Daniel DiFranco
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Writing Music

7/11/2014

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Picture
This isn't a post about writing actual music. This is a post about the most KICKASS! music to listen to while writing.

Because I'm a cultured motherfucker, I listen to classical music when I write. I find music with words to be distracting when trying to craft my own. And, I'll wager anyone that's not moved to write some inspired prose while Chopin's Etudes settle into their bones doesn't have the soul to write inspired prose to begin with. All that solitude stuff that Rilke talks about - you won't get that with Beyoncé or Zeppelin. Your mind needs to be at ease to find those hidden layers and truths that good, lasting writing reveals.

Even though listening to classical music as a way to heighten intelligence and performance is mostly unsubstantiated in the scientific community, there is proof that loud and distracting music diminishes creativity, while ambience has a positive effect on creativity. Even though I squirm at referring to the works of LVB and Freddy C. as ambient, I am willing to concede that it does act as a background - a beautiful white noise that elevates our minds and souls.

Without further ado, here is my "Beginners Guide to Writing with Classical Music" playlist. You'll recognize some classics, maybe be introduced to some new ones, and hopefully discover the writer that exists when you shut the words off.


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Life after the mfa

7/7/2014

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Do More - Do Less
It’s been two months. I'm moving to New York. I'm packing it all up and fucking leaving. That's what an article or two says I should do - the ones I read as I was finishing up my program. New York is where it's at. I can see myself now - lunch with agents, drinks with editors, sucking down oysters with the darlings of the scene (fact: I've never had an oyster, and that's the first time I've ever referred to people as "darlings.”) 

I've already borrowed and used the none-too-soon-to-be-paid-back money on the MFA and put on the gown. I have an assorted collection of rejections, and spent money on contests like a lottery fiend that believes the next scratch off will be the one to keep them in menthol cigarettes, convenience store food, and beer sold by the volume to be consumed in the tree lined, back of a bank parking lot for one more Tuesday morning. I've spent more time in one week looking at frames for my diploma and obsessing over the word "moulding" than I did writing and editing. (In the end I decided to forgo the austere reverence of walnut and nailed the damn thing to the inside wall of my closet.) I’ve been researching agents, small presses, and authors whose books are similar-ish to mine. Man, let me tell you – if this is life after the MFA, New York has got to be better. At least I’d be in New York scraping away at the edges of literary obscurity, instead of sitting here scraping away at a small, dried glob of peanut butter that fell off my toast and onto my pants, while reading the hundredth article on what makes a good query.

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