Writing, Reed-ing, and a List of the Week

When my eighth grade English teacher, Mrs. Riederer, asked us to keep a journal, she changed my life. To each of us she passed out a super-sized version of those black marbled composition books you get at the drug store, and she said we could write about anything, any time, without worrying about spelling mistakes, criticisms from her, grammar corrections, or anything like that. How liberating!

Along with the journals she handed out a page or two of suggested topics and questions, single-spaced, a few of which are reproduced at the bottom of this blog. Although she asked us to write in the journal only about once a week or so, it wasn't long before I found I just had to write in it almost every day. It became almost a meditative practice, like a liturgy of the hours, a physical act making incarnate the process I was going through, of becoming the person I was to become. I found that this daily writing, poured onto the page, was doing its work within, carving out the shape of my mind and filling in cracks and crevices, sculpting my intellect and my character day by day. Writing made me notice and pay attention - to my own life, my world, my own formation in that context.

When I look back on the entries now, I am profoundly embarrassed by my florid style as a thirteen-year old, and probably the best writing advice for me would have been what the father in A River Runs Through It said: "Half as long." But in a way having time and space in which to express myself without worrying about rules, style, or perfection gave me the freedom to cultivate greater mental agility, a better eye, a more versatile voice. Writing and thought are intimately connected and feed one another. I am convinced that cognitive (and, often, spiritual) development can be greatly enriched when people use writing as a tool for learning. Teachers should use it more.

Of course, I also believe in discipline and rigor in the writing process. Playing has its place, but exercise, revision, and just plain work are crucial. That terse comment from A River Runs Through It is still good advice for me today (no, the irony of this post's length is not lost on me!), along with Zinsser's incomparable work, On Writing Well, which is perhaps the best writer's guide I know. Among writers' reflections on the writing process, though, my favorites are Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird and Julia Cameron's The Right to Write. The latter contains so many inspiring, beautifully articulated passages about why we can and should embrace "the writing life."

"Daily writing," she reflects on p.150, "writing simply for the sake of writing, is like keeping a pot of soup on the back of the stove; it is always there, always ready to be tasted, always ready to be added to, always nourishing, savory, life-sustaining. Like soup, your daily writing doesn't have to be fancy. A few simple ingredients are enough."

Among my favorite lines, though, are these from pp. 50-51: "Valuing our experience...is the act of paying active witness to ourselves and to our world. Such witness is an act of dignity, an act that recognizes that life is essentially a sacred transaction of which we know only the shadow, not the shape...Writing is an act of self-cherishing."

I was crushed when a good friend of mine during residency heard me start a sentence with the words, "As a writer, I..." and said cynically, "Oh, you're not a writer," as if to say, you're not a "real" writer. Obviously I'm still preoccupied with this question of artistic validity. I was hurt not because the casual remark "put me in my place" - I don't think he intended that - but rather because I felt he was assaulting my self-concept. I realized that writing wasn't just an activity for me but something like an internal organ - a very real part of me. I wanted "being a writer" to be, not what I am, but who I am.

I have not danced ballet or modern dance seriously in years, but I still feel I can truthfully start a sentence with, "As a dancer, I..." Even if I never dance again, I think, I will still think of myself as a dancer. It's in my soul. Writing's in there too, and now, I think, being a musician. They're intertwined. Perhaps music is what started it all; music inside me has emerged as dance or as writing because those have been the instruments I've had so far (ok, piano too). I'm hoping I'll eventually find another path for this inner music, with my trusty little oboe.

***

A quote from Ralph Vaughan Williams about one of his works (4th Symphony, I think): "I don't know if I like it, by it's what I mean." What a great guide for creativity - to aim not necessarily for like-ability, but rather for genuine self-expression!

***

I went music shopping today. I bought a portable music stand and some staff paper so I could work on arranging a piano accompaniment for the Raymonda adagio. I got the same momentary pleasure I get when I go to the store to get writing supplies or at Christmas when I wrap presents for people (one of the happiest activities I can think of). I had so much fun.

Practicing is getting more multilayered. There's so much to work on! Long tones, scales, interval etudes, dynamics (which are at this point still so reed-dependent for me), breath support, the Bach and the Morricone, the smaller works I'm trying to learn (Simple Gifts and other churchy things). I can get through all of Gabriel's Oboe now, ever since Kyoko clued me into the left octave key (like, DUH!), so now I want to push past just "getting through" the notes and actually start to make some MUSIC. The Bach's gonna be a while.

***

Top 15 List of the Week (after today's O.R. conversation)(tweaked up from 10):

Attractive Leading Men in Movies Old and New

15. Viggo Mortensen in The Return of the King.
14. Bill Pullman as the president in Independence Day and the adorable brother in While You Were Sleeping.
13. Johnny Depp in Chocolat.
12. Anthony Andrews in the jail cell scene in The Scarlet Pimpernel.
11. Hugo Weaving as Elrond in The Lord of the Rings. Jeff Chandler as Cochise in Broken Arrow. Same type of concerned-father/warrior/ruler character.
10. Half the cast of King Arthur (e.g. Clive Owen / Ioan Gruffud) was eye-candy. The other half...wasn't exactly, but still enjoyable to watch.
9. Gary Sinise in anything in which his character isn't evil.
8. Antonio Banderas in The Legend of Zorro. Or in Take the Lead - whew!
7. Orlando Bloom in Kingdom of Heaven, more for the character he played than anything else.
6. Oded Fehr in The Mummy and The Mummy Returns
5. Yul Brynner in Anastasia. White shirt and guitar - 'nough said.
4. Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke.
3. Hugh Jackman in pretty much anything.
2. Daniel Craig in Casino Royale.
1. Gregory Peck in Roman Holiday. Drool, drool, drool.

