Inglath Cooper's Blog, page 21

What Things Do Nashville Music Venues Have to Offer?

As a novelist who wanted to learn how to write songs, I had been intrigued with the idea of visiting Music City for a long time before I actually made the trip. Music City is the perfect moniker for a town so steeped in songwriting and music-making culture. One of the best ways to experience that culture is by visiting such places as the Bluebird Café, the Listening Room Cafe, Puckett’s Grocery and Restaurant, Douglas Corner Café and 12th and Porter.

What things do Nashville music venues have to offer? Here’s a list of 5 great reasons to get on down to Nashville and check it out for yourself.

New talent. The singer-songwriter you hear playing in a round at the Listening Room Café today may be the next star on the rise. Most anyone serious about making it in country music eventually ends up in Nashville where opportunity for growth and career advancement is a given. During one of my visits to the Listening Room, I heard a brand new singer named Hunter Hayes playing there. He was seventeen at the time, and his voice left little doubt that he was going places fast. A year later, I wasn’t surprised to hear him on the radio singing the single “Wanted”.
Pro Songwriter Nights. You really never know who you’re going to get to hear at the Bluebird Café on any given night. It is a wonderful place for music lovers to hear the “heroes behind the hits”. One night I heard a favorite writer of mine – Rivers Rutherford – play in a round with other professional songwriters. His When I Get to Where I’m Goin’ cut by Brad Paisley is an all-time favorite. Listeners not only got to hear him sing the song himself, but also heard the touching story of how his grandfather had inspired him to write the song.
A glimpse into how great songs are written. Many young writers try out their new material at places like Douglas Corner and 12th and Porter. Great writers work at their craft, honing and perfecting and often using audience response to a new song to judge what tweaking might need to be done.
An opportunity to surround yourself with true music lovers. As a member of the audience at a place like the Bluebird Café, you soon realize that the people around you truly love music. The attentiveness and respect given a performing writer indicates just how seriously listeners take what they are hearing. It’s a pretty special thing to be a part of.
Inspiration. If you aspire to write songs yourself, there is nothing more motivating than witnessing real artists at work in the Nashville community. The level of skill and commitment found among the songwriters and performers in Nashville is a clear visual for exactly how high the bar is set. Greatness is something to aspire to. Greatness abounds in Music City.

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I love books and music. I write both fiction and song lyrics. I can usually be found tinkering with one or the other. My love for songwriting and the Nashville community led me to start a fictional series called, of course, Nashville. I hope you’ll check it out.

Nashville – Part One – Ready to Reach. Buy it at Amazon.com – http://amzn.to/171tjpu

Nashville – Part One – Ready to Reach. Buy it at Amazon.com

Young singer-songwriters going for the Nashville dream! Nineteen-year old CeCe Mackenzie leaves Virginia for Nashville with not much more to her name than a guitar, a Walker Hound named Hank Junior and an old car she’d inherited from her grandma called Gertrude.

But Gertrude ends up on the side of I-40 in flames, and Nashville has never seemed farther away.

Help arrives in the form of two Georgia football players headed for the Nashville dream as well. When Holden Ashford and Thomas Franklin stop to offer CeCe and Hank Junior a ride, fate may just give a nod to serendipity and meant to be.

Nashville – Part Two – Hammer and a Song. Buy it at Amazon.com

5 Stars. “Ms. Cooper has written such a beautiful story that gives you hope. It fills you with laughter, sadness, and many other emotions. You feel connected to the characters and really share in their successes and hurt in their failures. I can’t wait for the next part to come out. I’ve really grown attached to the characters and want to see what lies ahead for them. Again…beautiful story.” – Amazon.com Reviewer

5 Stars. “Her car catches fire, 2 smokin’ hot guys stop to help. . . .the rest is history.” – Amazon.com Reviewer

5 Stars. “This book captured my attention from the very start! The characters are each unique yet seem to fit together. I love each of them, especially Hank. I was reading this on a plane and was so disappointed when I turned the page and realized I was going to have to wait to find out what happens. Excellent! I definitely recommend Nashville!” – Bookishblonde – Amazon.com Reviewer

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Published on April 29, 2013 13:18

