Do I have the right to be proud of my music compositions? Oh heavens, yes. The difference between a machine generated playback and a professional performance (even though she called it a practice) is so thrilling that you just can't miss this YouTube of International Clarinetist Marion Harrington playing my music. "The Last Shepherd" was written for her and may be included on her 2012 Christmas Charity CD or even on tour (which you can help with by visiting her link). Marion has called my music "melodic and atmospheric". Listen to her play and its a slice of heaven. http://goo.gl/Cde37
And now I'll go off and cry...
Showing posts with label Daniel Hay. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Daniel Hay. Show all posts
30 December 2011
22 June 2011
Emotionally Breaking...
I don't often watch movies because I don't feel a need for entertainment. Inside my head music flows nearly nonstop. Twisting through the music stories try to make their presence known, worming, wriggling, sailing, trying to beat the music in the path of escape...either a pen or the keyboard. Deep down I know I am damaged and unless you have ever had an emotional breakdown you won't be able to understand the scars that creates.
Today I watched a movie at the recommendation of a hitch-hiker I recently gave a ride to when passing through Spokane. He rode with me for about an hour and before leaving he told me that he thought I should watch the movie "August Rush". We hadn't talked about movies but we had talked about music and he looked at my notebook of scores I carry. These are the scores that I wrote, that I play, that keep tumbling around trying to get out for others to hear. He said, "You really need to watch it!"
I forgot about it because I was busy with other things, but in the process of recovering from recent injuries I found my schedule has changed and I went to the library to find something to fill the gap. As I was leaving my inner music directed me to the rack of DVDs and the first one I saw on the shelf was "August Rush".
I had no choice but to take it and go home to watch it. And then I returned it today, the same day I checked it out, because I don't think I can bear to watch it again.
The movie is FANTASTIC and if you have not yet seen it, you should get it. I am sure that many people failed to enjoy it, but I feel that more people felt part of the energy. I enjoyed it. I loved it and "love" is not a word I every use lightly. I was enthralled. I was mesmerized. And I was emotionally shattered.
I am not proud to admit that I had a mental breakdown ten years ago when my wife chose to run off. My children and I survived somehow and over the years I have recovered to where I wish there was somebody in my life again. I am an intellectual, and academic, a very strong minded person, and I did not believe in mental health issues - and yet, I collapsed.
Watching "August Rush" (2007) brought back so many thing of my life that tear at me and I was in tears. They were uncontrollable. I was sobbing. I could not breathe and my head hurt like a sledge hammer had struck me in the center of my forehead.
The boy, August Rush, (aka Evan Taylor) heard music everywhere and all the time. So do I. He was orphaned (erroneously). I was an orphaned as a child at age 4 (and then adopted) and again by my children a few years after I lost my wife and my life. He composes and conducts and so do I. And I could feel and hear his life.
The music and the portrayals within the film were exceedingly well done. The arrangements, the overall encompassing feel of the movie, and the deep, deep love that was being expressed, tore at my core - heart and soul. It was magical, expressive, and seared my heart as if a lance had been driven through me.
Life moves on and as time has passed so have on in my unique manner. Every day I know that I have music to write, music to play, words to write, life to express... August Rush did. I do. Many others also must express in many, many, forms of music and literature.
I hope that, I will rebound from this devastating release of pain much faster than I did before. Yet, if there is anything I can pass on from this experience the least would be that each of us needs to remember that there are people who must express with music, or art, or literature, or dance... They must in order to live, to stay alive, to grow.
I'm not afraid to tell you now, "I hear music. I see music. I feel music." I may never have a woman as part of my life again, and I both fear that and accept it because of who I am, but I am following the path presented to me that should be shared with a woman -- I am making music.
As my life moves on I hope that nobody ever has to feel the pain I have felt, and I wish that those who have felt worse find a soothing path in life.
I've been broken, I am damaged, and yet I am still whole. Music ... I hear it, I see it, and I feel it.
Today I watched a movie at the recommendation of a hitch-hiker I recently gave a ride to when passing through Spokane. He rode with me for about an hour and before leaving he told me that he thought I should watch the movie "August Rush". We hadn't talked about movies but we had talked about music and he looked at my notebook of scores I carry. These are the scores that I wrote, that I play, that keep tumbling around trying to get out for others to hear. He said, "You really need to watch it!"
