Is it the singer or the song?

I’ve been thinking a lot about music lately because it’s a terrific way to procrastinate  because creating a musical setlist is a crucial part of my professional writing process when starting a new book.

My latest musical fixation kicked off last week when author Trisha Leigh – who shares my great passion for singer/songwriter Matt Nathanson – tweeted me a link to his newest release.

After I finished   swooning   panting   touching myself inappropriately   taking a cold shower  listening to the song, I downloaded the whole album and skimmed online for information about the story behind it. Modern Love has a decidedly different vibe than his previous albums, and I was curious.

I soon found an explanation on his website:

from http://mattnathanson.com/about/

Um, yeah. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why an album with that theme might appeal to a romance author beginning a new book. At heart, aren’t most romance novels about struggle and transition and the urge to love and find love?

Of course, this raises the question of how much attention I should pay to the literal meaning behind songs when it was simply the tone that piqued my interest in the first place.

I’ve grappled with this a lot when it comes to connecting the songs I listen to when writing with the scenes they end up inspiring.

When I wrote my March 2012 release, Believe it or Not, I spent a lot of time listening to the album Break Up, which is described thusly on the website:

A truly one-of-a-kind album, Break Up brings together critically acclaimed singer/songwriter Pete Yorn and the multi-talented Scarlett Johansson. In this deeply emotive yet hook-filled song cycle, Yorn and Johansson reenact the tempestuous course of a love affair on the rocks.

The tempestuous course of a love affair? That’s Believe it or Not in a nutshell. Of course, as the album title suggests, Pete and Scarlett's story doesn’t have quite the happy ending Drew and Violet's does in Believe it or Not.

When I wrote the final love scene for Mad Crush (my September 2012 release) my brain latched on to Patty Griffin’s song “Change” and wouldn’t let go. It’s a dark, gritty song about abuse and the unhealthy urge to alter yourself to fit someone else’s notion of what you should be.

Change (Album Version)
I listened to the song several dozen times while writing what turned out to be a rather aggressive love scene, and I remember reassuring myself the song’s message and lyrics had nothing to do with the story I was writing – I just liked the vibe.

It wasn’t until months later when I took several steps back from the manuscript that I realized the song’s theme actually did fit what I’d written – in fact, both the hero and heroine grapple throughout the book with whether or not to shape their lives to please or emulate other people.

Did my brain gravitate toward the song because I subconsciously realized that's the direction the story was headed, or did the song influence the story somehow?

Or – more likely – is it all a dumb coincidence?

How much attention do you pay to the literal meaning of song lyrics? Are you intrigued by the songwriter’s behind-the-scenes story, or do you prefer to just listen without the baggage? Please share!

I need a few minutes alone in a quiet room with a glass of wine and that Matt Nathanson song.

On throwing my bra and changing my life

Tonight I’ll be attending a concert by one of my favorite artists on the planet, Marc Cohn.

I’m still mulling whether to toss my bra at him, and trying not to be offended he hasn’t thanked me for the previous six.

Though he won a Grammy in 1991 for best new artist and has produced a number of albums in the past 20 years, he’s known by most people for one of only two songs: “Walking in Memphis” (which I’ll admit I’m not terribly fond of) or “True Companion.”

If everyone who used the latter as part of a wedding ceremony had to pay Marc Cohn a dollar, I suspect he could retire tomorrow. It’s a lovely song Cohn wrote for a woman he was dating and eventually proposed to. They got married, had two children, and lived happily ever after, as the song suggests.

Only…well, they didn’t. Live happily ever after, that is, at least not with each other.

Like a lot of marriages, theirs ended in divorce. Before you shed too many tears for Marc Cohn, you should know he’s happily remarried to television journalist Elizabeth Vargas and they have two lovely children.

And yet, at every Marc Cohn concert I’ve attended (six, in total—just like the bras), audience members continue to shout requests for “True Companion.” You can’t blame them, and I’m as happy as the next person that he plays it at every show.

While introducing the song a few years ago, he made a comment I wish I’d written down, but it went something like this:

I’m so glad this song continues to have meaning for so many people long after it’s lost its original meaning for me.

I’ve thought about that a lot lately as reviewers say wonderfully kind things about Making Waves and as I work through edits on the other two books in my contract.

Though all three books have gone through oodles of rewrites, they were originally created while I was married. It’s probably not surprising to anyone that I can see traces of “married me” in the stories.

When things were still pretty raw a few months ago, I’ll admit that made it tough to get through edits. Now? I can read any of them with a sort of clinical detachment. It’s not that there’s no emotion in them for me, but just that it’s a different emotion now.

I suppose this is something all kinds of artists deal with throughout their careers. Even if whatever sparked the original idea isn’t there anymore, the work itself takes on a life of its own.