14 Ways to Learn How to Write a Song

If you are serious about learning how to write a song, head for Nashville Tennessee. Nashville is a treasure trove of information and opportunity. If you aren’t sure you can yet justify a move to the city, go for long weekends, get to know the city and see for yourself why writers and artists flock here. Some of the greatest songs ever written have been written in Nashville.
Go to the Bluebird Café. It is a must visit for anyone who wants to learn how to write a song. It’s one of Nashville’s most well known listening cafes for talent on the way up. Songwriters perform rounds most nights of the week, and many greats like Garth Brooks and Pam Tillis got their start there.
Join NSAI. It stands for Nashville Songwriters Association International. This is a wonderful organization for helping you learn the ropes. An annual membership affords you such opportunities as Song Camp, a wonderful long weekend of songwriting workshops taught by songwriters who know the business and have written hit songs.
Get to know other song writers who are also just starting out on the songwriting journey. Song Camp provides an awesome opportunity for this. The camp brings in attendees from all over the country and sometimes from other countries.
Schedule some co-writes with writers you begin to get to know from your visits to Nashville. Finding song writers who sync with you and your work can be a bit like dating, sometimes it works and sometimes, it doesn’t. But when you find the right fit, the results can be magical.
Plan to write during your visits to Nashville, but also schedule writing appointments via Skype. Skype is an incredible tool for meeting up online and getting a writing session started. You can be flexible with timing, especially if you have a full-time job and are writing around that.
Study song lyrics. Especially those of songs you have loved. Great song lyrics move us, make us feel every emotion from sadness to elation.
When a song really grabs you, make a point to disassemble it. Look at the melody, the structure of the song, intro, verse, chorus, and bridge. Looking at the individual parts can sometimes help us figure out why something works as a whole.
Enter a songwriting contest. Contests are often judged by producers, songwriters and other industry professionals. This is one way to begin getting your work noticed.
Read great books on songwriting. Here are a few highly recommended: Writing Better Lyrics by Pat Pattison – The Art of Writing Great Lyrics by Pamela Phillips Oland – Six Steps to Songwriting Success by Jason Blume.
Study the careers of successful songwriters. Think of some of your favorite songs. Find out who wrote them. Google the writer and read what you can about their journey from new writer status to hit songwriter status. There is much to be learned from those who have succeeded.
Write songs that speak to you. Songs that pull some emotion from you, whether it’s happiness, humor or nostalgia. If it makes you feel, it will make someone else feel as well.
Seek out an opportunity to visit a recording studio. Nashville is blessed with more than its fair share. If you happen to meet and click with a writer who is planning to record a demo of a song he or she has written, ask to tag along so that you can begin to learn how the process works.
Songwriters in Nashville are known to be a pay it forward community. Most are extremely generous with their talent and experience and are willing to share what they know with those just getting started. As you progress, remember to practice the art of giving back.

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I love books and music. I write both fiction and song lyrics. I can usually be found tinkering with one or the other. My love for songwriting and the Nashville community led me to start a fictional series called, of course, Nashville. I hope you’ll check it out.

Nashville – Part One – Ready to Reach. Buy it at Amazon.com

Young singer-songwriters going for the Nashville dream! Nineteen-year old CeCe Mackenzie leaves Virginia for Nashville with not much more to her name than a guitar, a Walker Hound named Hank Junior and an old car she’d inherited from her grandma called Gertrude.

But Gertrude ends up on the side of I-40 in flames, and Nashville has never seemed farther away.

Help arrives in the form of two Georgia football players headed for the Nashville dream as well. When Holden Ashford and Thomas Franklin stop to offer CeCe and Hank Junior a ride, fate may just give a nod to serendipity and meant to be.

