It occurred to me, in deciding to take on this project, that I’d need to get serious about several things in order to do this well. Things like voice practice (which I haven’t started yet), guitar practice (I’ve started playing more but I need more structure), exercise… let’s pause right there.

I’ve started playing squash again. I much prefer sports to jogging around the hill I live on. The jogging seems pointless (especially when I’m alone), but getting my ass kicked at squash seems much more sensible. I’ve played twice in the last week or so. My record is a perfect 0 – 8, with scores of 5, 3, 1and 0 (wonderful pattern, huh?) last Friday and 6, 1, 1and 3 on Wednesday. Congrats Richard. This blog (and therefore the world that reads it) will know when I finally get one over you… mind you that could be a while from now, but I plan to be blogging for at least another 3+ months, so beware!! What do you do when you’re unconvinced by your own threats?

Back to where I was. The other discipline I’ve started again is object writing. It’s an exercise I learned at Berklee College of Music Summer School (a decade ago… gasp!) and it is detailed in Pat Pattison’s book “Writing Better Lyrics“. It involves writing about an object, i.e. something tangible for a set period of time, e.g. 5 minutes or 10 minutes, and trying to use all of your senses to describe the object and your memories around the object. The theory is that doing it consistently will help you to get to the good stuff quickly when you sit down to write (I hope I got that right Pat). It also useful for exploring ideas when writing.

My plan has been to do object writing for 10 minutes six mornings a week. That hasn’t quite happened but I’ve been going at it. It’s been tough. Some days I’ve just had to slog through. Other days I get lost in one part of what I have in mind and the time runs out before I get to some great ideas. In any case here’s one I did on August 1st for the record. I’m probably going to use it as raw material for a song I’m working on. Oh… the endings are usually abrupt. You’re supposed to stop when the time runs out.

Paper Plane

We were low-tech. If you needed a straight edge you’d either have to work with the one supplied by the 8 ½” x 11” paper (sometimes we’d use the legal size) or you’d measure and crease as carefully as possible and use a ruler to hold down one part and carefully tear the other. Straight edges were a must in our minds. They made the difference between those that would dive immediately and those that would fly so far they’d cross the fence and we’d lose them to the neighbour’s yard.

And we’d sit with raw material spread and our latest prototype forming in our brains. And we’d fold – usually starting with a long crease down the middle of the sheet. And our creations would take shape – pointed noses to cut through the air, built for speed, blunt noses where we folded the point back and tucked it inside, built with some weight for stunts. We’d see how small we could make them and still get them to fly rather than just fall gracefully.

… fingers running along the edges, forcing consistency into the creases. The sound of sheets of paper sliding against each other, sometimes flapping a bit as if they were eager, bristling and anxious, waiting to be shaped and take flight…

And we’d throw from the driveway, warm asphalt under our bare feet, aiming down the lawn which gently sloped towards the rusted wire fence and we cry with delight if they stayed in the air for 5 seconds or more or if they swooped unexpectedly, threatening to land but grabbing hold of a gust and leaping up again… and the excitement if they landed gracefully…