A moment on the row

I had a co-write on the row today. Most of the time when I write with someone it’s at my house or theirs. In spite of the fact that I don’t have a publishing deal, sometimes it’s just more convenient to meet somewhere around 16th or 17th Avenue.

Over the seven-and-a-half months since I have been doing this here, going to the row has become less and less of a novelty. When I first moved, being there was like traversing the hall on your first day of high school. There were new things and people to see, new places to focus your attention, and a general feeling of not being able to believe you are where you are. Gradually, the new becomes standard and the fascination turns into a memory of when you were “so young and green.” It eventually becomes cool to act unimpressed by your new surroundings and to speak about the uniquenesses (not a word!) as the long-since-forgotten whatevers (also not a word!) of your environment.

As I walked out of the building that houses the Nashville S0ngwriters Ass0ciation Internati0nal with my co-writer in tow heading to the Atlanta Bread Company for lunch, I took a picture with my brain. Upon hitting the pavement, he immediately began verbally examining the reasoning of the character in the song and asking questions about the logical flow of the events of the tune. No hi. No Great to see you! No What’s up? Just, “If he ‘was broken’ in the bridge, then we have to go back to the first verse and make sure that the lapse in time is believable.”

Before answering in my nonchalant sort of “Man I’m a sophomore… none of this stuff is cool” sort of way, I took a second as we crossed Division Street. I realized how good this feels when I get to do this… to work and play in the mind of a person that doesn’t exist… to concern myself with the appropriateness of a melodic turn or a harmonic twist for his story… to tweak and whittle the words that tell his tale… and to do it here.

I grinned real big for a second while looking at the ground, continued to walk with him, put my poker face back on, and said, “Yes, Dave. I was just thinking the same thing.”