I forgot about it because I was busy with other things, but in the process of recovering from recent injuries I found my schedule has changed and I went to the library to find something to fill the gap. As I was leaving my inner music directed me to the rack of DVDs and the first one I saw on the shelf was "August Rush".
I had no choice but to take it and go home to watch it. And then I returned it today, the same day I checked it out, because I don't think I can bear to watch it again.
The movie is FANTASTIC and if you have not yet seen it, you should get it. I am sure that many people failed to enjoy it, but I feel that more people felt part of the energy. I enjoyed it. I loved it and "love" is not a word I every use lightly. I was enthralled. I was mesmerized. And I was emotionally shattered.
I am not proud to admit that I had a mental breakdown ten years ago when my wife chose to run off. My children and I survived somehow and over the years I have recovered to where I wish there was somebody in my life again. I am an intellectual, and academic, a very strong minded person, and I did not believe in mental health issues - and yet, I collapsed.
Watching "August Rush" (2007) brought back so many thing of my life that tear at me and I was in tears. They were uncontrollable. I was sobbing. I could not breathe and my head hurt like a sledge hammer had struck me in the center of my forehead.
The boy, August Rush, (aka Evan Taylor) heard music everywhere and all the time. So do I. He was orphaned (erroneously). I was an orphaned as a child at age 4 (and then adopted) and again by my children a few years after I lost my wife and my life. He composes and conducts and so do I. And I could feel and hear his life.
The music and the portrayals within the film were exceedingly well done. The arrangements, the overall encompassing feel of the movie, and the deep, deep love that was being expressed, tore at my core - heart and soul. It was magical, expressive, and seared my heart as if a lance had been driven through me.
Life moves on and as time has passed so have on in my unique manner. Every day I know that I have music to write, music to play, words to write, life to express... August Rush did. I do. Many others also must express in many, many, forms of music and literature.
I hope that, I will rebound from this devastating release of pain much faster than I did before. Yet, if there is anything I can pass on from this experience the least would be that each of us needs to remember that there are people who must express with music, or art, or literature, or dance... They must in order to live, to stay alive, to grow.
I'm not afraid to tell you now, "I hear music. I see music. I feel music." I may never have a woman as part of my life again, and I both fear that and accept it because of who I am, but I am following the path presented to me that should be shared with a woman -- I am making music.
As my life moves on I hope that nobody ever has to feel the pain I have felt, and I wish that those who have felt worse find a soothing path in life.
I've been broken, I am damaged, and yet I am still whole. Music ... I hear it, I see it, and I feel it.
02 October 2010
A Publishing We Go...
I have just announced that my children's story Lost Lullaby has been accepted for publication. The illustrations were done by Jen Davies and the cover art is apparently going to be by Aidana WillowRaven. It is exciting to know that you are on the publishing schedule; not exciting to see how many decades down the road before your book gets printed. I am hoping for a 2012 date but won't be surprised if it doesn't show up until a year or two after that.
Lost Lullaby includes a copy of the instrumental sheet music by the same name, "Lost Lullaby" composed by Daniel J Hay, (that would be me).
I also have recently had my There Be Dragon Eggs accepted for publication. This children's book is both illustrated by, and cover art by, Aidana WillowRaven. The current publication date is early 2011 -- which as we all know is not far from the date of this blog posting.
As the covers become available I will certainly get them posted. Soon there will be new webpages created and posted for each story. Now I have to move in to marketing gear because nobody can rely solely upon the publisher to get their book sales.
If you begin noticing postings, tweets, messages, email signatures, etc. showing up repeatedly or in strange locations -- well, chalk it up for excitement, high stress, and an attempt to make good on sales so other publishers will want to print my face on the back of a book. I'm hoping when they do they will include my stories between the covers.
Lost Lullaby includes a copy of the instrumental sheet music by the same name, "Lost Lullaby" composed by Daniel J Hay, (that would be me).
I also have recently had my There Be Dragon Eggs accepted for publication. This children's book is both illustrated by, and cover art by, Aidana WillowRaven. The current publication date is early 2011 -- which as we all know is not far from the date of this blog posting.
As the covers become available I will certainly get them posted. Soon there will be new webpages created and posted for each story. Now I have to move in to marketing gear because nobody can rely solely upon the publisher to get their book sales.