Nashville – Part Two – Hammer and a Song. Buy it at Amazon.com

5 Stars. “Ms. Cooper has written such a beautiful story that gives you hope. It fills you with laughter, sadness, and many other emotions. You feel connected to the characters and really share in their successes and hurt in their failures. I can’t wait for the next part to come out. I’ve really grown attached to the characters and want to see what lies ahead for them. Again…beautiful story.” – Amazon.com Reviewer

5 Stars. “Her car catches fire, 2 smokin’ hot guys stop to help. . . .the rest is history.” – Amazon.com Reviewer

5 Stars. “This book captured my attention from the very start! The characters are each unique yet seem to fit together. I love each of them, especially Hank. I was reading this on a plane and was so disappointed when I turned the page and realized I was going to have to wait to find out what happens. Excellent! I definitely recommend Nashville!” – Bookishblonde – Amazon.com Reviewer

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Published on April 27, 2013 14:22

FREE Download for Kindle

FREE Download for Kindle today, Saturday and Sunday only! http://amzn.to/171tjpu - Please feel free to share!

Excerpt Here:

CHAPTER ONE

CeCe

I’ve been praying since before I can ever actually remember learning how. Mama says I took to praying like baby ducks to their first dip in a pond, my “please” and “thank you” delivered in a voice so sweet that she didn’t see how God would ever be able to say no to me.

Mama says my praying voice is my singing voice, and that any-body listening would know right off that the Father himself gave that voice to me. Two human beings, especially not her and one so flawed as the man who was supposedly my Daddy, would ever be able to create anything that reminiscent of Heaven.

I’m praying now. Hard as I ever have. “Dear Lord, please let this old rattletrap, I mean, faithful car Gertrude, last another hundred miles. Please don’t let her break down before I get there. Please, dear Lord. Please.”

A now familiar melody strings the plea together. I’ve been offering up the prayer for the past several hours at fifteen-minute intervals, and I’m hoping God’s not tired of my interruptions. I’ve got no doubt He has way more important things on His plate today. I wonder now if I was a fool not to take the bus and leave the car behind altogether. It had been a sentimental decision, based on Granny’s hope that her beloved Gertrude would help get me where I wanted to go in this life.

And leaving it behind would have been like leaving behind Hank Junior. I reach across the wide bench seat and rub his velvety-soft Walker Hound ear. Even above the rattle-wheeze-cough of the old car’s engine, Hank Junior snores the baritone snore of his deepest sleep. He’s wound up in a tight ball, his long legs tucked under him, his head curled back onto his shoulder. He reminds me of a duck in this position, and I can’t for the life of me understand how it could be comfortable. I guess it must be, though, since with the exception of pee and water breaks, it’s been his posture of choice since we left Virginia this morning.

Outside of Knoxville, I-40 begins to dip and rise, until the stretch of road is one long climb after the other. I cut into the right hand lane, tractor-trailer trucks and an annoyed BMW whipping by me. Gertrude sounds like she may be gasping her last breath, and I actually feel sorry for her. The most Granny ever asked of her was a Saturday trip to Winn-Dixie and the post office and church on Sundays. I guess that was why she’d lasted so long.

Granny bought Gertrude, brand-spanking new, right off the lot, in 1960. She named her after an aunt of hers who lived to be a hundred and five. Granny thought there was no reason to expect anything less from her car if she changed the oil regularly and parked her in the woodshed next to her house to keep the elements from taking their toll on the blue-green exterior. It turned out Granny was right. It wasn’t until she died last year and left Gertrude to me that the car started showing her age.

What with me driving all over the state of Virginia in the past year, one dive gig to another, weekend after weekend, I guess I’ve pretty much erased any benefits of Granny’s pampering.

We top the steep grade at thirty-five. I let loose a sigh of relief along with a heartfelt prayer of thanks. The speedometer hits fifty-five, then sixty and seventy as we cruise down the long stretch of respite, and I see the highway open out nearly flat for as far ahead as I can see. Hank Junior is awake now, sitting up with his nose stuck out the lowered window on his side. He’s pulling in the smells, dissecting them one by one, his eyes narrowed against the wind, his long black ears flapping behind him.

We’re almost to Cookeville, and I’m feeling optimistic now about the last eighty miles or so into Nashville. I stick my arm out the window and let it fly with the same abandon as Hank Junior’s ears, humming a melody I’ve been working on the past couple days.

A sudden roar in the front of the car is followed by an awful grinding sound. Gertrude jerks once, and then goes completely limp and silent. Hank Junior pulls his head in and looks at me with nearly comical canine alarm.

