What it is like to write a song

First you tell yourself that you should not try to write a song. It is going to be horrible, after all. And there’s all of that everything else that you need to do first. Then, you tell yourself that no, you’re smarter this time, and you know that all that everything else doesn’t really need to be done now. You’ve gotten smarter at talking back to your inner critic, who hates failing and hates you most of all. You can see its tricks.

Then you sit down, and start strumming and humming. Immediately, you are filled with shame and loathing. How could you even dare to write a song? Taylor Swift does that! Do you claim to hold ground with the great TSwift? How could you? She’s blonde! You are overcome with a sense of your smallness and insignificance—not the way that you feel when you’re looking up at the stars, but the way that you feel when you’re at a party when everyone else knows each other and are too old to care about making new friends.

But then, you’re like, hey, wait a second, is that you IC (inner critic)? Are you keeping me from my simple goal of strumming and humming a tune of my own making? And then IC is like, yeah, it’s me. So you ignore IC again and go back to what you were doing.

And it’s going really groovy. You’re like, hey maybe this is good. In fact, maybe it’s the best song that’s ever been written and I am a musical genius and I’m going to get accolades, like, so many accolades. As soon as I finish this, my first song. Pictures of screaming fans appear in your head. You read snippets of future reviews: “Stunning” “Fresh” “Heartbreaking and hopeful” “I want to be her friend” It’s all very gratifying. You really have accomplished a lot.

Then you decide to write a lyric to it. “I wish we were together, babe.” You look at it on the page and everything turns gray and withers. It’s horrifying, nauseating. Who are you even talking about? Babe? You never say that. What is this song even about? Each time you try to write another lyric, it’s even more pukey. You can barely get through a whole verse without retching.

And then you read the whole thing over again and realize that hey, maybe this isn’t so bad. Maybe it’s … actually the greatest song ever written? The fans come back, the critics, the awards. People are commenting on your YouTube music video saying the song has been their best friend in the time of need and the best man at their wedding. World peace.

You start humming the tune again and then realize something. It’s almost note for note the melody from “Love Story.” Damn you, TSwift. Damn you. The crowd in your head dissipates and it’s just you again, but you’re smiling this time, because you realize that there’s no shame in writing a bad song. This one might not top the charts, but you did it. You kinda sorta wrote a song that you mostly, but (crucially), not completely, stole from Taylor Swift.

And you decide to try again. Sometime. After you do some other stuff. Don’t want to use up all the creative juices today.