If you begin noticing postings, tweets, messages, email signatures, etc. showing up repeatedly or in strange locations -- well, chalk it up for excitement, high stress, and an attempt to make good on sales so other publishers will want to print my face on the back of a book. I'm hoping when they do they will include my stories between the covers.
31 May 2010
Rejections: To Be Or Not To Be...
I consider myself a good story teller. I am not so sure that carries over to being a good story writer or a good editor. I can easily count up the number of rejections I have on my stories because every one is in a folder on my computer. Then there all the implied rejections that float in the dust of silence. I don't like the rejection part of being a writer.
A sudden shift in some warp drive left me open to accepting an internship as an acquisitions assistant editor. That is reading query letters, synopses, and manuscripts. The key is internship, I believe, and it is very hard work for no pay. On a professional basis it could lead to paying positions in the future if I wanted to stick with it. It is a line item that can slip into a resume and bear some weight. Yet, on a personal basis I am not sure I'd want to expend the time needed to fill a full time position where my words are dashed off in short notes that end up dashing the hopes of other writers.
On day one I received a synopsis and first chapter and thinking I was reporting to the editor and publisher wrote up my comments. Other than being completely oblivious to the active voice and passive voice, the former not used and the latter overused, to which the publisher roundly chastised me, my comments were used as the rejection letter to the editor. Yes, mine. I was the one who yanked the cord that released the guillotine. There was enough to the story that the offer to resubmit was extended but the rejection was still tangible. I know the feeling as I have felt that slap many times.
On day two the file sent to me was a manuscript for novel. The publisher wanted my thoughts on whether they should make an offer. So I read nearly 30 chapters of a romance novel. My initial feeling was that it is only the first full I've done for the publisher so surely I'm merely being tested and will receive instructions as a response to my comments. Now, I am not the typical male reader who has never even touched a romance novel. I have, in fact, read a great quantity of them. Unlike many romance novel readers I also read just about every other genre instead of burying my face in a never ending stream of romance novels.
So I am well read and think I can adapt to the task of reading whatever is submitted to the publisher. I may learn otherwise, but have started out with two rejections. Any mistakes in a manuscript should not show up in a simple spell check. In this case a quick spell check disclosed several incorrectly spelled words. This immediately indicates the work has not been polished. Did I like the story? Yes, but it didn't grab my interest enough to make me want to finish reading it. However, I did read it completely and I noted a number of ways the tension could be increased, methods to add more bite to the conflicts, perhaps even refined resolutions. The resulting response to the publisher passed on to the author: As it is we don't want to publish this story, but if you choose to work it over, and polish it, we would be pleased to take another look at a submission.
So what have I done? I have begun inflicting rejections upon authors who share the same shoes I wear, who wear the same hats I change rapidly. They receive those emailed rejections that I dread to see pop into my incoming folder - only now those notices contain my words.
Since the words are mine and come from a publisher does that mean I am now a published author?
A sudden shift in some warp drive left me open to accepting an internship as an acquisitions assistant editor. That is reading query letters, synopses, and manuscripts. The key is internship, I believe, and it is very hard work for no pay. On a professional basis it could lead to paying positions in the future if I wanted to stick with it. It is a line item that can slip into a resume and bear some weight. Yet, on a personal basis I am not sure I'd want to expend the time needed to fill a full time position where my words are dashed off in short notes that end up dashing the hopes of other writers.
On day one I received a synopsis and first chapter and thinking I was reporting to the editor and publisher wrote up my comments. Other than being completely oblivious to the active voice and passive voice, the former not used and the latter overused, to which the publisher roundly chastised me, my comments were used as the rejection letter to the editor. Yes, mine. I was the one who yanked the cord that released the guillotine. There was enough to the story that the offer to resubmit was extended but the rejection was still tangible. I know the feeling as I have felt that slap many times.
On day two the file sent to me was a manuscript for novel. The publisher wanted my thoughts on whether they should make an offer. So I read nearly 30 chapters of a romance novel. My initial feeling was that it is only the first full I've done for the publisher so surely I'm merely being tested and will receive instructions as a response to my comments. Now, I am not the typical male reader who has never even touched a romance novel. I have, in fact, read a great quantity of them. Unlike many romance novel readers I also read just about every other genre instead of burying my face in a never ending stream of romance novels.
