As many of you are aware, when I travel I schmooze with classical music. Mozart and I have had a regular affair these last few months. Operas, chamber music and the like, we’ve had our share of brilliant times (in other words, he being brilliant and I being slack-jawed dumb. I stroked his ego. He stroked my fool. It worked for us, ok?)
Anyhow, as I tootled around the countryside yesterday I took up with a new beau… the classical piano solo.
Yes, he is rather broad, all-encompassing in scope it would seem. But to this former middle school drummer, his foreign nature intrigued me scandalously.
So, I danced with his man Bach and shared a brief kiss with Beethoven (who left me wanting more) before the trip sadly ended.
Why do I share this, you may ask? Because I learned something that translates quite beautifully to the craft of writing…
A harpsichord (the precursor to the piano) made its music by plucking strings. A piano, on the other hand, hammers the strings. Surprisingly, the act of plucking limits the sound the strings make. It can neither be made soft nor loud, for instance. Only hammering allows for this flexibility.
To a writer, words are very much the strings to our craft. Playing with them nicely, plucking them gently, is limiting. We must not be afraid to hammer them sharply, treat them boldly to get the most beauty, the most depth out of our “strings.”
Yeah, silly of me, I know. But what’s a little silliness amongst friends?
Post-note: My travel blog “Tiptoeing Soul” on WordPress has been updated with a second post. My search for the best writing nooks in the world gains shape and form with “The Quirkiness of Place.” Just in case, you can’t get enough of me. *winks* https://tiptoeingsoul.wordpress.com/