Writing Music

Writing Songs

I’ve always been impressed by how some singer-storytellers, like Bill Harley, Christine Lavin, and others, write stories, add music, and perform them. In 2006, I decided to enter the field. Since then, I’ve written 11 songs and registered with the Library of Congress to copyright them. I’ve used most of them in my storytelling performances. What has fascinated me is how these songs came to me.

The first song, ‘Tell Me A Story’ (2006), the theme for my public performances, came to me a week before I performed at the Long Island Storytelling Festival in 2006. I woke up one Sunday morning with the chorus to the song (both words and tune) rattling around in my mind. I got up and hummed the melody into my digital recorder to avoid forgetting the tune. After breakfast, I worked out the chords for the song and then wrote down the words for the chorus. Once that was done, I probably spent an hour or more working out the different verses until I got it to a point where I liked how it sounded. I then shared it with friends of mine for input and revised the words a few times until it became the final version you hear today. After hearing me sing it, a colleague at school told me to get it copyrighted, which I did.

The second song, What Do You Say? (2007), started similarly. I had no words this time, but a tune ran through my mind overnight. Again, I recorded the song so I wouldn’t forget it. This was an excellent idea because I had forgotten the tune within an hour of hearing it. After working out the chords to play on my guitar, the tune sat around for 2-3 days. I had no idea what I would write as lyrics for this tune. Like last time, an upcoming performance spurred me to create the lyrics. This song was designed for younger kids. I had an issue at home with the concept of saying ‘Thank you’ and when to say it. My family and I didn’t always agree on when it should be said. I knew I wanted to write a song or a story that reflected my views on saying such things as please, thank you, and excuse me. The writing of this song took longer. First, I needed to get the words right, and then there were constant revisions based on feedback and my misgivings about how words went together. But I did finish it. I usually perform this song when I’m performing for smaller kids.

Some of my songs have been written based on the theme of the performance I was to do. For example, a PTA theme week entitled “Be Excited About Reading” hired me, so I wrote ‘B.E.A.R.’ (2009), specifically using the initials of their theme and its meaning. 

Another technique I’ve used was using familiar tunes and adding new words to them. I did not copyright these. For example, ‘National Parks’ (2013), another school-wide theme, was written to the tune of “She’ll Be Coming ‘Round the Mountain,” as was ‘Home, Home, Here I’ll Stay’ (2020), which used the music of ‘Home on the Range’ to tell about Covid and being stuck at home. 

The hardest part of creating new songs you hope to perform is learning them. I tape myself singing the songs and then sing them repeatedly, aloud, constantly referring to the words or listening to the tape until they become ingrained in my mind. I want to perform them without a cheat sheet.

Now that I haven’t performed in a while, I have trouble remembering the words and chords of many of the songs I have written. I also haven’t been motivated to write new songs except occasionally for our writing groups. 

If I’m prompted with a good writing topic in one of these writing groups, I might do my writing in song, even if I don’t record them, like these – ‘Home, Home Here I’ll Stay’, ‘International Do Nothing Day’, ‘The Answer is NO!’, and Lids.

Where will my next tune take me? I’m not sure. There must be other ways to create songs. I still subconsciously wait for music to come to me when I’m sleeping; I’ll take it from there when it does.

 

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Another Day at the …

 

The writing prompt was a picture prompt. These are the pictures I chose:

 

 

Another Day at the …

It is a typical day for the Hillgo family. After breakfast, everyone goes and does their own thing. 

Clara, the mother, goes to work. She is an accountant at a prestigious firm in the city. The work travel was tedious and lengthy, but it was well worth it, considering her salary and the prospect of a promotion she expected to happen soon. 

Harold, the father, welcomed the time to himself at home. Having cleaned all the dishes, a retired detective had nothing better to do than kick his feet up and read a newly published crime novel. How unrealistic these all were, he thought. Teenagers spearheading a crime spree, and girls at that. He could not see this author going very far with tripe like that.