So I am well read and think I can adapt to the task of reading whatever is submitted to the publisher. I may learn otherwise, but have started out with two rejections. Any mistakes in a manuscript should not show up in a simple spell check. In this case a quick spell check disclosed several incorrectly spelled words. This immediately indicates the work has not been polished. Did I like the story? Yes, but it didn't grab my interest enough to make me want to finish reading it. However, I did read it completely and I noted a number of ways the tension could be increased, methods to add more bite to the conflicts, perhaps even refined resolutions. The resulting response to the publisher passed on to the author: As it is we don't want to publish this story, but if you choose to work it over, and polish it, we would be pleased to take another look at a submission.
So what have I done? I have begun inflicting rejections upon authors who share the same shoes I wear, who wear the same hats I change rapidly. They receive those emailed rejections that I dread to see pop into my incoming folder - only now those notices contain my words.
Since the words are mine and come from a publisher does that mean I am now a published author?
21 May 2010
(Book) -- Kaliac...
(Sneak preview...seeking publisher...excerpt...send links to friends...by Daniel J Hay.)
...Smoky grey wisps curled in gentle waves as great wings beat through the clouds with each resting stroke slicing through vaporous layers.
Far below, along the mountain trails, keen eyesight would have noticed a speck in the sky. Only a speck. In dawn’s glow or evening’s dim the speck would seem to be muted hues floating through the clouds. Obviously a bird of prey circling overhead. An active mind would have wondered about how high in the sky the bird was, as it would appear to be far, far, above the highest mountain tops. Most birds of prey would find it hard to stay above such a high mountain peak, but then, most observers wouldn't have been aware of the distance between themselves and the creature just barely in view. More rightly, most viewers, not having keen eyesight, wouldn't even know that Kaliac was above them - the distance so great that human vision would fail.
And then, in the bright of day or the dark of night no human eye would ever discern the wings, talons, or the great feathered tail, as it slithered up and over roiling couds. Each dive pulling apart the vast billowing clouds to drift unseen below.
Kaliac watched the trail through Trader's Pass with some interest. The movements of humans would spook the grazing markhor. Despite being both more massive and more agile than domestic goats the markhor would bound higher and further from the lower grazing trails seeking solitude in their efforts to protect their fawns. Each doe swiftly guided triplets away. The bucks would fan out looking for danger and family groups would disappear up thin winding trails. Elusive creatures. Few hunters saw markhor even though the downy wool, superb hides, and massive spiraling horns were considered valuable. Soft downy fur, pale white and muted amber in individually unique patterns were sought by the wealthy. Sheer crags, deep ravines, plunging trails and finely tuned senses kept the markhor far from most people.
Movement was good. Exposure. Dinner. Suddenly, with speed like lighting, Kaliac plunged. Wings and talons pulled far back he plunged beyond sight of the humans, feathers wind-plastered to face, head, and body. A twitch of tail, and in owlish silence he veered across the face of the mountain and struck with killing momentum. The buck died before realizing he had taken a stance upon a high rock that exposed him to the silent death. No mere mouse; and then they were gone. Kaliac shifted the slight burden to one taloned foot and soared into the clouds before heading home into the far reaches...... (the rest is hidden in the book...)
...Smoky grey wisps curled in gentle waves as great wings beat through the clouds with each resting stroke slicing through vaporous layers.
Far below, along the mountain trails, keen eyesight would have noticed a speck in the sky. Only a speck. In dawn’s glow or evening’s dim the speck would seem to be muted hues floating through the clouds. Obviously a bird of prey circling overhead. An active mind would have wondered about how high in the sky the bird was, as it would appear to be far, far, above the highest mountain tops. Most birds of prey would find it hard to stay above such a high mountain peak, but then, most observers wouldn't have been aware of the distance between themselves and the creature just barely in view. More rightly, most viewers, not having keen eyesight, wouldn't even know that Kaliac was above them - the distance so great that human vision would fail.
And then, in the bright of day or the dark of night no human eye would ever discern the wings, talons, or the great feathered tail, as it slithered up and over roiling couds. Each dive pulling apart the vast billowing clouds to drift unseen below.
