Strange music

Here’s a question for you: what music do you write to?

Some people don’t write to anything and consider it a distraction. Me, I like to have a soundtrack for my stories – it sort of makes them more real, inside the bizarre playground of my head.

The best kind of soundtrack, though, is other people. Strangely enough, I write best when I’m surrounded by strangers. The sound of people who are disconnected from me is like a nice kind of muse-inducing white noise. The sound of people I know, of course, makes me uncomfortable because I should really be paying attention to them instead of writing.

Writing is such an anti-social pursuit.

So is reading, but writing is the grand-daddy of it all. Reading, at least, is a universal thing that you have a good chance of being able to talk to anyone about, if you live in a country with regular Internet access. Writing, though, is nonsensical to anyone but other writers.

So other writers will know what I mean by strange music. They’ll know about the need to be disconnected from the world in order to write about the worlds in their head. Music helps some of us and hinders others, but we all do what we have to do to get into the writing space.

So you may ask – what music does Shay, a writer of porn and lover of Renaissance paintings, listen to in order to get into the erotica space?

The answer, my esteemed friend, is pop music.

Beyoncé, P!nk, Mika… anything bright and happy is my preferred style. I need the feeling more than the actual meaning, and I don’t really listen to the lyrics much.

Gangnam Style? Oh, I was all over that. Totally my bag, baby.

This, of course, means that I have nothing but the deepest kind of contempt for dubstep. Sorry, dubstep fans. It’s noise, and annoying noise at that, to the ear of someone raised on ’80s hair metal.

In my actual writing, I like electronica – but that requires a different kind of feeling. The writing I do as my real self is… less exciting than erotica. It needs a smoother, deeper kind of sound, so I dig a lot of rock instrumental stuff. Ronald Jenkees, don’cher’know, and if you don’t, get on Youtube and marvel at that guy’s mad piano skills. I started to learn how to play the piano because of him.

Oh, did I not mention that? I play piano. And guitar. And about four other instruments you’ve never heard of. Still can’t read music, unfortunately, and I sometimes wonder how my life would have turned out if I’d put all my writing chops into learning music instead.

Wait until I’m drunk and then put a guitar in my hands, and hilarity shall ensure. (No, not Stairway to Heaven played as a polka; I refuse to learn that damn song on principle.)

In other writing-related news – because I’m still filing everything under News, go figure – I’m starting to feel like myself again. I think I’ll have the next story published by next week. Boy-on-boy action a go go!


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