Does anyone besides me find that fascinating? Have any of you looked back on something you wrote at a totally different stage in your life and thought, “who the @#$% was I then?” Please share!

I’ll be looking at my bra collection thinking I’ll give Marc one last chance. Black lace, maybe?

Mood music and earworms

Yesterday was rough.

I don’t mean that in the “if it’s not rough it isn’t fun” way, either (though I’m kind of impressed with myself for combining my dog’s death with a raunchy Lady Gaga lyric).

I’m a fiend for music – even Lady Gaga, though that’s not generally my first (or second, or twelfth) choice of ear candy. I can’t stand to be in a car or at my computer without music playing. If someone cut off my access to Pandora, I’d probably never write another book again.

I’ve seen authors who compile soundtracks for their books, and while I haven’t gone that far, I definitely have songs that capture the mood I’m trying to create in certain scenes.

When I wrote the final love scene in LET IT BREATHE, I played Patty Griffin's "Change" over and over again. I must have hit replay 25 times before I had things nailed down just the way I wanted them (note the clever use of the word “nailed.”)

The Push Stars’ song “Claire” became my unofficial theme music for the budding relationship between Drew and Violet in BELIEVE IT OR NOT.

And every time I hear Joseph Arthur’s “Tattoo,” I’m back in the early chapters of MAKING WAVES, trying to capture the rhythm of a boat crashing through the ocean.

For me, it’s about mood more than lyrical content. “Change” isn’t the least bit romantic if you’re only paying attention to the words, but it set the tone I wanted for that scene in LET IT BREATHE. There’s no character named “Claire” in BELIEVE IT OR NOT and no one ever utters the phrase “I would die for you,” but there’s still a certain vibe to the song that captured the relationship between those two characters.

I was curious if my idea of vibe would match someone else's, or if it’s one of those subjective things. I whipped out the iPod in the car one afternoon and made Pythagoras listen to “Claire” first, then “Change.”

“So based on that,” I said. “What sort of mood would you guess each of the two love scenes might have?”

Pythagoras laughed. “Why do I think that last one is something I don't want my mom reading?”

Pretty much.

Do you listen to music when you write? Do certain songs catch in your brain when you’re reading scenes in books?

Please share. I need to go download something new to scrub that Lady Gaga earworm from my brain.

On talent, success, & bra throwing

Wednesday night, we saw Colin Hay in concert.

You may recall he was the front-man for ‘80s band Men at Work. They won a Grammy in 1983 for best new artist and had a few chart-topping hits including “Down Under.”

Now, Colin Hay plays solo acoustic shows in small towns where many audience members would be hard pressed to name any of his solo tunes.

The second he took the stage, I was dumbstruck. He’s one of the most talented performers I’ve ever seen – and I’m a concert whore, so I don’t say this lightly. His voice was breathtaking, his guitar playing flawless, his showmanship hysterically entertaining. If I hadn’t been reluctant to part with my favorite bra, I might’ve thrown it.

Colin Hay on Wednesday night.

From his jokes, it’s clear he’s aware of the irony in going from sold-out stadium shows to a tiny stage in Central Oregon.

But though his position on the charts has changed, his talent hasn’t. Regardless of how many tickets he sells, he’s an amazing musician.

I can’t help but see a tie to writing. Deep down, don’t we all hope for superstardom? Don’t we all want our books to sell at auction for ridiculous figures, to ascend the bestseller lists and have Oprah and Letterman bitch-slapping each other over the first interview?

But the reality is that it happens for very few artists – musicians or writers. For every performer like Sting or Bono or Steven Tyler whose superstar status spans 30 or 40 years, there are guys like Colin Hay. No less talented, but with careers that have gone a decidedly different direction.

Part of me wants to feel sad about this.

Part of me says Are you kidding? A talented artist making a living doing what he loves? What’s sad about that?

I’ll admit I wouldn’t mind seeing my name on a bestseller list someday. Though I’ll do everything in my power to make it happen, I have very little control. I can work hard and hone my talent, but the odds are slim I’ll ever be driven to book signings in a limousine with throngs of fans beating on the windows and throwing Pop Tarts.

I’m OK with that.

Because talent and success can’t be measured by book sales or the number of concert seats filled. I know that for every blockbuster book atop the lists, there are dozens more that are every bit as good – maybe better – that just don’t have the magic marketing formula to fly off the shelves.

It’s enough for me to know I’m damn lucky. I’m getting to do what I love – to slap words on a page and make a few people smile, to even make a little money doing it.

Though my dreams of grandeur might entertain me, it’s the lure of just doing what I love that keeps me going.

That, and the fantasy of giving Oprah a wedgie if I ever make it on her show.

How about you? If you never write a runaway bestseller, are you OK with that? Is it enough just to know you’re a writer, that you’re talented enough to create a book in the first place?

I’ll leave you with this song from Colin Hay. If you like it, go buy it on iTunes. Do it now.

