Here’s a crummy demo of a crummy song I’m working on

A Quick Guide to Creation

I’ve been through three college creative writing classes now, so I’ve seen a lot of work about creation. Poems about not being able to write poetry, digital pieces about the inability to brainstorm, scripts trying to forcefully break common film practices to look cool. People write about not writing a lot, especially when they’re forced to create according to deadlines. I hate it. It’s lazy; it’s saying “hey I couldn’t come up with anything, here’s a cool thing I forced that I don’t care about.”

Someone asked me the other day when do I create music or write things. I answered “when I have something to say.” It’s mostly about love lately, but it depends on what I’ve learned during that time. I do a lot of things; always out at parties or on Tinder dates or dancing to scratched up records I found at Half Price Books. I’m addicted to new. New people, new thoughts, new feelings, new experiences it’s my favorite drug. Last year I participated in a slam poetry competition, read this open raw piece, and got the lowest scores. I didn’t expect it to affect me, but I was kinda fucked up afterwards. I deleted a lot of old poems, cried a little bit too. It felt horrible, like my emotions and experiences were judged and they weren’t enough. Another time I performed on stage to a crowd and watched person after person disappear from boredom or disgust. The sound equipment was malfunctioning, and we hadn’t rehearsed properly. I felt embarrassed, humiliated with that judgment of feelings. But, these experiences have shaped me, and I honestly can’t love them enough. They taught me my art is powerful enough to me to bring me to new lows, that competition and I don’t get along, what failure feels like, what embarrassment and loneliness is. I worked hard for both competitions, and losing made my art feel worthless, my thoughts and imagination stupid and uninteresting. That feeling was strong, the experience was stronger.

My ex got mad at me because I couldn’t write her a song, while she had written a good three or four about me. And they were good too. I remember sitting naked on my bed, tracing her back as my guitar floated on her knees, strumming and sliding. Sunset. An etsy store candle. Empty pizza box. The Prince of Egypt on pause as she sang about… shit I can’t remember. I remember the feeling, just not the words. I couldn’t do that; I tried, but I would scrap every idea. I can never write about a person, just feelings or concepts. I use the term ex in all my writings as a figment, a statement for every person that’s been close to me and left. Seen me in a raw state, mentally or physically, and left. I tie memories together and talk about the macrocosm of the vibe, using details to push the song along. I dunno man. This song’s mostly about the last ex, not because I couldn’t write a song previously, but because she’s on my mind sometimes. I can’t find the right words.

I remember another ex and I worked on a puzzle every time I snuck into her house. Her dad gave it to her months prior as a challenge before high school graduation. She called, ecstatic one night when she finished it. I don’t remember the image. This memory has nothing to do with creation really, I just like it a lot and wanted to share it. It was on her living room floor, she would always sit criss cross like an 8 year old. I base all of my creations on memories like this, little things that stand out and just paint the scene. Come to think of it, why? Why do I create about these little things, I didn’t learn anything from it. Maybe my art’s as pointless as a “creation creation.”

I like to think there’s a little more to it than writing just for writing. I write for me. I write things that I can read or hear or watch and think “hm, ok.” If people get something out of it, dope. If not, I don’t care. But I only write when I need to say something, I don’t sit and say “create now” I create when I look at an instrument and say “hm, ok.” I become passionate about every project, assignment or not like it’s therapy or offspring. I stay up muttering a melody in my head until I hear the right sound. I create with a purpose, you should to. If you’re stuck in a project, ask yourself “why am I here and not doing something else. Do I want to do this?” Never do anything you don’t want to. It’s lame. My creative work ethic is really sloppy and unreliable, but I think it results in cool things (get it that’s a reference to the first paragraph nvm bye).