“Crap!” I yell. I hit the brake and wrestle the huge steering wheel to the side of the highway. My heart pounds like a bass drum, and I’m shaking when we finally roll to a stop. A burning smell hits my nose. I see black smoke start to seep from the cracks at the edge of the hood. It takes me a second or two to realize that Gertrude is on fire.

I grab Hank Junior’s leash, snapping it on his collar before reaching over to shove open his door and scoot us both out. The flames are licking higher now, the smoke pitch black. “My guitar!” I scream. “Oh, no, my guitar!”

I grab the back door handle and yank hard. It’s locked. Tugging Hank Junior behind me, I run around and try the other door. It opens, and I reach in for my guitar case and the notebook of lyrics sitting on top of it. Holding onto them both, I towboat Hank Junior around the car, intent on finding a place to hook his leash so I can get my suitcase out of the trunk.

Just then I hear another sputtering noise, like the sound of fuel igniting. I don’t stop to think. I run as fast as I can away from the car, Hank Junior glued to my side, my guitar case and notebook clutched in my other hand.

I hear the car explode even as I’m still running flat out. I feel the heat on the backs of my arms. Hank Junior yelps, and we run faster. I trip and roll on the rough surface pavement, my guitar case skittering ahead of me, Hank Junior’s leash getting tangled between my legs.

I lie there for a moment, staring up at the blue Tennessee sky, trying to decide if I’m okay. In the next instant, I realize the flouncy cotton skirt Mama made me as a going away present is strangling my waist, and Hank Junior’s head is splayed across my belly, his leash wrapped tight around my left leg.

Brakes screech and tires squall near what sounds inches from my head. I rock forward, trying to get up, but Hank yips at the pinch of his collar.

“Are you all right?”

The voice is male and deep, Southern like mine with a little more drawl. I can’t see his face, locked up with Hank Junior as I am. Footsteps, running, and then a pair of enormous cowboy boots comes into my vision.

“Shit-fire, girl! Is that your car?”

“Was my car,” I say to the voice.

“Okay, then.” He’s standing over me now, a mountain of a guy wearing jeans, a t-shirt that blares Hit Me – I Can Take It and a Georgia Bulldogs cap. “Here, let me help you,” he says.

He hunkers down beside me and starts to untangle Hank Junior’s leash. Hank would usually do me the service of a bark if a stranger approached me, but not this time. He wags his tail in gratitude as the big guy unhooks the snap from his collar, tugs it free from under my leg and then re-hooks it.

Realizing my skirt is still snagged around my waist, my pink bikini underwear in full view, I sit up and yank it down, nothing remotely resembling dignity in my urgency.

“What’s going on, man?”

I glance over my shoulder and see another guy walking toward us, this one not nearly so big, but sounding grouchy and looking sleep-deprived. He’s also wearing cowboy boots and a Georgia Bulldogs cap, the bill pulled low over dark sunglasses. His brown hair is on the long side, curling out from under the hat.

He glances at the burning car, as if he’s just now getting around to noticing it and utters, “Whoa.”

Mountain Guy has me by the arm now and hauls me to my feet. “You okay?”

I swipe a hand across my skirt, dust poofing out. “I think so. Yes. Thank you.”

Hank Junior looks at the second guy and mutters a low growl. I’ve never once doubted his judgment so I back up a step.

“Aw, he’s all right,” Mountain Guy says to Hank Junior, patting him on the head. “He always wakes up looking mean like that.”

Grouchy Guy throws him a look. “What are we doing?”

“What does it look like we’re doing?” Mountain Guy says. “Helping a damsel in distress.”

“I’m not a damsel,” I say, my feathers ruffling even as I realize I could hardly be in much more distress than I am currently in.

Gertrude is now fully engulfed in flames, from her pointed front end to her rounded trunk. Cars are keeping to the far left lane. Surprisingly, no one else has bothered to stop, although I can see people grabbing their cell phones as they pass, a couple to take pictures, others more likely dialing 911.

“So what exactly happened?” Mountain Guy asks me.

“I just heard this loud noise and then smoke started coming out of the hood.”

“Good thing you got her pulled over fast,” he says.

“I didn’t know they let vehicles that old on the road,” Grouchy Guy says.

