So I went to Write about Jesus (a conference that teaches you how to write songs), and Guy Zabka told me that independent artists have to keep up with web networks and blogging. It’s strange that I value communication so highly, but despise computers unabashedly. If I must be dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st century then; so be it.
Everyone I met at this songwriting conference told me the
same thing: ‘Laura, you have to write.’ Earthshaking in it’s
simplicity, I know. One thing has been consistent about my writing over
the last 4 years since I became a mother. Every time I start to write,
a stream of astonishingly selfish and bitter and demanding thoughts
come pouring out. I am so surprised to find this jaded little artist
inside of me that I generally bring the song to a halt and walk away
from the piano in a daze.
Well, according to the experts and novices alike, all that
drivel has to come out of me whether I like it or not. My fellow
musicians told me I must write in order to free up my creative process
and allow songs to begin flowing again. They insist that if I can just
get past the pent up aggression in my soul I will be able to write music
that makes sense and brings hope to the normal loving humans who want
to hear it. My therapist adds that I have to get the aggression out
or else it will come out at times in which I have no control over it
because of the enormous pressure building inside of me.
I fear expressing the deepest darkest, most immature places
in my depths because I know these thoughts could be extremely hurtful
to my daughter and my husband. I seem to blame them most when I don’t
get what I want as soon as I want it.
There. I’ve said it. I’m angry at and blame my
family when I don’t get what I want. This is the truth of the
brokenness inside of me. Ouch.
Well, I know God somehow must be bigger than the 5 year old
girl inside of me who wants to be a princess-rockstar. Instead I find
myself the wife of a well -intentioned, human workaholic whose facial
features and curls are very similar to my idea of prince charming. I
live in an adorable apartment and have not one single lady in waiting to
do the vacuuming, and no governesses to provide me with the hours of
leisure I require. Not doing so well on the princess end of things.
I was starting to get some radio play 5 years ago, I had to
do a second printing of an album or 2, I flew second class to gigs all
over the country. I wasn’t a star, but I believed I was at least
starting to orbit near a few of them.
Pregnancy was a pleasantly shocking/
startling/welcome/unwelcome revelation in my life. God was determined
to give me the greatest teacher/gift of my life whether I thought I
wanted her or not. She is so beautiful and healthy and quick to
giggle. She wants to pursue life and fun and passion even more than I
do (which is saying quite a bit). So my visions of castles made sense
only in the light of the fact that I became and abject servant to a tiny
little person with a big voice and a royalty complex of her own. She
truly believes that I should facilitate her every desire and need and
whim: with all her tiny heart. The trouble is that I suffer under the
Oh God! How on earth can I be all the things I believed
you asked me to become all at the same time?!!! It is too much: too
much to become and too much to let go of all at the same time. It is
Absolutely, unequivocally impossible. Thus begins the blogging journey
of Laura Whidden–Wetterlin.