Once more, again, with feeling,

Or, my soundtrack to this thing I call writing Book DOS.



I've turned on channel 614 which is the ROCK station. If you know me, you know I love rock music. Often times I don't know the band or the names of the lead singers. I just know their voices, gritty-dirty-throw-you-on-the-ground-and-love-you-hate-you voices. It's all about the voice. Sometimes not even the lyrics. When I listen to Pearl Jam I can only understand 1/4th of the things he says. And it's okay because the melody and the voice is what makes my heart ache.

I sort of imagine the opening of my book to something fun and carefree, Buckcherry style. <-- Buckcherry <3

There is a lot of My Darkest Days and Guns and Roses. Because nothing says mermen at sea like rockers in tight pants and crazy hair, right? I think there might be something there, ya know?

Maybe it works like this: I work best when surrounded by noise. And while Adele and Sade and Taylor are sweet and I still have their songs interlude my rock sessions, nothing makes me feel as energized like a good rock song. Is this a good time to admit that when I was in junior high I had a crush and the two following lead singers?



Don't judge me.

Seriously, I would totally still bone Steven Tyler even though he's almost 90. Having been around Kid Rock when he frequented my previous night club, I wouldn't touch that with a sanitary stick. Still, something about me has a thing for dirty white guys with sexy voices.

This then forms my soundtrack of rollickin' mermen (and mergirls) kicking ass.

I leave you with a song I have on repeat which will lead me to the moment before the climax of my intended plot. (Mind the video is about a ballerina, but the sentiment of letting go is what I'm aiming for.)



rock on and write on like, Zoraida