Object 6: The Notebook

By her bed it rested, asleep and waiting to be stirred, much like the owner herself. A gift from her closest friend, a way for her to articulate her most private thoughts. The pages smelled musty, of old library books, a smell that instantly comforted her. She ran her finger down the spine of the notebook, feeling its hard edge, imagining pages that would come to life with the touch of her pen to the paper.

She sat at her desk, staring intently into the cherry leather bound cover. This was her first grown up journal, no pictures of fairies or purple flowers on the cover, just a simple leather bound book for her to fill her imagination with. She sat a bit longer, taking in the sound of the morning silence around her, only the faint hum of the heater hissing, creating a pillowy ostinato for her first entry.

The blank pages stared at her and stared at her. The cream colored pages were becoming blurry the longer she stared, the navy inked lines on the page doubling under the intent of her stare. She stared and they stared. The pages stared.

Object 5: The Grandfather Clock

The sound, so familiar , each hour on the hour, reminding us all. Pendulum swings left and right, synchronized and predictable, lyrical and fluid like the stream that bubbles outside.

Laughter emanates in the house, small and big voices alike, weaving in and out of the large brassy sound of the clock.

The wood has aged, much like the story the clock tells, dark and light stain, smell of oak and cherries.

I run my hand down the smooth edge of the wood, splinter pin pricks my finger, deep ruby dotting my finger.

Sunday, the clock says to me. I think of the sundays before, the years before, how many minutes, seconds, hours the clock has ticked by, what she has seen, how many lives.

Object 4: Pepper

Salty cracked red pepper dots my lips, they sting and throb from the pulsating heat of the habanero salsa. I take a chip and go back for more, diving the chip into the lime green spread. I can see the seeds from the habanero sprinkled throughout the salsa, boasting their firey deadliness.

I smell the peppery hotness, mixed with the tanginess of the lime, and my mouth craves more. I take another bite, the heat sends a shiver through my body. I can't take it, but I want more. Breeze under the palm trees wafts over me, cooling me as the habanero melts mischievously on my taste buds. I feel the hard edge of a seed on my tongue and take it between my teeth, sucking every last hint of fire out of that bite.

A dizziness sets in me for a moment as I relax from the spiciness of the last bite, then overcome with energy anew as I hear the song of the breeze rustling the leaves of the palm.

I dive in again to the sea of tart, smokey and green, ready for another bite.

Object 3: The Motorcycle

The brisk fall mint chill hovered through the air. I waited patiently on the side of the street, heart vibrating, waiting for him to pick me up. The motorcycle shined like new - I could smell the freshness of paint as it masterfully blended with the fall crisp in the air.

The hard cold metal felt kind and warm against my body. As I sat down behind him I held on tightly, full of promise at where the shiny black motorcycle would take us tonight.

As we zipped down the lantern studded streets, the world swirled around me, colorful shapes and splashes of momentum. My vision blurred around me, and a twinge shot up my spine. As I help on tightly to his waist, grabbing at the fibers of his tufted wool exterior, I knew I'd never forget this moment.

The motorcycle danced up and down the streets of twilight Boston, humming along its soft lullaby. As we tore through the icy October night, wind hugging my eyes, I held on tighter, taking in the smell of the night sky, the motorcycle, and him making an indelible memory.

Object 2: The Pearl

I dive deeply, down. The saran-wrapped glistening surface of the sea splits open as my body submerges, deeper and deeper into the beauty of the underworld. The pearl lays proudly, cradled by its translucent shell, edges strong and deliberate against the soft comfort of the pearl.

I can't smell down here, but the hint of muskiness of old ships that may have capsized nearby come into my mind, and once again my eye goes to the serenity of the stark white pearl, the beacon of hope grounding the flurry of the sea. I near closer to the pearl, all around me the swishing of playful tigerfish tickling my ear.

The pearl, even more luminescent up close, shines like the brightest treasure of the sea. I long to touch it, but fear the power that it holds on me, as if even grazing the pearl with my fingertips would offset the balance of mother earth and her ocean. I still, looking at the pearl, and then up at the mouth of the sea, overcome by the vastness and the gravity of the world around me.

Object 1: The Bicycle

She kept it outside and the newness of it slowly rusted overtime. She had no choice and could not keep it anywhere else. She loved that thing and had picked it out herself, years ago in San Francisco. The bleeding heart red drew her immediately to it. She knew it was hers and she had to have it. Even though it had an XS written on it, it felt grandiose. The frame was sturdy and reliable, artfully crafted. The sheen of the red emanated like a sparkling ruby, and all around, a smell of newness wafted through the air -like she was a child again picking out her first bike with the pom-pommed handle bars, dad right by her side. She remembered taking the bike for a test ride across the frenetic streets of San Francisco. It was exhilarating to see the city in this new way - as if she was in a revolving door floating from one moment to the next, riding high on her shiny new bicycle.

6 weeks of object writing

It's been a while since I've written in this blog. A lot has happened since. I had my first full year as a professional musician, juggling multiple teaching jobs as well as other jobs! I moved to NY recently to really go for it. As I get acclimated to my new surroundings, and the frenetic nature of NY, I thought having something to tether me to my craft would be helpful. Hence, I'm embarking on a journey of 6 weeks of object writing. Just 10 minutes every morning, but a commitment to doing this every morning for 10 minutes. Object writing is a tool used by lyricists and writers, as a way to deep dive into writing. It works upon engaging all of your senses - writing from the perspective of touch, taste, smell, sight, sound, plus two other sense: organic sense which is your awareness of inner bodily functions - pulse, heartbeat, muscle tension, etc. And Kinesthetic sense - roughly your sense of relation to the world around you like when you're on a train and get seasick, the world around you blurs. So I start on this 6 week exercise of object writing. Each day I'll use a different object. Please feel free to submit your own examples of this exercise. I want this to be an open forum of creativity!

Dans Ma Rue

I just returned from Provence, France, and felt inspired to share the next track off my upcoming album, a cover of a song written by insurmountable Edith Piaf. Since watching La Vie En Rose, which catalogs the life of this famous French cabaret singer, I've been so inspired by her life and music. I hope you'll enjoy this cover of Dans Ma Rue!

CD Release at Club Passim

Thanks for the great shots Greg!

Dreaming In Indigo

Hi lovely people! This is the newest song off my upcoming record due out in mid December. I'm excited to share it with you all, and I hope you like it and share it with others.