous.
-- Your proud Dad
That piece was awesome Luke, it made me think of my art. The only way I can explain it is, if I feel something I can't talk to somebody about or articulate like you have done, I go over every brush stroke,every line of the pastel, and splahes of ink, and finally when it comes together I feel it, like this great weight lifted off of me, and this massive work that only I can understand completly. I loved it you should write more like this.
With love
Kait
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