Kaliac watched the trail through Trader's Pass with some interest. The movements of humans would spook the grazing markhor. Despite being both more massive and more agile than domestic goats the markhor would bound higher and further from the lower grazing trails seeking solitude in their efforts to protect their fawns. Each doe swiftly guided triplets away. The bucks would fan out looking for danger and family groups would disappear up thin winding trails. Elusive creatures. Few hunters saw markhor even though the downy wool, superb hides, and massive spiraling horns were considered valuable. Soft downy fur, pale white and muted amber in individually unique patterns were sought by the wealthy. Sheer crags, deep ravines, plunging trails and finely tuned senses kept the markhor far from most people.
Movement was good. Exposure. Dinner. Suddenly, with speed like lighting, Kaliac plunged. Wings and talons pulled far back he plunged beyond sight of the humans, feathers wind-plastered to face, head, and body. A twitch of tail, and in owlish silence he veered across the face of the mountain and struck with killing momentum. The buck died before realizing he had taken a stance upon a high rock that exposed him to the silent death. No mere mouse; and then they were gone. Kaliac shifted the slight burden to one taloned foot and soared into the clouds before heading home into the far reaches...... (the rest is hidden in the book...)
16 May 2010
Clip Art...
I am not sure what time it is at this moment; surely somewhere between the time I should have gone to bed and the time I normally finally, with great effort, fall asleep. Every so often I actually write material by hand. Whether it is text for the blog, or stories to add to my growing unpublished collection, or even more music - but what I don't do is draw, sketch, paint, or any of the arts in those areas.
I wish that I did because I often have need of art work. In fact, to follow through on my efforts to independently publish some of my children stories I need art - but its not coming from these hands. To create more interesting covers for the music issues I am publishing of my own music compositions I need simple musically related art; simple like in clip art.
Many hours have been spent in perusing the clip art I find on the Internet, and very little of it is usable by me, or for me, and still being free to use. At this time I don't have the budget to allow purchasing art work, graphics, clip art, or hiring an artist. So I keep wasting time trying to find the art work that I can use.
As an example: I am working on the cover for the http://danielhay.magcloud.com issue of "Susan's Concerto" which is for Violin, English Horn, and Bassoon. Can I find usable graphics that both look nice and blend well together (since I haven't yet found one image of all three, or any two of them, together)? Nope, I haven't. Where possible I would like to show an image of the instrument the music is written for - so much better than just a solid color cover with text on it.
It appears that I have to somehow evaluate the available music related art work in a royalty free paid service. Unfortunately I have been unable to find one, yet, that appears to have anything I can use.
So I go back to searching and searching just for the simple pre-made music graphic material; and can't even get close to figuring out a way to get illustrations for my children' fiction. I think I may have to quit working on my projects and get fully employed so I can afford to get the art I need. Somehow that just doesn't seem to fit my schedule but I guess I need to provide income to other people so that I can progress on my own projects.
I wish that I did because I often have need of art work. In fact, to follow through on my efforts to independently publish some of my children stories I need art - but its not coming from these hands. To create more interesting covers for the music issues I am publishing of my own music compositions I need simple musically related art; simple like in clip art.
Many hours have been spent in perusing the clip art I find on the Internet, and very little of it is usable by me, or for me, and still being free to use. At this time I don't have the budget to allow purchasing art work, graphics, clip art, or hiring an artist. So I keep wasting time trying to find the art work that I can use.
As an example: I am working on the cover for the http://danielhay.magcloud.com issue of "Susan's Concerto" which is for Violin, English Horn, and Bassoon. Can I find usable graphics that both look nice and blend well together (since I haven't yet found one image of all three, or any two of them, together)? Nope, I haven't. Where possible I would like to show an image of the instrument the music is written for - so much better than just a solid color cover with text on it.
It appears that I have to somehow evaluate the available music related art work in a royalty free paid service. Unfortunately I have been unable to find one, yet, that appears to have anything I can use.
So I go back to searching and searching just for the simple pre-made music graphic material; and can't even get close to figuring out a way to get illustrations for my children' fiction. I think I may have to quit working on my projects and get fully employed so I can afford to get the art I need. Somehow that just doesn't seem to fit my schedule but I guess I need to provide income to other people so that I can progress on my own projects.