Johnny, their youngest child, left after breakfast without even saying goodbye. He did what he did every day. It was summer, and with no school, all he needed was an ice cream from the local Good Humor truck and his bike, and he was good for the day. As soon as he left the house, he ditched his helmet, which his parents insisted he wear, and met up with his racing buddies. 

His older sister, Wendy, was the one they all should have been thinking about. They all accepted the fact that she was a loner. She rarely talked to anyone. That day, as usual, she just went to her room, and they let her be. 

Wendy was far from a loner. Wendy was a thinker. And her thoughts rarely were good ones. The wheels in her head were always turning. She was always thinking up schemes she could plan to make the most money without getting caught. She had an extensive group of friends, and she chose her friends well. Each friend managed to get a summer job at a place that allowed computer access. And if they had access, so did she. Computers and technology were her expertise.

Hacking into them and withdrawing money from select sources was easy. Even creating hidden bank accounts under an assumed name made keeping and using the money profitable.  She left no trail to follow. She had even hacked the school computers to adjust her grades, and not for the better. She didn’t want anyone to think she was this good. Being an average student, did her persona well and raised no red flags.

Today was the day that things would probably change. This was the big one. She had been planning it for months. Only select individuals were included. Every one of her compatriots knew it was coming, but none of us knew the specifics. For those involved, it would mean riches beyond our imagination. For her, it was just another game to play, more power and being able to stick it to the man.

As one of her friends, I could tell you a lot more, but I’ve said enough. Suffice it to say that not all her friends are students, and I value my life. 

~~name withheld, at author’s request.~~

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Lids

–The writing prompt was to write a poem about Tupperware®.–

In 1946, Chemist Earl Silas Tupper founded Tupperware®. The iconic “Wonderlier” plastic bowl with an airtight seal brought people together. With the help of Brownie Wise, who created the Tupperware Party, targeting married suburban housewives, they created an empire and developed a new and productive way of selling products described as featherweight, pliable, and modern. A recent inventory of my home showed that I still have at least 19 different items (some in sets) of Tupperware® products. Trust me, they last.

Since then, many different types of bowls, cups, and storage containers have been sold by other companies and purchased by me. Over time, those newer products break or get lost, but why does one item seem to outlast all the others? 

 

Lids

sung to the tune of “Kids” – from Bye, Bye, Birdie

adapted by Harvey Heilbrun ©2024

Lids, made by Rubbermaid and Tupperware

Lids, made by Super Saver and who knows where

Lids, they are always needed, so your food won’t spill

Big ones, small ones, even long ones

Seal tight, you’re always gonna’ need them.

 

Lids, every make and model that fits the bill

Bowls, different sizes, it makes me ill

When you lose or break those new lids, 

Try to purchase a spare

Amazon just doesn’t care

 

Lids left didn’t fit on any new bowls I had

New lids, who can figure out why they’re made so bad

Lids came with every Tupperware, were a perfect match

Now other bowls that look the same 

Can’t use them. And while I’m on the subject

 

I keep all the good lids even when the bowl’s not there

Lids, fill my drawers, I just have too much to spare

Why can’t it be like old days

Tupperware was the only kind

Have a party and show it

Burp the lid, and you know it 

They will all last a long, long time.

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The Vision

The Story Spark for this piece was – Journeys. I took the prompt – Someone goes on a Vision Quest.

The Vision

He had a vision—more like a dream—in which he saw himself in a magical place. One where beautiful flowers grew, trees were in full bloom, and birds sang happy melodies that eased his soul. 

Music filled his heart. Not the raucous clamoring of Rock or Punk music. But the gentle sounds of peace. Songs without lyrics but songs he knew quite well. Given the opportunity, he could put words into those notes.

At first, he knew his eyes were closed, but then he opened them. And there were others around him. The sights and sounds were still there. It was not a dream. 

He could call out to them without knowing the other’s names, but he didn’t. It would have broken the spell.

So he closed his eyes again and fell asleep in the comfort of his surroundings. 

When he awoke, he was back home in his bed, all alone. 

So it was a dream. 

