In my first two years of serious writing, I preferred to write in total silence. I wanted no disturbances while I mined out another chunk of my imagination and transmuted it into words. It wasn’t until I wrote my second novel, ‘Prophet of Pathways’, that I allowed music to truly play in the background while I typed away at my computer. Now, years later, I always have music on while I write. Many writers do this, but what I’d like to discuss here is the particular artists I’ve listened to for certain novels and short stories.

More often than not I play film and video game soundtracks, or New Age, since these are typically instrumental works. Music with vocals tends to muddy my writing, as I either sing along or try to block out the lyrics as I write. There are exceptions, though. The important thing is that the music is merely background, and isn’t meant to be focused on while I create a new story. It is an atmosphere, much like lighting and temperature often are for the writer.

Since I mentioned it as the first written work I created while listening to music, I’ll start with ‘Prophet of Pathways’. Initially I went for droning, New-Age relaxation music, then I put on Spencer Nielsen’s soundtrack to Ecco the Dolphin. Yes, an old video game score, but effective at some points. Its dreamy, melancholy melodies inspired how I portrayed a character’s emotions as I wrote. Yet for the darkness of my Meridian setting, I gravitated towards Apex Twin’s Selected Ambient Works Volume II, especially the tracks ‘Matchsticks’ and ‘Blue Calx’. These odd pieces could have been soundscapes from a psychological horror film. But I still hadn’t found the perfect musical match to this story until I added Vangelis’s soundtrack from the film Blade Runner, as well as the expanded music from the 25th Anniversary edition. Tracks such as ‘Blade Runner Blues’, ‘Longing’, ‘Empty Streets’, ‘Perfume Exotico’, and ‘Spotkanie z matka’ melded with my story in such a way I think of it as Meridian’s soundtrack instead. When I revised ‘Prophet’, I put on my Enigma collection. Finally I had found material that contained the sensual overtones I intended for the novel. My favorite Enigma album for this was A Posteriori, particularly the tracks ‘Dancing With Mephisto’, ‘Hello and Welcome’, and ‘20,000 Miles over the Sea’. Sexy, surreal, and dark all at the same time. 

My next big project was ‘The Fire of the Wheel’. I selected Celtic music while I wrote it, with artists such as Enya and Clannad becoming favorites. In further revisions, I moved towards Diane Arkenstone’s This Sacred Land, with its Native American beats and chants. Thom Brennan’s material, like his Mist album, with its droning whispers of melody and depth of sound, helped me lose myself in those Colonial forests within Rourke and Amadahy’s world.

When it came time to write ‘A Star in Hand’ (later retitled ‘Inheritance’) I went for music that brought a sense of wonder, a sense of space and the universe. Music appropriate to science fiction, of starships traveling through the void. The best example of this was Laura Barrett’s main theme from the video game Master of Orion II: Battle at Antares. With a choral loop that plays over a background of synth effects, it is something I can listen to for hours and never tire of (literally). It must be heard to be appreciated. For actions scenes, I listened to David Arkenstone’s soundtrack for Emperor: Battle for Dune. His guitar work and electronic beats pumped me up for all those battles on Umiracan, Tejuit, and the finale at Bos-Euex. In later revisions, I also added Brian Eno’s ‘Prophecy Theme’ from the 1984 Dune soundtrack, and his Apollo album (some of the best space music ever composed), Michael McCann’s excellent soundtrack to Deus Ex: Human Revolution, and even tracks for Daft Punk’s score for the film Tron: Legacy. These last two featured dark, ambient electronica and pulse-pounding action music that went perfectly with my novel. In fact, I can envision a trailer for ‘Inheritance’ with the ‘Intro’ theme playing over it from Deus Ex: Human Revolution. Last but not least was a single track from the Unreal Tournament III soundtrack, ‘Mekalopolis’. It could also act as trailer music for this story. 