Pie It's Not; or, Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

Why, oh why, just when we seem to be making progress, do we suddenly BOMB?

Yesterday's oboe lesson was so WEAK. I don't know what happened. I've been practicing DAILY. Scales, long tones, method book, and, dare I say it, "repertoire," embryonic though the latter may be. Practices have been going ok, with only a few bumps in the road due to fatigue, lack of technique, lack of know-how, what-have-you. Yesterday I was not fatigued. I was not nervous. I was having fun. 'My teacher was good-natured and laid back, as usual. And I just BOMBED. Couldn't even get through D major. Tone was horrible. Took 10 minutes of back-tracking and re-warming-up to regain my "sound." I was totally inconsistent. I kept making mistakes. I sputtered. What is UP with that?

I have a neurobiological theory, of course. I think when we learn a new skill and begin to practice it, our brains start rearranging little functions and electrical discharge patterns. Neurons adjust to new bursts of neurotransmitter, new connections. But I think there's a shifty phase when they're not quite comfortable with their new assignments. In the building process, with the "scaffolding still up" and some exposed parts here and there, I think some misfirings occur, and we have one of those dreaded bad days that supposedly everybody has. [Speaking of building: even during last week's barn-raising there was a major snafu that needed some re-working to resolve: the center post was actually off-center, so one of the major spans came up short!] I think eventually the activity patterns become established and coordinated, more orchestral, and the brain itself acquires new architectural elements, like a cathedral with a new wing. I guess I need to remember that every work-in-progress has to pass through major imperfections & ups & downs to get to a "more perfect" place.

If only it really were easy as pie. My family is very appreciative of my apple pie. My son calls it "Paradise Pie" because he says eating it is like being in paradise. When he was asked in school last November to write down instructions for how to make a turkey dinner, he wrote on his paper, "My family doesn't like turkey. We have ham and chicken at Thanksgiving." So his teacher asked him to make a list of instructions for any Thanksgiving dish, and he wrote,

How to Make a Pie.
Get 7 apples.
Bake a pie.
Eat it.

Love it! Wish I could apply that to music: pick up oboe, blow through reed, play music. Simple, right? If only!

And it's not like I can use an "oboe simulator" to learn. In medicine some of the best learning experiences I had were at our residency program's medical simulator. We could practice managing some pretty hair-raising scenarios and social psychology quandaries in the sim. I think it's the wave of the future for medical education and crisis management training. But to make music, I can't imagine there being an effective equivalent. The only way to be a musician is to keep TRYING to be a musician. I get so embarrassed when loving family members call me a "musician" - I feel so unworthy of the word right now!

Tonight I could only practice for a short time because it was close to the kids' bedtime by the time I got started. My son came up the stairs because he heard my scales. I said sheepishly, apologetically, that I wasn't that good. Like the supportive son that he is, he said, "I think you are, and you practice every day, so that makes you good." Sweet boy! My daughter soon joined us, and likewise said encouraging things that had more to do with her affection for her mother than her mother's abilities, but hey, no complaints here.

At the end of yesterday's lesson I asked Kyoko to play a portion of the Raymonda adagio I love, which I had transcribed clumsily onto some music paper a couple of nights before. I don't think I've ever heard it sound so beautiful. Wow. She has the perfect, rich tone and gentle vibrato for the piece. It sounded so gorgeous I could barely breathe. *Sigh* Something to aspire to...

Scales

"Down the road someone is practising scales,
The notes like little fishes vanish with a wink of tails..."
from Sunday Morning by Louis MacNeice

I was astonished to read what Patty Mitchell wrote on June 7 at Oboeinsight, about how some of her colleagues don't require their students to practice scales because they don't believe scales are important. Perhaps I haven't earned the privilege of having an opinion about this, but surprise surprise, I do have one, just as I have one about times tables (they should be committed to memory at an early age), diagramming sentences (all school kids should participate in the exercise, lest a working knowledge of English grammar, seemingly a low priority in this country, be thrust into further decline), and learning poetry by heart (go ahead, call me old fashioned).

If I've learned anything from both dance and medicine, it's that expertise which requires physical activity also requires rigorous training. Repetitive physical acts in such endeavors are neither useless nor unimportant; they are, in fact, essential, both for the muscular strength and dexterity they develop and for the discipline they instill.

Two weeks ago I couldn't get past the first measure of Gabriel's Oboe by Ennio Morricone. Yesterday morning, facing a glorious day outside my bedroom window, I surprised myself by playing through eight measures -not well, of course, but considering I couldn't even try it not too long ago, I was glad just to be playing through the notes! I have no doubt that practicing scales - again, not necessarily well, but with good intentions, at least - has made a difference and added those seven new measures. I'm going to have to start working on F minor. I tried to figure out the adagio portion of the Grand Pas Hongrois in Raymonda, and those four flats aren't exactly second nature...yet.

But boy, I have no endurance. I have no wind control, no stamina in my hand muscles; my embouchure poops out after twenty minutes; I am an oboe wimp. And a "grace note" queen. Not a great combination! :)

***

Got called to the ICU today to manage yet another God-help-me type of intubation. The procedure went fine, and when one of the family practice docs started asking me about my approach, I found myself thinking back to residency, when we residents had achieved enough seniority to get sent to places like the ICU and the E.R. by ourselves, carrying a supply bag on our shoulders, all eyes watching as we attempted to do what others had already tried to do but were unable to. I thought back to my recent call to the E.R. at one of our smaller hospitals, a community hospital in the middle of a bunch of dairy farms, where after the E.R. physicians, I was the only other person around for miles who was qualified to even attempt intubating someone. All I can say is, thank goodness for those residency runs, which gave me chance to develop an approach. Thank goodness for scales.