For my blog hop! post today, I want to talk a little about the power of a song.
So, I was driving home from taking the kids to school, enjoying the blast-from-the-past songs the iPod was playing this morning, and "My Confession", by Josh Groban swirled out the speakers and through the car.
I'm riding along with a gooney, girlie, dreamy smile on my face.
I could say it was because of the dramatic strings.
I could say it was because of the beautiful Spanish guitar work.
I could even say it was because of Groban's gorgeous voice (even if he DOES look like a Muppet to SOME ;D)
I would be lying.
It was because of THIS:
No, not because it's a skinny Brit with painted on abs, but because this image and this song are inextricably linked in my mind.
I hear those strings and in an instant, I am transported to the first time I read Midnight Sun, by Stephenie Meyer (yes, I read it. More's to the point, I loved it. Don't judge.), and reminded of how the character she created in that book fragment became the prism through which I read her other books. That song is Edward to me--his state of mind when he steps out into the sun in New Moon.
Music, words, and images are difficult for me to divide. I can't write without the 'right' music, and each of my manuscripts has a very definite soundtrack that I listen to and that run through my mind as I think about my stories. Afterward, there are certain songs or artists that evoke full sensual recall of stories.
I can't hear Jonny Lang's 'Breakin' Me' or 'Stevie Ray Vaughn's 'Close To You' or anything from James Morrison's first two CDs ('If You Don't Wanna Love Me"'... *sighsob*) without having entire scenes from Cocktails & Dreams play through my head.
Turn on Jack Johnson, Paolo Nutini, or Ray La Montagne, and I'm lying on the beach, watching surfers ride to shore (book I'm currently editing).
Got your basic '60s Motown? I have a book about a Gordon Ramsey-style chef and an organic gardener for you.
My current story is languishing because I just can't get the right music mix.
I'll get there, though.
Just you watch.
(Maybe Johnny Flynn would be right...)