where the writers are
The Sounds of Life
bibliomaniac
For five years Diana believed the only thing missing from her life was Adrian. She could be wrong and Logan intends to prove it to her.
Amazon.com Amazon.com
Powell's Books Powell's Books

Sounds permeate the world, the sounds of electric and electronic machines and components that hum, whir and buzz in the background. It's the sound of electricity. There is also the sound of air moving through furnace ducts and the rustle of papers in the air's path. Phones ring, buzz and jingle, playing snippets of music. Computer twing, twang and ting with the sound of busy applications. But the music is missing from my life. I didn't realize how silent my world has been lately until I heard Dr. Walter Bishop on Fringe singing a few lines from Tears for Fears: Head Over Heels.

A couple of lines, a few words and I was off on the hunt because I couldn't remember the song or who sang it. I came across Whitesnake and remembered songs I loved from their albums. I downloaded a few and kept looking because it didn't sound right and then I came across Tears for Fears and downloaded the song I wanted. The air is filled with music now as I type, my body moving to the beat and my heart light and gay from the exercise of lungs and vocal cords singing along. I've missed this. How much I've missed I didn't realize until I heard Walter sing (baritone and badly) and my heart and mind and ears called out for more.

I sometimes think life is better with a sound track, a real life version of the Buffy episode, Once Again With Feeling, and Dr. Horrible's Sing-a-long Blog. I need music to feed my soul and heart as much as my body needs food, and I've neglected both for too long. Music for dancing. Music for cleaning house. Music for doing laundry. Music for taking out the trash. Music for life. There should be music. I should have caught the hint from the Bones episode where a young Amish man on rumspringa considered living in the English world so he can play the piano, bring forth music into his silent and plain world where electricity and computers don't exist to provide that half-heard counterpoint to life. That young Amish man broke his hands so he could no longer play the piano because he decided to go back to his Amish life, back to the silence, for the girl he loved, giving up the music that filled his soul for the woman who filled his heart.

Whether it's Whitesnake, the best of the Beatles, Rhythm & Blues, Classical or good old Rock & Roll, and everything in between, I know now I need music, the music that fills my soul, makes my heart swell with joy, rushes like spring melt beneath my skin and along my nerve and gives my lungs and vocal cords a workout. I need music even more than food and much more than the silence that helps me concentrate when I write. I know why Stephen King weaves music throughout his writing; it is as much a part of him as grammar, punctuation and the fantasy of other lives. Music is life. Music is movement. Music is the sound track of the heart and soul and I have missed mine.