If it was a dream, why did he have it every night? Everything was the same. There must be some meaning to it. Looking up ‘recurring dreams’ on the internet brought little results. 

It wasn’t until he was in his dream state that he decided to speak up. He said, “If this is real, please call me.” He called out his phone number. 

It didn’t take long. The next day, he received not one but twelve calls, all from people who shared his vision. 

They were from all over the country. Next, when they met in their dream world, they decided to discuss this vision.

All of them were from different cultures, lifestyles, genders, and socioeconomic backgrounds. 

As they began to speak, so did others in the vision. The vision grew until it filled the landscape, retaining peacefulness, beauty, and magic. 

This was their Nirvana. It filled their spirits and guided them in the real world. Knowing that this place existed and was there for their comfort and stress relief gave them a better understanding of who they were and what they could do to bring this vision to the rest of the world. 

And so it began. It took time. People learned to listen to one another. People worked with one another to resolve issues that plagued the planet. People allowed children to grow up and be children, not simple vessels to impart facts and falsehoods to. They let them become good people, let their creativity and imagination flow, and make this world better. 

When that happened, the dream/vision, whatever it was, faded away. It was not needed anymore. We had found what we were looking for. 

We had made for ourselves the world we dreamed of.

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The Voice

The writing prompt was – The main character is in a frustrating situation.

“I don’t know what to do,” was heard.

No one in the group acknowledged saying it, but everyone had heard it. 

The voice was quite forlorn. You heard the anxiety and frustration in their plea. But who was it? And what was the answer to the unasked question?

There was a mystery to be solved.

Then the voice spoke again. “It will be too late, but I must make a decision.”

Now, we were all perplexed because we had our eyes wide open when the person spoke, and we did not see it created by anyone in the room.

 Was someone a ventriloquist and trying to play a joke on us?

Wanting to disprove that theory, I asked everyone in the room to open their mouths wide and hold it that way for 30 seconds. 

It seemed a silly thing to do, but everyone did as I asked. I was hoping that the voice wouldn’t sound again, for a ventriloquist cannot perform with a wide open mouth, 

It was but 10 seconds in that the voice sounded again. 

“I’m doomed,” it said, “There is no help here.”

One of the group members answered quite quickly, “Yes, there is. You need to give us more information. Who are you? What are your choices? What can we do?”

We all waited. That’s when a burly man entered the room.

“HIM!” was the voice’s response.

Everyone in the room looked at the man. “Who are you?” I asked. 

“Why do you ask?’ was his gruff reply.

“Don’t tell him, please,” pleaded the voice.

None of us spoke. 

“I asked you, why do you ask?’ he said.

I tried to take charge, “I’m sorry, this is a group meeting for registered-only. Is there something we can do to help you?”

The man hesitated for a moment, then said, “I’m looking for someone. But, apparently, she’s not here.” 

The man turned to leave. We all heard the tears falling from someone crying in the room. Obviously, the man could hear nothing. He left as mysteriously as he had arrived. 

“Thank you.” said the voice. And that was the last time we heard it. 

We never did find out who belonged to that voice. 

However, I suspect it had something to do with the newspaper article in the paper a week later. The article showed a picture of a missing woman in the local area who had been missing for some time. There was suspicion of foul play, and the lead suspect who police were looking for, whose picture was also in the paper, was the man who had entered our library writing group that day. 

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Another Lesson Learned?

Today’s writer’s playshop prompt was Merrymaking. We were given 20 words to choose from to prompt us. We could use as many as we wanted. I used all of them. All the words used are in italics.

——————–

Another Lesson Learned?

If there is one thing I know, it’s when someone is trying to flummox me. At least, I thought I did until one day, I got hit with a doozy. Well, I shouldn’t say one day; it happens more often than that. But you all probably know that.

This particular one was a big one. A friend of mine came over to my house with this thingamajig and gave me all this gobbledygook about how he could use it to razzle-dazzle some people into giving us money. 

My initial response was, “Balderdash!” I had doubts about his tomfoolery. But he was my best friend, and even though he was quite a whippersnapper, I didn’t want to raise a big kerfuffle, so I let him waddle his way through this malarkey.

