We sat in a Wednesday circle, authors with guitars and harps when someone called out the song Yesterday. Mac agreed, but said she needed a note. I waited for a moment, an outsider, unsure of my place and then sang out the first word and held the tune.
“That’s not a note.” Mac retorted.
“Close,” Elizabeth Bear said and smiled.
“Close is how I sing,” I admitted and the group laughed.
It turned out Mac didn’t need the pitch, but the actual starting chord. Once that was supplied, the music began and all our troubles appeared far away.
During my week at Viable Paradise, I lived in a land of notes: notes on the business of writing, the craft of writing, on self-care, ecology, gaming, and, of course, those that pertained to my stories. When I typed them out they numbered dozens of pages. In the moment, I learned and listened and absorbed and sang harmony as well as I could.
I was rewarded with a view of stars. Layers upon layers of stars crosshatched in a sky undiluted by street lamps or houses.
Literally.
It was midweek when the authors and editors of Viable Paradise led us on a blind walk until we saw meteors. I don’t know how they choreographed that, but on our jellyfish walk, the sky was filled with shooting stars, at least one for each of us.
I hope each of us gets our wish.
In some ways, Viable Paradise is more of a boot camp than a workshop or retreat. You read until your eyes blur. You carry a pack through the wilderness that weighs more than a thousand pages. You wake up before dawn. You go to sleep after midnight. And every moment inbetween is filled.
Back to the singing because I think it’s important. I think it’s important that listeners, singers, and those who played the percussion frog were all welcomed. I think it’s important that we got to adlib some blues and make each other laugh. That lip readers (like me) got to fake it and were taught new songs on the fly.
I think breaking the illusion that writing is solitary is important because writing is community.
At Viable Paradise and afterwards, many of us attempt an impossible dream. There’s so much out of our control, but the meteor storms, bioluminescent jelly fish and instructors reinforce the message that we are not alone (Sing along break for all those who know Into the Woods or Man of La Mancha.)
So, maybe the best thing to do is to find a time to sing. Find a song in common and clap along and figure out when to blend in and when to take the lead. After all, aren’t we closest to paradise when we lose ourselves in song?
