Music, Writing, and the Practice of Art

Like many people in the arts, I have a number of jobs. For me, that includes writing, teaching writing, transcribing music notation, and teaching music.

Teaching music came first. For the last fifteen years I’ve worked at the Victoria Conservatory of Music teaching students how to play piano and how to understand the language of music through study of theory and musicianship. 

When I attend a literary festival or give a reading, I’m asked a reoccurring question—something along the lines of, “You’re a musician. Does that help with writing?”  

What I think the questioner is getting at is “is the muse of music the muse of writing” or, perhaps because people are so easily swayed emotionally through music, “as a musician are you better attuned to being artistically empathetic,” or, “Does It Make It Easier?”

My first response is to say no—writing is a lot of work, there’s no way of getting around that. But music does help with writing in the way, I think, any form of study helps with another: sticking to it. Finishing a project takes time and effort. I’m not a believer in muses. Sure, there are moments where stories come together, where the puzzle is finally solved and a project finally makes sense, but getting there takes time. Both music and writing require a foundation of language—reading and listening to what other people have done, and being delighted enough by it to try something for yourself. 

I think of the act of writing, of sitting down in front of the computer day after day, like practice. Write or research, trust something will come of it. Play your arpeggios, learn your pieces. It takes a lot study, years of reading music and building up a physical vocabulary on your instrument, in order to be able to play it. 

Enjoy the process. Get excited about fixing and experimenting. Expect the work to take time. Let it happen.