If you know anything about me and my friend, you have already guessed his name. From experience, I should have listened to my logical brain and skedaddle, but as usual, I played along and lollygagged along with his plan. 

Ronald’s plan was to sell battery-operated self-heating flapjacks to any nincompoop willing to buy them.

“How do you eat a battery-operated flapjack?” I questioned. 

“That’s the gimmick,” he said. “We make some real flapjacks, and you switch them with the battery-operated one while I distract the buyer.”

I was flabbergasted. I couldn’t imagine the hullabaloo that would occur should we try this. But instead of saying what I felt and hurting his feelings, after all, he was my friend, I kept my mouth shut. This time I would let him get caught and I’d just dawdle around and let him get in trouble with his merrymaking. In my head, I cried out, “Fiddle-Dee-Dee.” Finally, I’ll come out on top.

Well, if you know Ronald, you know it didn’t work out that way. He managed to find an excuse to leave just as the first person realized what was going on. And who was there, holding the, well, flapjack as it was? When will I ever learn?

 

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Hope and Dreams

Hope and Dreams

 

The air up there is much to be desired

It’s clear with shades of blue

The crispness of the clouds creates images

Floating creatures with soft, comfy fur

Large oceans of pure mindlessness

A face, a feeling, a piece of reality that is missing

That’s where I want to be

 

Not bound here by these earthly restraints

Not inundated with worries and concerns about health

Far away from the rashness and futility of our world

Far away from the inundation of ignorance

 

The sky is where I want to be

I want to fly

I want to exist with others in harmony

I want to be able to see the world as whole

Not fractured in conflict and despair

 

And I don’t want to be alone.

 

Solitude may be necessary to find inner peace

But I also want those I love and care for to share it with me

And maybe together, as one, we can create 

Down there

The vision I have of that perfect sky

A vision of beauty

A vision of peace

A vision of cooperation and collaboration

A vision of hope

 

A vision that we can all agree

Is meant to be.

 

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The Aquarium

**The writing prompt was a visit to an aquarium**

The Aquarium

It was my first time at an aquarium, but this one was much different than I ever had imagined. 

First of all, it appeared that we were in the fishbowl. Water surrounded us, and we had limited movement. The surroundings must have been made of sheer glass, but you couldn’t see it. 

Let me backtrack a bit. 

This was the maiden voyage on the exploratory excursion called the WTF, which stood for the Water Tracking Facts. The admission price was only a dollar. It supposedly was the first of its kind. Once you paid, you were placed in a room by yourself. 

The room itself was about the size of a bedroom closet. When the door was closed behind me, everything went black. 

You listened to instructions that somehow came into your head. My instructions were to take three steps forward. That seemed odd since when I entered the room, it didn’t seem like three steps in any direction was possible. I slowly stepped forward as instructed. Surprisingly, I didn’t bump into anything, and on my third step, I found myself in the enclosure I had mentioned in the beginning. 

The ground I was standing on was solid earth, with plants and small trees around me. I began moving forward. There was no problem with my movement until I hit an invisible wall. Using my hand, I followed the wall around the enclosure until I reached my starting point. 

Wherever I was, it was a circular domed area about twenty-five feet in diameter. I remind you that I could see no walls, but water and aquatic animals surrounded what was on the other side of the dome. None of the people I came with to this aquarium were with me. In addition, the door/closet I had passed through to get here had disappeared. 

 I could hear the sounds the aquatic animals were making outside, but I could not understand what they were saying. They seemed to be in family groupings: an adult whale, with some smaller ones with it, and a large school of fish with some bigger fish amongst them. I also saw something that looked like a human in a mermaid costume swimming from group to group, clearly speaking to them. How it breathed was beyond me. 

I was bewildered. I called out to no one in particular that I had seen enough and would like to go home now, but I got no response. 

At one point, I saw what appeared to be a window open relatively quickly, and some food was placed in one corner of the enclosure. I assume it was for me.

I started banging on the glass or whatever the wall was made of, hoping that someone outside would hear me. 

