A Song

I've been up since 3:00 a.m. It's now 6:00. The reasons are myriad. The bottom line is I am a chronic insomniac. I didn't used to be . . . but I sure as heck am now. So I am sitting staring out my office window, and the sun is just starting to rise and the world is gray, but that soft gray of dawn, optimistic and peaceful.

So if this post makes no sense . . . you'll know why. ;-)

Right now in my living room, there are two guitars, a violin, and a tuba. Upstairs is a drumset. In my office is a piano. There are two other violins around here somewhere. When Oldest's boyfriend is here, his cello is often upright in its case in the living room like a visiting friend. It's no wonder that Demon Baby wants to play an instrument.

So yesterday, I practiced guitar and he BEGGED me to let him play it. I sat next to him and held it up, and he slapped my arm playfully.

"You can go back to your office now."

"I'm afraid you'll drop the guitar and break it."

"I'm very careful."

"Famous last words, Demon Baby."

But he insisted. My office opens onto the living room so it's not like I was far. So I went back, sat down, and listened. He had the guitar across his lap like a lap harp, and he plucked notes very carefully and quite musically. With some twang to it. And he sang a song. For a four-year-old, it was a song of love.

"I'm playing my song for you, and when you hear it, you will stay with me forever, because you know we're meant to be, just playin' my song."

I actually was quite impressed. It was a heartfelt song that he pretty much wailed in a bluesy way. And I thought about it. Every single one of us is born with a song. Sometimes it gets squashed way, way down in our soul. But if we're lucky, we have people around us who want to hear it. I think that's why I have so many instruments in my house . . . so my kids know I always want to hear what's inside them.

And when I go to schools to talk to kids and they ask for advice, I say, "Live more. Grab at life and hold on, and experience new things and learn new things, so when it's really time to write your first novel, you have something to say."

I have a feeling teachers aren't always happy to hear that advice. Love more, have more passion, embrace some healthy risk . . . we're usually so concerned with getting them all to conform and pass tests and no one says LIVE. Really, really live. And love. A lot.

And then it really is time to sing your song. And whatever it is inside, THAT is your voice. It's this distillation of all your experiences into a song only you can sing. It can be elusive, and it seems like writers sometimes search for it. But it's there already.

I know Demon Baby doesn't see the world like most 4-year-olds. And most kids his age aren't sitting naked on a couch, plucking a guitar and singing the spontaneous blues of trying to hold onto a woman. But that's his song. And I hope whether he becomes a writer, a singer, a musician, or an astronaut, that he'll remember he has that song and decide to share it with the world.

As a writer, you have a song only you can sing. So have you discovered your voice yet?