“She belonged to my Granny,” I fire back in instant outrage, as if everything that has just happened is all his fault.

Grouchy Guy starts to say something, presses his lips together, maybe thinking better of it.

“Don’t pay him no mind,” Mountain Guy advises. “You live near here?”

I laugh then, the sound popping up out of me under the sudden realization that with the exception of my dog, my guitar and my lyrics notebook, I now have no other earthly possessions to call my own. Even my purse has been incinerated inside Gertrude’s melted interior.

The shrill whine of a fire engine echoes from down the Interstate, and a couple of seconds later it comes roaring into sight, lights flashing. It rolls to a heavy stop just behind Gertrude, brakes squealing. Men dressed in heavy tan uniforms grab hoses and run at the burning car.

The water gushes out with impressive force. The blazing fire is a joke against the onslaught, and in less than a minute, the flames slink into nothingness. The only thing left is the charred framework of Gertrude’s once sleek exterior.

As soon as the water hoses cut off, I start to cry, as if some sort of transference has turned on the flow inside of me. I cry because I’ve ruined Granny’s car, her most prized possession. I cry because I now have no money, no means of getting any closer to my dream than my own two feet will carry me. And I cry because everybody back home was exactly right. I was born with dreams way too big for somebody like me to ever make come true.

“Hey, now.” Mountain Guy pats me on the shoulder the same way he had patted Hank Junior on the head a few minutes before. “Everything’s gonna be all right.”

One of the firemen walks up to us. “This y’all’s car?”

Grouchy Guy points at me. “It was hers.”

“Sorry for your loss, ma’am,” the fireman says. “Guess you’ll be needing to call a tow truck.”

Even Mountain Guy can’t help laughing at this, and maybe if you were removed from the situation, it would be pretty funny. Me? I’m anything but removed, and I’m suddenly thankful for Mama’s faithful Triple A membership and the insurance she’s paid up for me through the end of the year.

“You can tell them the car is just short of Mile Marker 320.”

“Thank you,” I say. “And thank you for putting out the–”

“No problem, ma’am,” he says quickly, as if realizing I can’t bring myself to finish.

I glance at Mountain Guy. “Do you have a cell I could borrow?”

“Sure thing.” He pulls an iPhone from his shirt pocket and hands it to me.

“You mind if I get the number for Triple A?”

“’Course not.”

Hank Junior’s leash wrapped around my wrist, I walk a few steps away and tap 411. A bored-sounding operator gives me the 800 number and then connects me free of charge. The woman who takes my “case” doesn’t sound the least bit surprised that my car has burned to smithereens or that I need a tow truck to come and get us both. I wonder if she gets calls like this every day.

In between her questions, I can hear Mountain Guy and Grouchy Guy in a low rumble of discussion that sounds like it has disagreement at its edges. I know they’re talking about me, and while I want to swing around and scream at them both that I don’t need their help, I know the last thing I can afford to do is look a gift horse in the mouth.

The lady from Triple A tells me that Ray’s Towing from Cookeville will be coming out to get the car. She asks if I will also need a ride. I tell her both my dog and I will.

I return the phone to Mountain Guy.

“Get it all squared away?” he asks.

“I think so,” I say, not even sure in this context what that could possibly mean.

“How long before they get here?”

“Hour.”

“Well, you can’t wait by yourself. It’ll be dark by then,” Mountain Guy says.

“I’ll be fine,” I say. “But thanks for stopping. And for letting me use your phone.”

“Not a problem,” he says, glancing over at Grouchy Guy who is still wearing his sunglasses and has his arms folded across his chest in a stance of non-compliance.

I pick up my guitar case and give Hank Junior a little tug before backing away from them. “Thanks again,” I say and head for my charred car.

I’m halfway there when Mountain Guy calls out, “You going to Nashville?”

“What gave it away?” Grouchy Guy throws out, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

I pin him with a look, then turn my gaze to his friend. “Yeah. I am.”

“Well, so are we,” Mountain Guy says. “No point in you staying here when we’re going to the same place, now is there?”

Relief, unwelcome though it is, floods through me. I am feeling kind of sick at the thought of waiting with the car while dark sets in. Maybe I’ve watched too many episodes of Disappeared.My imagination has already started heading off in directions I’d just as soon it didn’t.

