At the time, I admit that I was steering myself in a certain direction. I wanted to experience deep emotion, and, being a snob was the only way I knew to go about it.
Nowadays, I'm more open-minded. I look for good art any place I can, without as many biases. Enter the Black Eyed Peas and their hit "My Humps." Truth be told, this song was probably floating across the airwaves for months before I came across it. I'm even pretty sure my friends tried to get me to listen to it only to find me leaving the room. But, actually, it's a pretty fun song. I dance to it when I hear it in the car, sometimes accidentally shifting into neutral, which makes my Toyota Corolla produce a rather loud noise.
This weekend, it was all about "I Gotta Feeling." I had it playing on my computer as I was working on my latest story.
True, these songs do not contain the richest, most complex lyrics I ever encountered. They usually comprise simple one-liners that repeat over and over again. Yet, I can't help the way they affect me. They get me moving. They make me happy. And, perhaps most importantly, they're catchy.
That's a strange word isn't it? Catchy. Like a viral infection. Sometimes the strangest things stick in my head while other things, more formally artistic things, just slip away. This only goes to prove something that comes up in our blogs a lot. Rules shouldn't rule us. And, something that I've only recently tried to strive for is the idea of creating writing that's catchy. It has been tough. I have to set aside all of the formal stuff I learned. Instead, I have to tune in to a different frequency, be more sensitive to my readers, use my intuition. This other level, this catchy level, feels precarious. I can't trust anything. The writing only works when it works.
I won't say that I'm any good at writing in this new way, but I feel like I'm moving in the right direction. It takes hard work. The energy seems to come from my entire body, not just from my brain. I have to notice when my heart flutters, or when goose bumps appear on my arms. I have to notice when my mouth waters, when my ears itch. Suddenly, the act of writing is a more pliable thing, a fish flailing in a net rather than a piece of dead wood.