The Woes of Songwriting

Here's a secret: I haven't actually, um, told my fellow "band mates" about this blog yet. Weird, huh? That's because the whole band thing is super out there, and I'm fairly certain that the idea is going to crash and scream and burn and die soon. That's why Bug and Shug and Spot don't BLOG IT UP! on here with me. For now, if you're sick of me, then A) you're reading this blog, yes! B) deal with it and C) If They Fight works out, then you'll get some visits from them, if it doesn't... then I'll have to delete this delicious blog o'mine. (sad face)

SPOILER: Part two of this post revolves around me complaining about songwriting, me failing at songwriting, and also high-fives and some tasty-sounding (but not tasty tasting, I assume) vanilla vodka called Absolut. If you have a weak heart or cannot touch your toes, sit this round out.

Yesterday was Labor Day: Labor Day = no school = party, right? = not that party. But there was a fair amount of driving done, so I was left in the backseat with an iPod, a notebook, and my musings all to myself. Here's what happens when you're trying to think of a good melody to hum along to those lyrics you wrote on Sunday in the car with three other people: your brother gets annoyed at you humming the same line overandoverandoverandoverandoverandover at varying pitches and sometimes with some festive little pop licks thrown in to surprise everyone, and he tells you to 'shaddup!' and then you feel hurt in your heart, so you do shaddup, but then you're looking at those lyrics and you think you've got this great melody starting to form inside your head and then you sing it once and you think Viola! that's the one! but then for some reason you can't sing it the same way again, no matter how many times you try it overandoverandoverandoverandover and then the whole thing repeats itself, and you wipe at the tears in the corners of your eyes, in order not to get your Maybelline Lash Stiletto mascara all over your face, the end. Obviously, it was a traumatic experience for one with such a tender heart as mine, and so I had to move my humming to a more appropriate venue (bedroom) where I was very productive (no) and finished a lot of 'Wet Cement Serenade' (one line, two possibly). On the plus side, I hi-5'ed a crazy guy at the park (then swiftly hand-sanitized) and also hungered (thirsted, is more correct) after a delicious-looking bottle labeled 'European Vanilla'. I had almost convinced my mother to buy me some (not really), when it turned out it was vodka, and vodka is bad for a growing girl. Oh well.

This concludes my September 8th chapter of the They Fight Paris Falls online diary. Stay spiffy.

<3,
Roo
P.S. Like the new font? Trebuchet MS was getting ollllllld.