But then, on the other hand, I don’t know squat about the two I’m getting ready to ride off with. They could be serial murderers thinking it was their lucky day that my car caught on fire, and they happened by.

Hank Junior seems to think they’re all right though. He’s no longer low-growling at Grouchy Guy. And besides, what choice do I really have? I have no money, no credit card, no clothes.

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Published on March 29, 2013 12:08

Writers: You Can Edit on Your ipad!

As if I didn’t already have a long enough laundry list of reasons why I LOVE my ipad, I recently discovered another.

I can edit a manuscript inside my kindle app.

You may already have discovered this and have an even longer love letter to write to Apple. But if not, here’s how it works. I write my manuscript in Microsoft Word – Mac version for me. When I want to take the manuscript with me and would like to be able to read through it, I send the document to my Kindle address. If you have an Amazon.com account and have registered your ipad or iphone with Amazon, you are given a kindle email address. You can find this by looking under Settings within the Kindle app. You will need to send your document to your kindle address with the email account you have registered with Amazon.

Your document will arrive inside your kindle app under Docs. Once you’ve opened it, you can edit by highlighting areas of concern with the highlighting feature. You can also click on Note and type in whatever you want to remember about making that change.

The other great thing about editing inside the kindle app is that you’re able to see what your document currently looks like on your ipad. I find this greatly helps with getting formatting correct early on in the writing process.

I have found that writers block is a lot less likely to be an issue if I keep my head in a story. I like to have a manuscript with me so that if I have fifteen minutes in the dentist office, I can make good use of that time. If you lead a fairly mobile life like I do, you might love editing with your Kindle app as well!

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Inglath Cooper

I love books! From my earliest memories, I loved being read to and then reading practically every book in my elementary school library. There’s something about taking a little trip into a wonderful story that is its own unique pleasure. Over the years, my favorite authors have provided me with glimpses into worlds I would never have known had I not picked up their books. From Beverley Cleary to Lavyrle Spencer to Jodi Piccoult to Anita Shreve and so many others, I am grateful they chose to become storytellers. A great story has the power to move, change and shape its readers. To me, that’s an honorable calling and a task I aspire to.

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Published on March 24, 2013 09:03

What is Pay it Forward and 8 Easy Ways to Do It

What is pay it forward? Many of us first heard the phrase with the 2000 release of the movie of the same name. The concept is simple. Repay a kindness to another when a kindness is paid to us.

Kindness is free. And so easily given. Here are eight easy ways to pay it forward when a kindness comes our way.

1. Smile at someone. For no reason. The lady in the drive through at McDonald’s. The older man bagging groceries at Kroger. Just smile.

2. Point out something you like in someone. Maybe it’s how they talk to their dog in a way we would all like to be talked to. Maybe it’s the way they send thank you notes that sound like they took time to write them.

3. Ask someone for advice on something you know they’re really good at and have worked hard to accomplish. Most people have something they’re knowledgeable about because they love it and have spent time developing it. They may be only too happy to share what they know and feel complimented that you sought them out.

4. If there’s an older person in your life, drop by for a visit just to talk. Ask them about something meaningful in their lives that interests you and give them a chance to talk about it. Older people have a wealth of experience and history to share with others, but it may seem to them that no one has time to listen.

5. If you have a dog that loves people, try getting him or her approved for visits to a local nursing home. Dogs can make people smile with the simple wag of their tails. Regular visits can bring joy to those who may not have many visitors.

6. Plant a small garden in the spring and share your vegetables with a food pantry, an older person who can no longer garden, or a family who could use the assistance. A few tomato and squash plants can yield an abundance of produce.

7. Maybe you have a neighbor who isn’t able to walk his or her dog as much as they would like to due to age or health issues. Volunteer to do so for them.

8. Offer to teach someone something you know how to do. Maybe you know a teenager who would like to learn to play guitar but can’t afford the lessons. Or someone who doesn’t have computer skills but would like to. It may seem like a little thing to us, but can be huge to someone who may not have had the same opportunities in life.

What’s the best example of paying it forward you’ve seen lately? Or one you’ve done yourself?