Rumination
Photo by Bernie Almanzar on Unsplash
An entry from my journal in late 2025: "With my songwriting and writing, I can’t tell if my melodies or words are original or impactful or creative, or if they are flat-out unintentional copies or tired tropes / weary worn-out stories. How to know?”
How to know indeed. I’ve been writing quite a few songs lately. Songs that rise slowly in me, with fragments of phrases, melodies and chord sequences fading in and out. There’s no recipe involved, and the lyrics seemingly write themselves. Although that’s not really true. It’s like I open my mind to the slightest breeze of a suggestion or idea, and then rely on rhyming and rhythm to put random words and notes in place.
Then — suddenly, surprisingly — they are finished like a perfectly moist cake. I work them with my bandmates, whose input is the icing — rosettes, sprinkles, pearls and edible flowers.
We all agree the songs are quite fine, and we practice and refine them until they feel — to me — as familiar and worthy as a classic pop tune from my youth. My bandmates report their earworm effect: As in “I can’t get that song out of my head.”
That validation is heartening. It’s evidence that I’m doing something right. But then the doubter in me says “Really? You think this song is a good one? Who are you kidding? You’re just saying that!”
Where does this need to evaluate my creation’s “success” come from? In the absence of any truly objective critique, I have to trust my gut. I have to believe in myself enough to accept that if something I write entertains me or resonates with me, then that — alone — is enough. It’s enough and it’s everything.
