How Music and Writing Intertwine… In my Life and Others.

Music often tells a story. Watching a music performance is a story in itself. There is a way a music performer has stage presence the way an author has a way with words. No two music performances are the same, sure maybe the set list is the same, but the energy of each show and from city to city, state to state is completely different, and that is for any genre. The same thing with writing. A book or short story may have similar aspects but the way those words came about on the page are a story in it self. I love to watch interviews with bands or musicians and read essay’s on writing from authors. That to me is the true meaning of the story within a story. What was going on in that authors life to make them write the way they did or what was going on in that musicians life to write or compose a song the way they did. I know this might be a little bit off topic but look at Picasso during the “blue period,” in which he started using blue paint from hearing of his friends suicide. Its these life experiences that define us as people and affect our self expression.

A teacher Rebecca Brown,  wrote this article I read (works cited page)  was talking about how many of her students listened to music when they were writing and if they didn’t, why not? Only like four out of twelve students, she said in her class, preferred to write to music “because of their “short attention spans” or because they wanted to “listen to something upbeat that would keep them moving throughout the writing process.” (Brown)

Personally when I write, or get in the mood to write, I always listen to Jazz. I think it essentially has to go back to when I was in middle school, like I talked about before and was new to writing, I saw the movie Finding Forrester, and the score from that movie is mostly Jazz at that point and time the only thing I knew about writing was that it was a fun outlet for me as a kid, and I was good at it, so when I saw that movie for the first time I guess I just always associated writing with Jazz music. Then when I was around that same age I went to my first poetry reading with my friends mom. My friend was also the drummer in our first band at that time… anyway, she was really into it. We went for ice cream the one night and ended up at this coffee shop listening to local poets and short story writers. I don’t really remember much but for some reason again I felt comfortable and I felt as if I belonged. From that point on I just remember writing a lot of horrible corny poetry about how I had a crush on this girl and I ended up reading it in class and I think two weeks after that I told that girl that I was in a band. We started dating roughly a week after.

So not only did I enjoy writing and playing music, and not only did they make me feel good, but I was benefiting from it, which was astonishing. But I might have to say that listening to the punk rock music that I was listening to at that time really didn’t do much for my school career or at least my attitude toward it. But I can honestly say that if I didn’t have that as an outlet as a kid who knows I might not be here today. 1317055236-miles-davis


Diary of a Coal Miner

Diary of a Coal Miner

When I walk, When I talk
I get so Amused
Strewn like needle and thread
through my ears
Like the wind through a door screen
Black and Tarnished with years
This is America
Land of the Free
Chained to these mines, the doors unlocked
but not for me
Bind us up and take me away
I realized with seasons past,
I’m not special…

A bit of jazz guitar to wash away a day
I hold on to the things that I did
When I was a kid
When I was a kid there were many
With one I am strong
I was one to believe that the grains of sand
didn’t start as rocks
They were put there for the tourists
Put there for me
Just touring the earth
Looking for the beauty in the trees
The beauty in the forest
The beauty in the birds and the bees
Couldn’t see the beauty in me
Couldn’t see the beauty in an old coal home
Couldn’t see the beauty in timber stents
and termite holes

The corner stone,
Where the old coal roam
This old coal town
With old coal faces
Lights on their heads, with old coal frowns

I am the glue that holds the plywood,
and trim boards together
Menial little letters
from somewhere
Not here
Arriving within days to this house
for me it took me years
Long warm winter nights
Happy summer days
How ungrateful I was made
I wouldn’t have it any other way
Vacations aren’t get away’s they’re…
Shit, I just wish i could stay

Back to the same old coal town
With those same old coal faces
The same old coal frowns
Not yet
Take in the air
Take in the ocean, take in the breeze
The back of my eyelids is all I can see
I’m here, so far away from a care
A barstool is a meaningless concept
It’s just another chair

In my house there’s just another bed
Just another good nights rest
And on that beds pillow
Just another same framed head
Black with the day
Black from the wear and tear these modern coal
mines can put on a man
Black with that same screen door tarnish
It’s this that stuck to me
I could scrub till I bleed
Only if Zest could clean a soul
I’m not to old
Old enough to know
Days come and go
Can’t forget that i have morals can’t forget
that I have goals
I never want to be normal

Just fit to live

An old coal man with a handful family
And a handful of kids
Living in a fixed up
Old coal home.

This was a piece I wrote for a poetry reading over the summer. Poetry is a great way for self expression. There is no better feeling then getting involved with something you love especially if it is writing. If you are interested seek out fellow writers in your town and/or area to get involved with your creative writing scene. 


Title Fight- Wilkes Barre PA- Redwood Art Space (RIP to this location)

Title Fight- Memorial Field – benefit for the memorial of Justin Kacillas.