30 April 2010
Publishing Music...
There are many ways to publish. I have two fields of endeavor needing publishing so I'm always looking for the best way. Not only do we have various technical ramifications we then have marketing concerns for our publications. If they don't sell we don't make an income.
I find publishing music to be even more difficult than the process to get published in the big publishers arena. Knowing that with about 200 pieces of music to publish it would take me years just to query half of them I chose to begin publishing as an independent music press.
The first round, or rather the first effort, is now going to press. I have chosen to use MagCloud.com as the publishing house. They produce magazine format material. Although not the standard for sheet music the format does suffice for collected works of solo music, and for longer works in any chamber groupings. At the time of this posting I have already uploaded four issues of the Solo Music magazine and one issue of the Music of Daniel J Hay magazine.
I call them magazines because that is the format used, the paper type, and the publisher is a magazine publisher. In my own mind I think of them as books. In either case, they are on line to be ordered at any time, are produced only when ordered, and MagCloud.com maintains the files, handles the order, prints, and ships. Then they send me my profits. It may not be a perfect world, but this process is a good substitute.
Having lost all my music once before I don't want to loose the new works at all. So I do have a variety of backups in different locations, and now will have a printable and salable form in another safer location. This does not limit my efforts though. I can, and will, be releasing my music in other forms and to other markets because exposure is required. I don't feel my marketing via MagCloud.com would give me a large share of my intended market. And, in any case, this does not cover the mp3 format at all.
So there will be further publishing to cover different formats and markets. At this time you can access my music issues at http://danielhay.magcloud.com
I find publishing music to be even more difficult than the process to get published in the big publishers arena. Knowing that with about 200 pieces of music to publish it would take me years just to query half of them I chose to begin publishing as an independent music press.
The first round, or rather the first effort, is now going to press. I have chosen to use MagCloud.com as the publishing house. They produce magazine format material. Although not the standard for sheet music the format does suffice for collected works of solo music, and for longer works in any chamber groupings. At the time of this posting I have already uploaded four issues of the Solo Music magazine and one issue of the Music of Daniel J Hay magazine.
I call them magazines because that is the format used, the paper type, and the publisher is a magazine publisher. In my own mind I think of them as books. In either case, they are on line to be ordered at any time, are produced only when ordered, and MagCloud.com maintains the files, handles the order, prints, and ships. Then they send me my profits. It may not be a perfect world, but this process is a good substitute.
Having lost all my music once before I don't want to loose the new works at all. So I do have a variety of backups in different locations, and now will have a printable and salable form in another safer location. This does not limit my efforts though. I can, and will, be releasing my music in other forms and to other markets because exposure is required. I don't feel my marketing via MagCloud.com would give me a large share of my intended market. And, in any case, this does not cover the mp3 format at all.
So there will be further publishing to cover different formats and markets. At this time you can access my music issues at http://danielhay.magcloud.com
18 April 2010
Breezy But Not Quite Blustery...
I am sitting in the back yard, the area I fenced off with recycled chain-link fencing and various sized fence posts. I am sure it is not the world's best job but I did a two person job with just myself, and it is sturdy. It is not a stop-gap job but I did not want to pay for anything other than concrete and the pre-cut wire used to attach the fence to the poles. Its only purpose is to allow my dogs to be outside without my constant supervision.
How wonderful it is to be out here in the shade, yet wearing long sleeves while the dogs are sunning themselves a few feet away. As I look up the steep slope beyond the fence my yard merges into the woods. The tree tops are blowing and birds are visiting. They have eye-balled the dogs and then scratch around in the short growth. "Eureka!" they call out as they snatch bugs and grubs and flitter off to nests hidden in the woods.
It is amazing that the laptop computer becomes nearly unusable out here. It still gets a good signal from the wireless router but the screen is so much darker, and it runs so much slower without the cord running to the wall. I have carved a niche out of the mess that was here and blended my section into the natural border, but nature and technology remain at odds. And nature is winning as it is replenishable and my laptop is not.
Eventually I will string an outlet to extend my convenience to this area, but when I do it will be as unobtrusive as I can make it. Due to the looming forest my back yard spends most of the day in shade at this time of the year. It is not conducive to gardening but I have located two small sections that get greater quantities of direct sunlight. It is likely that instead of doing more arranging and unpacking inside, I'll be out here digging and planting.
