Paulo Coelho. Creative Commons.
We have two choices: to control our minds or to let our minds control us. ~ Paulo Coelho
This quote seems to be circular in reasoning, doesn’t it? How do you control your mind, except with your mind? But yet instinctively it makes sense. If we don’t control our thoughts, they will control us. It’s the power of positive thinking. Looking at the glass as half full.
I dug deeper into Paulo Coelho’s writings. Check out these quotes:
You are what you believe yourself to be.
Don’t let your mind tell your heart what to do. The mind gives up easily.
The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion.
If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine; it is lethal.
Travel is never a matter of money, but of courage.
This one really hit home:
If you’re brave enough to say goodbye, life will reward you with a new hello.
This year I am gradually saying goodbye to my French horn, an instrument that I have played and loved for almost 60 years. My Dad introduced me to the horn at the age of 14, and to music well before that. The horn got me through college and kept me sane through fifty years of law school and law practice.
Orchestras, chamber music, bands, solos, and for the last few years, since Covid, just playing for my own amusement and amazement, working on the Bach unmeasured preludes and exploring jazz and other music. The horn has kept me in balance, like one leg of the proverbial three-legged stool.
But since January of this year, when I started this blog, I have been writing instead of practicing my horn. And by saying goodbye to my instrument, I have been rewarded with many new hellos, from each of you!
I write like I play the horn: trying to hit the right note, phrase the thought correctly, put the emphasis where it belongs, bring out the theme and overall arc of the thought, whether musical or literary.
But there are big differences between writing and music.
Music is transitory. The same thing that makes music so wonderful also makes it impermanent. You can make a recording, of course, and try to capture the magic. But once you send your music out into the universe it is beyond recall and will only echo and fade.
Writing, on the other hand, is more permanent. The words stay on the page. Once you sing out the note and sound the melody, it is done. There is no going back. No editing, no rewrites, no autocorrection of the spelling (unless you’re in the recording studio. The difference between live music and recording is a whole other subject).
A musician must play at the proper moment, in time and at the correct volume, in rhythm. Words must also strike the right rhythm, but the writing of the words can be stretched out over days and even years. Yet while there is no conductor to give the downbeat, the writer still must keep going. If one tries to be perfect nothing ever gets published. And if you wait too long the thought has passed or has been superseded by a new idea. Finally there comes a time when the writer must hit “Send.” It’s a scary moment but it passes quickly.
In writing, unlike music, you must wait, sometimes forever, for the applause. Some of the great writers were not recognized in their lifetimes, never knowing if their writing was a success. A musician knows immediately if they have hit the right note or turned the phrase correctly.
For example Herman Melville’s masterpiece Moby Dick was initially a failure. It wasn’t until fifty years after his death that Moby Dick slowly began to get the recognition it deserved as a brilliant piece of literature.
Call me Ishmael …
Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.
And of course Emily Dickinson wrote only for herself. We’re not sure even today why she resisted publication. [The Publication Question. “I had told you I did not print.”]. Her sister discovered 1800 poems she had written after her death. Before that only a few had been published, and these for the most part anonymously.
Like the buzz of the fly, all those notes I’ve played in the practice room have faded away. And even the concert performances no longer echo. But the words that Emily Dickinson wrote will no doubt reverberate for many more years. We actually CAN still hear the buzz of that fly she captured on paper over a century ago.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not abandoning music! It still plays an important role in my life. But my role has changed. Instead of being the performer, I am the audience. A good musician must be a good listener too, of course. Listening to the ensemble carefully, matching the phrasing of fellow musicians and the rhythms set down by the other sections. Similarly a good writer must also be a good reader and critic, listening to what they have written and how it fits into the universe.
Probably the biggest thing I learned from my years as a musician is the value of discipline: the importance of controlling your thoughts, focusing, and spending the time necessary to master the subject. These skills are fully transferable to another profession or trade.
Controlling the mind, not someone else’s, but yours, is the key, whether writing or playing.
Thanks for helping me work that out!
Yeti pulled a muscle running around somehow, but he’s making a good recovery and hopefully he’ll be back under saddle soon. In the meantime he’s enjoying late summer sun, lush grass, tender care, and crisp Michigan apples.
Hope you’re doing the same~!
We’re hoping to get to Eastern Market Saturday, the last day of summer. I want to take some pictures of that unique market to share, and get some more of those crisp Michigan apples!
Thanks for riding along and for hitting the ❤️!
True, the difference between writing and playing music. Writers not only never really know the full extent of their work, they are never really done. My first novel, Paradise Ridge, written and self-published in 2011, is nagging me for yet another rewrite and maybe sharing on Substack. IDK. Back and forth. Your writing are so inspiring, well, I've already purchased a couple of books based on your reviews. Still enjoying a leisurely read through The Wild Shore. Fanny and Louis finally met and fell in love. The plot thickens. Thank you, David.
Meanwhile, may I suggest Emily Dickenson's Gardening Life for your pleasure: https://www.amazon.com/Emily-Dickinsons-Gardening-Life-Inspired/dp/1604698225/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3FYF7Z9MTTV5J&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.iVqpt4OYtJzBx1figLrSjWUZmYSNdJj1gvGFvvZ2yBHgOUlQgExv-FOdPu8NIWIVeprpUpfedmNTZ6ZTcJJrgsqxpH0I6XcPtn0vJ0QLq-NuwirnReu8EMXglWGAfMxldX0L4E6pgvih52N8kYMhiXFuQNxcTvnSi41KqqHs8oZb2SHR_Pco6_-EBj-df4RWdFdU1ETC_tMq0UTu5LZSiUwiVw3xGvINbRn6xW-SQgA.kH3f9Xi2NM_hus68exVINB5cbNCb25UN8ybK1yLggwo&dib_tag=se&keywords=emily+dickinson+gardening+life&qid=1726875226&sprefix=Emily+Dickenson%27s+garden%2Caps%2C177&sr=8-1
My SIL gave me a copy for Christmas a few years ago and it was luscious. It's a perfect match for your poetry and gardening interests.
Didn't know you were a French horn player, not too many of those around! I played the oboe for many years, but now it sits here in it's case. Sometimes I reflect on how, over time, I change which of my hobbies I emphasize and wonder how things will be when I no longer will be able to do certain things. Will I be satisfied with what I've done and who I am? Well, if past behavior is the best indicator of future behavior, then I'm pretty safe saying that I'll be thinking I could have done more or been better. But on the flip side, maybe not. Time will tell.
Thanks again for always "chatting" and sharing here.