Then, I saw the lights dim on both the outside and inside of the enclosure. Before the lights went out completely, a large manatee floated by and placed a sign in front of the enclosure. 

That sign I could read. It read, “Human Zoo is closed until tomorrow.”    

WTF!

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The Mystery of the Box

The Mystery of the Box

What is it to dream if you can’t use that dream to benefit from it? That was the question that Lyla asked herself each day upon awakening. But her dreams were worthless. 

She recalled none of them. Well, that is to say, after about an hour of waking up, she didn’t recall them. Her dreams either made no sense or were silly remembrances of the past.

That all changed the day Lyla woke up after having a vivid dream. The place in the dream was so familiar. It took place in the park near her house. There was a hole in the ground just feet away from the swing set she knew so well from her youth. Inside that hole was an emerald-encrusted box. 

What made this dream different was that she remembered it after that usual hour. Furthermore, she had the same dream three days in a row. 

Each time she dreamed of that box, she wondered what was inside. On the fourth day, it became a lucid dream. She was aware she was dreaming, but this time, she had control of it. In her wakeful state, she reached down into the hole and was able to pull up the box. Of course, as all dreams do, they end in full wakefulness, so she still did not know what was in it. 

These lucid dreams continued to occur, yet no matter what she did in them, she could never complete the task and find out what was in the box. 

Finally, on the seventh day, she decided to find out if anything she had been dreaming about was real. That morning, she went to the park. She even decided to bring some digging tools, should that be necessary. 

When she got to the park, it was early in the morning. The morning mist covered the ground. As she approached the spot by the swing set where the hole should be, she noticed movement heading toward the same spot from the opposite direction. It was a man.

Both interlopers reached that spot at the same time. Neither said a word. Looking down at the ground, they noticed not a hole but a place that definitely had been dug up and refilled.

Both of them looked at each other, not saying anything at first, and then, as if by magic, they said the word “Dream” simultaneously.

He introduced himself as Jerry, and she introduced herself as Lyla. It didn’t take long for them to discover that they had had the same dreams, except, in Jerry’s dream, the box was sapphire-encrusted. 

Since it was early and no one was around, they agreed to dig on the spot. It wasn’t long before they hit something hard—a box encrusted with diamonds. They managed to pull it up slowly.

Together, they decided that whatever was in it, they would split equally.

They opened the box, only to discover a handwritten note.

It read, “Beat you to it!”

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And then there were none

And Then There Were None

When he was young, he heard lots of stories about generations past. He was amazed at how extensive their living quarters were in their infancy. There was no lack of food; you could always find something to eat. The warm environments left by nature sustained them. 

Their lifespan was something to be dreamed of and admired. They were independent and allowed to do their thing.

It might have taken a few days to get accustomed to growing up when they emerged from their cozy surroundings, but they did. 

And then came adulthood, when the chemistry of love and desire took hold. They’d light up the darkest times with joy and mutual satisfaction. 

They were envied by all in the living world. An outlander’s goal was to capture the sight and light of their existence, to capture their being, and to be awed at what something so small could create. Their light from within and throughout the summer nights brightened even the gloomiest of observers. 

He was amazed when he was told that many of his ancestors didn’t eat at all in adulthood. Others fed on the nectar of life. All used the time they had left to put on displays to each other and the world to create a new generation of beings like himself. 

 

He thought life was so short. We must use the time we have to relish what is important to us: being born, growing from babyhood to childhood, and eventually adulthood, and finding our significant others so that we can continue our evolution as a species. 

This was his dream. Unfortunately, it is not coming true. The inhabitants around him have damaged their habitats, poisoned their fields, and taken away the environment that he needs to survive just to satisfy their narcissistic sense of what they consider beautiful. 

He may be one of the last of his species. That is a great loss to humanity. 

 

———

 

Author’s note: Last night, as the lights of the houses around mine were turned off, I looked out upon a clear and ever-present darkness. Unlike in my youth, when I saw and enjoyed their multitudes, this night, I did not see a single firefly. What have we done?

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