Songwriting Blog

Silver and shiny. Strong. Glistening against the glossy red KitchenAid mixer. Is that pancake batter I smell? Buttermilk pancakes? A whir, click, clank.

I write my morning pages under your glow. Soft sizzle in my ear. Flicker. Flicker. The wind from the open window move your yellow flame back and forth.

The centerpiece like a massive hearth that keeps the creative fire burning day and night, providing the necessary warmth to stay alive.

Shaking the perfectly ground earthy-smelling beans into the shiny, silver French press, I begin to salivate anticipating that hot, dark brew in my mouth.

God, I loved my first dog Sparkle! He broke my heart always escaping from the yard, and one day, he never came back home.

Nothing better than a day spent on my Grannie’s front porch waiting for fried catfish, a mess of greens, and her cold sweet ice tea.

I have done this so many times before, but this time I saw stars and would rather pass out and die myself than kill you.