Goffin and Saia? Nah! Well . . . .
I'm currently in songwriting mode, which is akin to penning literary only in a tighter, more condensed style. I get to let loose a little, but not really. I get to free my mind, but extract only the best. I get to write crazy poetic phrases, but they have to rhyme and end with the same meter. So . . . it's fun, but nail-biting.
Sometimes I have the music first, sometimes not. I think most of my songs are music first because there's something about having a prewritten lyric that speaks of paint-by-number to me—if that makes any sense. Although I did write one last night just to see if I still had it in me, and low and behold, a magical, ramblin' train of words painted itself and now I have a complete set of lyrics that are actually pretty darn good.
By the way, I ordered a Rick Nelson record last week and was so excited that it would be showing up in a few days' time. Nothing. The seller is about three hours away from me—I could have driven over there and gotten it myself! I have this feeling he's waiting to sell enough items on ebay to make that trip to the post office worthwhile, and here I am in the meantime, looking out my front window every afternoon with no package. Worse things are happening in the world though, so I'll shut up.