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Putting my phone and anxieties aside for the time being, I enjoyed my walk and let nature do its thing.
The white noise of the ocean calmed me, but the gathering clouds in the distance looked like a storm was brewing. The waves were higher today, and they crashed into the rocks at the edge of the beach, the salt spray flying everywhere.
It was peace and chaos all at once.
A half-hour later, I was relaxed and ready to write.
I headed for the studio, and man, what a space.
White-washed walls and two big blue sofas sat under the four skylights in the main space. Brodie was not kidding when he talked about the natural light in here. It was perfect.
There was a booth for recording vocals, an editing panel, a full drum set, a keyboard, and numerous guitars. He’d replicated our studio in Nashville on a smaller scale.
Over to the left, there was a kitchen and a full bathroom.
I headed for the kitchen, popped a pod into the brewing machine, and enjoyed my first cup of coffee while watching the sun break through the thick November clouds.
With caffeinated veins, I grabbed one of the acoustic guitars off the display shelf. Then, I searched the console under the editing board and found several notebooks and pens.
Yeah, I was old-fashioned, writing everything down by hand. It had always been that way, and I didn’t question why. I’m sure I could write a hell of a lot more if I typed on my phone or a tablet, but I had my method, and it worked for me.
I sat on one of the sofas and placed the guitar in my lap.
Every songwriter had their routine, but I always started with the music first. A certain idea, a melody, would reverberate in my brain, and once I began to noodle with that on the guitar, the lyrics would flood the empty spaces.
Time seemed to slow down here, and the melody in my head was the same.
I began to hum as I played out the tune.
But it didn’t sound like I imagined it. It was too fast.
I started again, slower this time, until I got the rhythm just right.
I played it again. Then, I stopped and jotted down notes. Anything that came to mind and reflected my thoughts and feelings.
The lonesome wail of a foghorn in the distance.
The calm before the incoming storm.
Wild, reckless passion. Deep, all-consuming love.
A longing that was never satisfied. A love that defied logic.
It was a jumble at this point, but you had to start somewhere.
I strummed the guitar again, and I liked what I heard.
“It sounds great already.”
Brodie’s voice startled me, and I turned my head.
He looked rested, his eyes glowing, his face flushed. He was dressed in ripped black jeans and my Montreal Canadiens hockey t-shirt.
I found it all kinds of sexy that he was wearing my clothes. He was claiming me, and I fucking loved it.
“I didn’t hear the door open.”
There were so many things I could’ve said at that moment, but that’s what came out of my mouth.
