Songwriting

My friend L is an exceptional songwriter. And an exceptional editor. Which means her songs are great. But sometimes she inadvertently makes mine look like plastic bags floating in the wind that will someday choke a turtle: worthless. It's not that she says that - no, no, L is a joy. The problem is that she is really good at everything even when she says she isn't. So I used to be good at English - oh wait, L is better. I used to be good at acting - oh wait, L is better. I used to be a songwriter - oh wait, L is better. And I'm honestly proud of her. She's moved past my simple chord progressions and still doesn't see the originality in her taxi cab metaphors, and such.

But here I am. Just finished writing a song. Here's a quote: "I'm not gonna torment you, never want to hurt you, even if I did you'd still walk by free, me lonely. You've a right to hate me although it frustrates me, but I won't throw away the words you gave me. The past can't run away like some yesterday, I won't let it run away." I emailed that bit to another friend, E, and asked for advice. It's late. Almost no one is up. I really didn't expect anything. But suddenly, a message came through: "Keep it up!" I was stunned. And thrilled. And suddenly it didn't matter if L was better than me. It mattered that we had both managed to transform our pain into beauty, which sounds cliché but is one of the hardest things to master. Now that all of those tears, and frowns, and heads-being-banged-on-walls are on the page, I can rearrange them. Rearrange the letters in heads-being-banged-on-walls and you get: We all beg-and-bashed in song.