For other works, I have selected what helped put me into these imaginary worlds the best. When I write Calandren stories, Thom Brennan’s work again pops up, especially Vibrant Water and Shimmer. Slumber tales are accompanied by Howard Shore’s scores from the Lord of the Rings films, and Jeremy Soule’s work, from his soundtracks to Morrowind, and the first two Dungeon Siege games. Wages of Cinn stories starring Roxie Trent cause me to break out industrial and electro-rock artists such as Nine Inch Nails, Orgy, Zeromancer, Billy Idol’s Cyberpunk album, and Alexander Brandon’s soundtrack to Deus Ex: Invisible War. Vangelis’s other film soundtracks, especially 1492: Conquest of Paradise and Alexander, have proven to be musical staples while I write.

I’m excited to hear what new music I’ll come across in the future that I can add to this roster. Though it isn’t necessary for me to write a story, it does add something extra to the experience. A dream would be for a composer to create music inspired by my writings, using his or her melodies and harmonies to fill in the spaces where even words cannot go.

Imagine you’ve created world filled with interesting characters, amazing vistas, and mind-shattering intrigues. Every day you add something to this world. Another person, a city, maybe even a goddess punishing people who prefer British spelling. You spend hours in this creation, visualizing it, honing it, until the sensations of it become second nature within your
psyche.

This world is a writer’s story. Big or small, light or dark, it is a step into your mind, a reflection of who you are and what you find important. You feel the customary glee upon finishing it, and the eagerness to share it. For what purpose does art serve, if it isn’t shared?

Then you decide to let someone else read it. Maybe you present it to a workshop of fellow writers. Perhaps you even gather the courage and send it to a market for publication.

Here is where reality enters the equation. These people didn’t create this world you’re showing them, so they have nothing invested in it. If you lack certain skills, maybe they got confused about what world you were talking about in the first place. If they did like your world, that doesn’t mean they’re willing to pay you money for it. Some among you will rant and rave, not understanding why all these ignorant fools lacked the intelligence or taste to appreciate your world.

For the rest of us, we sit back down and write another world. Conjure all the same things: people, places, things. Kick-ass, cool things we want to share with others. Even though this world may be criticized, rejected, and scoffed at the same as the last one, we still create it.

Now imagine having this pressure every time you compose a new story. That’s one way of looking at the life of a writer. Oh, I won’t get into the usual tidbits: no time to write due to family or job, writer’s block, rejection letters up to your neck. For me, what it means to be a writer is the willingness to give your all to a story, and the willingness to see it fail at every attempt to get it published, advertised, etc.

I myself have been writing long enough that this pressure is non-existent. Sure, too many rejections in a row brings me down. Revising that novel for the fifth time isn’t as exciting as, say, writing a brand new one. Having to explain what I do to people who thinks a writer is someone who bathes in hundred-dollar bills every day isn’t fun.

Then why do this, you ask?

Because writers have to. 

It really is as simple as that. Yes, every writer wants to be the Next Big Thing, the one whose book tops the best-seller lists. We all want Hollywood to call, drowning us in dollars for the film rights. Ah, book signings, television interviews, an agent vacuuming our carpet and begging for the next hot manuscript…

But what we really want is for people to enter our world and enjoy their stay. I bet even the big shot writers want that, regardless of how many million copies get sold.  Now, before you roll your eyes and think this is just another ‘it’s about the art, not the money’ feel-good, After School Special blog, remember this: all of those wealthy, successful writers were just like the rest of us at one time. Many of them deserve their accolades and fortunes. Quite a few don’t, but that isn’t their fault—blame editors and the buying public.

Every writer, regardless of genre, experience, or success, possesses the drive to transmute their imagination into words. Some may dread writing, or hate facing that blank page, or fear rejection like a pimpled teenager at the prom. How we feel afterwards—elated that we completed the novel, satisfied the story expressed what we wanted it to, or just disgusted that we
wrote such tripe—doesn’t matter. Why? 

Because a writer will create another one. Another world, another attempt to wrench something from within ourselves and describe in terms we hope everyone else can understand. It is communication, and it is also a cleansing. Writers have to be willing to hand over what they regard as their best, and see
it slashed apart by opinion, or even ignored.

Then we create a new world again. We have to. It isn’t hope, or an addiction, that fosters this determination.

It is the need.