When life hands you lemons, add them to your vodka

Yesterday sucked donkeys.

There were a variety of reasons, but suffice it to say I found myself staring at the seven remote controls on the coffee table wondering which could fast-forward through my crappy morning.

But I write humor. On this blog, in my manuscript, in my tweets – I’m here to be funny. If I stopped making you laugh, you’d stop reading and I’d have to resort to telling knock-knock jokes to the cat and gauging his reaction by how enthusiastically he licked his butt.

The great thing about writing romantic comedy is that it’s easy for me to brand myself with tweets and blog posts that reflect the same humor I use in my books. I’ve talked to several authors who write more serious novels and find it tough to draw people in. I’m lucky to have cheap laughs as my lure.

So what happens if I’m not feeling funny?

Behold, I give you Tawna’s tips for writers (or anyone else) having a donkey-sucking day:

DO switch up the music you’re listening to. If you’re on the tenth replay of Pink Floyd’s “On the Turning Away,” it’s possible you’re contributing to your downward spiral. Switch to something you can dance to. Bonus points if you actually dance. Triple bonus points if you do it in your underwear.

DO interact with someone who makes you laugh. Turn to Twitter for a quick pick-me-up, or swap an email with an old pal.

DO interact with someone in-person. This is different than the last one because real face-to-face contact forces you to be animated and engaged. I work from home, so I have to get creative with this. It’s possible my vet wondered why I pleaded for a last-minute appointment yesterday, or why I hugged her when I left.

DO try to accomplish something. Even something small like doing the dishes or organizing a messy drawer will give you a sense of achievement to ensure the day wasn’t a total waste of lipstick.

DO take a walk. Fresh air does great things for your mind.

DO keep your troubles in perspective. Years ago, I worked in marketing for a large medical center. My computer crashed one afternoon, losing two weeks of work. When I griped about it to one of the nurses, he nodded supportively. “It’s been a bad day for me, too,” he agreed. “My patient died.” Suddenly, my woes didn’t seem so terrible.

DON'T wallow. It can be exhausting trying to pull yourself out of your rut, and the urge to lie down in the mud and smear it all over yourself can be overwhelming. Don’t do it. Get up, wipe off the slime, and get moving.

DON'T drink. I know, I know…I love wine as much as the next person. But alcohol is a depressant, and it’s like pouring kerosene on the flames when you’re already feeling down. Better solution? Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia frozen yogurt straight from the carton.

How about you? What are your bad day pick-me-ups? Please share in the comments. I’ll be over here making damn sure today is better than yesterday.

Successful public speaking 101: flash your underwear

Since the announcement of my three-book deal, I’ve had a number of writing groups ask me to come speak to them.

Most are calling dibs for the months surrounding my book release, which is funny – the idea that not only am I a desirable public speaker, but that booking me requires a 16-month advance notice and anything beyond the promise of free cookies.

Though I’m an introvert who’d be happy to live in a cave eating roots most days, I actually don’t mind public speaking. This is a contrast to Pythagoras, who if given the choice between speaking at a funeral or being the guy in the casket, would gladly climb in and pull the lid closed.

In the spirit of full-disclosure, I’ve warned these groups not to expect a stand-up comedienne. Blog-funny and book-funny don’t necessarily translate to in-person-funny.

I tried to explain this to my mom last night, but she disagreed. “You’ve always been a funny public performer. Remember the Christmas dolls?”

Ah, yes. My first foray into the world of professional presentations.

I was maybe four at the time, and all the girls in my Sunday school class were outfitted with obnoxious dolly costumes, herded onto a stage, and forced to bleat out a song that went, “We are pretty Christmas dolls, Christmas dolls, Christmas dolls…”

Not being a particularly gifted singer or an especially cute child, I wasn’t singled out for any special position in the chorus.

But during our first live show, it was clear to me someone needed to step up to the plate. The other girls seemed content to shyly murmur the words with downcast eyes and voices that couldn’t be heard over the piano.

This would never do.

Boldly, I stepped up and began to scream – yes, scream – the chorus.

“We are pretty Christmas dolls, Christmas dolls, Christmas dolls…”

Since the director hadn’t provided any choreography, I took it upon myself to dance along the top riser, lifting my dress up and down over my head in time to the music.

It’s possible I knocked another performer off the risers, though my mother assures me there were no lawsuits.

By the time the performance was over, several girls had fled the stage in terror, and at least one audience member had fallen off his seat laughing.

I wasn’t trying to be funny, but apparently I accomplished it. That’s often how it works for me.

So if you’re thinking of asking me to come speak at your writers’ group – hey, I’m flattered. If you have cookies, I’m in.

But I make no guarantees I’ll be funny. Not intentionally, anyway. And if you want me to lift my dress over my head, that requires an extra cookie.