I need the convenience of technology for which I pay for satellite connections and cell phone service but I also need the not so blustery breezes, the filtered sunlight, the dancing leaves, and the chatter of the forest and woodlands. I am human so I leave a footprint but it doesn't have to be a vile footprint. I reduce, I recycle, I rebuild, and I regenerate.
I do so in order that I can sit here sharing nature and technology on equal terms. It is not the home I would prefer if circumstances allowed, but it is a best fit given my goals, my life, and my efforts. So, I'll spend my time improving the here and now, continue to expand my reach, and allow the tang of nature to encompass me.
13 April 2010
A Boy Named Vinny...
Last year, in the midst of Klamath National Forest I was invited to a Memorial Day cookout. I knew two of the forty some people there, and four of the eleven dogs (two of them were mine).
I met some good people there, and more during the summer months I camped at the Hungry Hay Placer Mining Claim. I learned a lot about gold mining, and even found a very small bit of gold that took 4 hrs per day for six months to collect. Not even worth the gas to go to the store and back once, but it was fun.
I learned more about nature and used it to write more music and to write children stories. I remembered, and according to my notes, promptly forgot, parts of my life that had been blanked from my mind. Some memory lost to emotional trauma, some to physical trauma, and perhaps more to vanish as time goes on.
But this is about Vinny...a boy at the cookout who had spent the week at the campsite with his parents to hold the space for the gathering. And it is about a little girl, a friend of his family, who was celebrating her birthday. Now Vinny was a first year violinist and with some coxing from his mother had brought his instrument out to the camp. It was safe in their very long fifth-wheeler, and he had been practicing how to play Happy Birthday.
Vinny's mother felt he had mastered it well enough so she asked him to play if for the assembled guests. Uh oh! Stage fright set in and Vinny could not be persuaded to play. I saw fear in his eyes and a tenseness in his neck and shoulders. I had met Vinny a few days before so wasn't a complete stranger to him. I went over to where he and his mother were discussing it. She trying to persuade him, and him trying to back away.
"Vinny," I said, "I didn't know you played Violin. I played Cello for a very long time, but now I write music for people to play. I compose for most of the instruments in the orchestra." And so we chatted for a bit about his year of Violin playing. What he had learned, and the notes he knew. I told him I would write him a piece of music. And I did. That evening back at my campsite after washing some blacksands down to the cleanest particles...I pulled out a sheet of music paper and wrote Vinny's Tune.
The following day was the last of the gathering. I drove the four miles over there and presented the music to Vinny with his father present. These days it is not wise to offer children anything without a parent at hand. They need the security of knowing the offering is okay with their parents. The parent needs to know they have control, and that the offering is not something wrong. There is too much wrongness in the world as it is.
As most young boys, Vinny didn't really appreciate the gift immediately, but after his mother came over to join us and started asking him what notes this one, that one, and those, were he perked up a bit. I left him a message that the tune was his. Whatever his mood he could play that tune and take it slow or fast to suit himself. It could be sad, it could be speedy, it could be slow, it could be happy. And so it is. It is Vinny's Tune. I also told him that I hoped he continued playing for many, many years.
Why would I talk about Vinny and his tune? Because I have three children, whom I have also written music for, and named the pieces for them. They have yet to hear them, and may never hear them, as I don't know where any of them live. There is much I don't know, bits I do, and much I fear to know. Is it emotional? Yes. Is it physical? Yes. Will I live long enough to overcome either or both? Perhaps not.
This year I expect much of my music will be published and archived in other places than just on my computers. Someday perhaps my children will find my works, including the simple Vinny-like tunes bearing their names. They don't have to like them, but they will know that often I think about them and wish that the blanks were filled.
I am thinking that after I have posted Vinny's Tune for a short while I may post the pieces for my children. I may do that. I may forget because much of the present gets forgotten, but by writing here I may get around to it yet.
I seem to recall wanting a round-tuit.
I met some good people there, and more during the summer months I camped at the Hungry Hay Placer Mining Claim. I learned a lot about gold mining, and even found a very small bit of gold that took 4 hrs per day for six months to collect. Not even worth the gas to go to the store and back once, but it was fun.
