A Few Short Musings About Rekindling a Love for Songwriting

If a lyrical idea or progression hits you, jot it down or record it immediately or as soon as possible, even if it's in garbage cellphone quality. Your brain can't be trusted to hold onto it by itself, especially with all of life's obstacles and distractions.

How easily a song comes together depends on the mode it's started in. When I begin with the music first, reaching for a bass guitar usually yields the strongest arrangements and feels the most intuitive. For others who may be reading, the lesson isn't to copy me, but to figure out what tools or methods spark creativity and joy for you.

If something isn't working, take a break. I've struggled the most with recording my own voice since it's the skill I've developed the least. It can be frustrating, but I've learned to step away and return later when I'm not feeling so discouraged. As the old dadism maxim goes, don't force it.

Constant tinkering only leads to analysis paralysis. Set boundaries or goals for finishing a song. Don't let the perfect version in your head get in the way of something that works in practice. Chances are you won't remember all those tiny decisions you agonized over anyway. And if you're stuck, don't fall for the sunk cost fallacy. Let it go and move on. Exploration is great, but if you're trying to reach a destination, don't linger at the crossroads forever.

Small wins matter. Life gets busy, especially when music and art aren't your full-time commitment. Sometimes incremental progress is the only realistic way forward. Short sessions add up if you give them a chance instead of waiting for a mythical long block of time that may never come. Be honest with your time and your life, and choose your tradeoffs wisely. Small wins remind me that creativity isn't just about the finished product. It's the accumulation of small, often unremarkable steps that become something meaningful. Not every session has to be traditionally productive. Sometimes the win is simply showing up, exploring an idea, or learning what doesn't work.

Creativity does not have to be magic; it's momentum. With the theme of small wins from above, keep nudging the ball forward. Finish lines appear when you keep walking and songwriting is no different.

Progress comes from creating with the skills you have now, not the ones you hope to have later.

Other people's approval is a bonus, not the foundation. If you chase external validation, the goalposts will keep moving. With feedback, take what helps, ignore what doesn't, and keep building the thing you believe in. The work is most honest when your own approval matters more than the applause or rebuke.

Unfinished ideas feel safer because they can still be "perfect" someday. Finished work is real, flaws and all.

It's perfectly ok to let your influences seep through without guilt if it fits the style and mood. The point isn't to hide your musical roots, it's to recombine it into something only you would make.

The moment you start justifying every idea, you've already stepped away from intuition and into hesitation.

A technically perfect take without feeling is forgettable. A slightly flawed take with emotion often ends up being the version that gives you chills later.

The fear of hearing your own voice may never truly disappear, but you get better at ignoring it. Eventually, hearing it becomes less of a shock and more of a tool you understand how to use effectively, warts and all.

My work doesn't have to tower over anyone else's. It only has to stand firmly in the space I give it. I don't need to justify the importance of what I make. Its importance to me comes from the act of creating.

Meaning and interpretation are subjective and interpersonally incommensurable. It can be very interesting hearing what others get out of your work given their unique mental image. What someone else sees in your work might have nothing to do with what you intended and that unexpected connection can be the most rewarding part.

The Transmission