Well, that's got to be the longest post title I've ever used.
Not always, but a lot of the time when we work creatively with the written word, writing poetry and putting our hearts into our beloved stories, we start to develop a desire to express ourselves in another way -- with music.
I've never met anybody who didn't want to play an instrument of some kind, and many of us would've loved to be musicians, or at least capable of playing something, long before discovering this ink-and-paper world of plots and characters, where we, as authors, are allowed and even encouraged to pull the strangest, most wonderful things straight out of our asses. Some even manage to learn the musical ropes early on in life!
But, if you were like me, then you were never quite that ambitious. I've always thought it would be amazing to play an instrument, and I've tried a couple times with piano, very briefly with guitar, flute, etc. Never stuck with it for long. I still wanted to learn, but I just didn't have the motivation for it.
Over my last few years of writing, however, I've felt myself drawn back to the lovely sounds of music, often writing to the beat or mood of certain tracks, and to the rhythm of instrumental melodies. I've even found myself singing a couple of my own poems -- whoops. And then I hit upon an artist, a style, that renewed my craving to learn to play: Lindsey Stirling, violinist.
