![]() Ed Sheeran, in 2015, made a stop in my town. One of my best friends was excited and I was very intrigued, so we bought four tickets, and on June 10, accompanied by our husbands who ranged from indifferent to really indifferent, we went to Ed Sheeran. I left his concert with a new, clear direction. I know. That sounds bananas. Truly. Pop star. Changing lives. But Ed changed mine. Crammed between my best friend and my husband, our elbows brushing as we stood among the teenagers and the curious adults, a purple light swept over the crowd. Ed had been on stage for at least an hour at that point, and I was all in. Charm oozed from him, with his little foot pedals, and the live layering of music ON STAGE. My ear isn’t tuned enough to know which door squeaks in the house and I’ve lived there four years. But here’s a fuzzy, red-haired dude with a tattoo of a ketchup bottle, charming the crap out of me. Then Ed started a new song, strumming his guitar, layering a sweet piano melody under it. He leaned into his microphone, announced it was his new single, and he was excited to play it for us. The lights swirled like snow, and Ed began. It was “Photograph”. If you haven’t had the pleasure, it’s a song about waiting for the person you love to come home. And what that level of love can do to a person. He says it will get easier. That eyes are never closing, hearts are never broken. Time’s forever frozen and still. Friends. Somewhere in there, in a hazy stadium, my throat swelled and I rested my hand on my chest, my fingers drumming my sternum. There it was. Wonderland. A girl, left by her best friend. Her voice is gone, her heart is gone. And by the way, she works on a yellow brick road – basically culture’s biggest symbol of finding one’s way home. I wrote most of Wonderland with Ed Sheeran in my ear buds in every coffee shop in the city. Surrounded but alone. People playing chess, doing homework, bible studies, book groups. Collaboration meetings, parole meetings, coffee snobs, an elderly fellow so deeply psyched to be tasting his first white mocha while his wife smirked next to him. My favorite place. As I transitioned into querying, I turned on Ed, and let him go on repeat, the loudest voice among all the voices around me. I’ve started my new book. When I began her playlist a few months ago, I debated whether or not to put Ed on it. His voice so clearly influenced mine, and then Ginny’s. How do other writers tackle that? Each book clearly has its own theme, its one centered truth. Ed was Wonderland’s. Spoiler alert: Ed’s on my next playlist. I can’t quit him, quite yet.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
I publish on Medium too. Check it out!
Categories
All
|