between us since I had met him. The thought of seeing anyone else but him was hard to imagine. He had hooked into my heart and brought down my walls.
“Why the guitar?”
“You said that I do something. Bring out something when I’m with you. Sounds corny, but we should try doing some writing together.”
“That’s not allowed, Chase.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Neither is our relationship, but it’s happening.”
It was true. Words seemed to flow better when I was around him. It was if he unlocked a part of me. For the next fifteen minutes he played a few chord progressions and I hummed quietly, allowing my mind to drift into that writing space. He had a pad of paper and pen.
“Just jot things down as they come to you. Don’t worry if they sound strange.”
That was the way it worked. Sometimes it was a chord progression, other times just a lick on a guitar that would get me into the frame of mind where words flowed. Who knew where lyrics came from? I’d heard Bono from U2 did the same thing. He would have the Edge or all of them play and then just begin mumbling words into a mic. That was how their popular song “One” was written. It was as though the creative flow was found in the doing, not in waiting for inspiration to write. It expected you to show up and just write. The very act of doing it, opened some kind of channel for words to flow and form together.
That’s the way I saw it.
Sometimes those words came together fast, as though already formed and just waiting for someone to pluck them out of the invisible and breathe life into them through music. Other times, I would get a few lines, then a week or two would pass and I would get more that were completely unrelated. But then I would find they worked with ones I had written weeks earlier. I called those the jumbled-up songs. Words that had got lost, or unattached to the ones they were meant to be with. Eventually though, like bringing two magnets together, they would form and settle and a song would be birthed.
As the minutes ticked over, a song began to form.
We were lovers
We were haters
We were everything in between
We held this love in our hearts
Like a treasure beneath the sea
Through the struggles and all the pain
Through the easy and the rough days
We fought our way to stay together.
You’re making me….
T he words were flowing easy . It was as if we had never been apart. Chase knew it too. There was something unique about working together. Like catching lightning in a bottle. It was what every songwriter dreamed about. Finding that person or method to create a number one hit.
We were so caught up in the writing process that I had completely forgot about where I was meant to be.
“Shoot, I need to go,” I said, jumping up. “Spike will be waiting for me.”
I had told him I would meet him at eleven that morning. I had already discussed what he was going to do. He had been somewhat against the idea. He didn’t agree with everything I said, and for a moment he refused to do it. Once I told him that she was trying to get me kicked off, something changed. He went from anger at me to anger at her. That’s when I really knew he cared. I only wish I could have given him what he wanted. He deserved much more. Much better than I could ever hope to give.
* * *
W hen I arrived , Spike was tapping his foot. We had met in a parking lot outside the hotel where Leann was staying.
“You have the magnet?”
He held it up. It was a magnet on the end of a metal rod. Almost like an antenna that could be extended. The trick to unlock the passcode was simple, as long as it was turned on. When it came up to the screen which required you to enter the PIN, you hovered the magnet over the top right-hand corner. The screen would go blank and then instantly let you inside.
He wouldn’t tell me how he knew, and I had to wonder if he had used it a few times on my phone to check my text messages but I didn’t want to accuse him. I needed
“Why the guitar?”
“You said that I do something. Bring out something when I’m with you. Sounds corny, but we should try doing some writing together.”
“That’s not allowed, Chase.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Neither is our relationship, but it’s happening.”
It was true. Words seemed to flow better when I was around him. It was if he unlocked a part of me. For the next fifteen minutes he played a few chord progressions and I hummed quietly, allowing my mind to drift into that writing space. He had a pad of paper and pen.
“Just jot things down as they come to you. Don’t worry if they sound strange.”
That was the way it worked. Sometimes it was a chord progression, other times just a lick on a guitar that would get me into the frame of mind where words flowed. Who knew where lyrics came from? I’d heard Bono from U2 did the same thing. He would have the Edge or all of them play and then just begin mumbling words into a mic. That was how their popular song “One” was written. It was as though the creative flow was found in the doing, not in waiting for inspiration to write. It expected you to show up and just write. The very act of doing it, opened some kind of channel for words to flow and form together.
That’s the way I saw it.
Sometimes those words came together fast, as though already formed and just waiting for someone to pluck them out of the invisible and breathe life into them through music. Other times, I would get a few lines, then a week or two would pass and I would get more that were completely unrelated. But then I would find they worked with ones I had written weeks earlier. I called those the jumbled-up songs. Words that had got lost, or unattached to the ones they were meant to be with. Eventually though, like bringing two magnets together, they would form and settle and a song would be birthed.
As the minutes ticked over, a song began to form.
We were lovers
We were haters
We were everything in between
We held this love in our hearts
Like a treasure beneath the sea
Through the struggles and all the pain
Through the easy and the rough days
We fought our way to stay together.
You’re making me….
T he words were flowing easy . It was as if we had never been apart. Chase knew it too. There was something unique about working together. Like catching lightning in a bottle. It was what every songwriter dreamed about. Finding that person or method to create a number one hit.
We were so caught up in the writing process that I had completely forgot about where I was meant to be.
“Shoot, I need to go,” I said, jumping up. “Spike will be waiting for me.”
I had told him I would meet him at eleven that morning. I had already discussed what he was going to do. He had been somewhat against the idea. He didn’t agree with everything I said, and for a moment he refused to do it. Once I told him that she was trying to get me kicked off, something changed. He went from anger at me to anger at her. That’s when I really knew he cared. I only wish I could have given him what he wanted. He deserved much more. Much better than I could ever hope to give.
* * *
W hen I arrived , Spike was tapping his foot. We had met in a parking lot outside the hotel where Leann was staying.
“You have the magnet?”
He held it up. It was a magnet on the end of a metal rod. Almost like an antenna that could be extended. The trick to unlock the passcode was simple, as long as it was turned on. When it came up to the screen which required you to enter the PIN, you hovered the magnet over the top right-hand corner. The screen would go blank and then instantly let you inside.
He wouldn’t tell me how he knew, and I had to wonder if he had used it a few times on my phone to check my text messages but I didn’t want to accuse him. I needed
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