I learned more about nature and used it to write more music and to write children stories. I remembered, and according to my notes, promptly forgot, parts of my life that had been blanked from my mind. Some memory lost to emotional trauma, some to physical trauma, and perhaps more to vanish as time goes on.
But this is about Vinny...a boy at the cookout who had spent the week at the campsite with his parents to hold the space for the gathering. And it is about a little girl, a friend of his family, who was celebrating her birthday. Now Vinny was a first year violinist and with some coxing from his mother had brought his instrument out to the camp. It was safe in their very long fifth-wheeler, and he had been practicing how to play Happy Birthday.
Vinny's mother felt he had mastered it well enough so she asked him to play if for the assembled guests. Uh oh! Stage fright set in and Vinny could not be persuaded to play. I saw fear in his eyes and a tenseness in his neck and shoulders. I had met Vinny a few days before so wasn't a complete stranger to him. I went over to where he and his mother were discussing it. She trying to persuade him, and him trying to back away.
"Vinny," I said, "I didn't know you played Violin. I played Cello for a very long time, but now I write music for people to play. I compose for most of the instruments in the orchestra." And so we chatted for a bit about his year of Violin playing. What he had learned, and the notes he knew. I told him I would write him a piece of music. And I did. That evening back at my campsite after washing some blacksands down to the cleanest particles...I pulled out a sheet of music paper and wrote Vinny's Tune.
The following day was the last of the gathering. I drove the four miles over there and presented the music to Vinny with his father present. These days it is not wise to offer children anything without a parent at hand. They need the security of knowing the offering is okay with their parents. The parent needs to know they have control, and that the offering is not something wrong. There is too much wrongness in the world as it is.
As most young boys, Vinny didn't really appreciate the gift immediately, but after his mother came over to join us and started asking him what notes this one, that one, and those, were he perked up a bit. I left him a message that the tune was his. Whatever his mood he could play that tune and take it slow or fast to suit himself. It could be sad, it could be speedy, it could be slow, it could be happy. And so it is. It is Vinny's Tune. I also told him that I hoped he continued playing for many, many years.
Why would I talk about Vinny and his tune? Because I have three children, whom I have also written music for, and named the pieces for them. They have yet to hear them, and may never hear them, as I don't know where any of them live. There is much I don't know, bits I do, and much I fear to know. Is it emotional? Yes. Is it physical? Yes. Will I live long enough to overcome either or both? Perhaps not.
This year I expect much of my music will be published and archived in other places than just on my computers. Someday perhaps my children will find my works, including the simple Vinny-like tunes bearing their names. They don't have to like them, but they will know that often I think about them and wish that the blanks were filled.
I am thinking that after I have posted Vinny's Tune for a short while I may post the pieces for my children. I may do that. I may forget because much of the present gets forgotten, but by writing here I may get around to it yet.
I seem to recall wanting a round-tuit.
29 March 2010
Spirit of Amraah...
It wasn't her given name but Amraah used a chosen name. She was a unique individual of an indeterminate age. She was older than my 51 of the time, and yet not so old she couldn't take care of herself on her travels through life.
She drove a van that she called Bear, and I think she told me he was Red Bear. She lived in her van and had been living in a vehicle for 15 years or more. She traveled where she wanted and kept limited contact with the world by laptop. Amraah was on a spiritual trip and felt infused with the spirituality of life.
In the middle of a forest, on a seldom used road, she stopped to help me where my truck was stranded. Three other people from the area had driven right by me. Amraah, on the otherhand, was not from the area and was just out looking and searching and had chosen this road for a reason she could not explain. Yet, she stopped to help a man she didn't know, and who with long ratty looking hair, beard, old beat-up truck, and two dogs, probably didn't look to savory.
After trying to jump start the battery in the truck she offered to drive to town, 38 miles away, so that I could get a new battery. During the drive she didn't drown me with her spirituality but there was an aura about her that told me she was different than anybody I had known before.
Before we parted ways I told her I wanted to name one of my music compositions after her. I told her that it wouldn't necessarily be about her but that I liked naming music for people. In this case the music turned out to be about her and to explore some sense of her spirit.
She gave me her business card so that I could tell her about it. And then I lost it for ten months. Today I found it and sent her a copy of the music "Spirit of Amraah" so that she will know I kept my word. I wrote the music that very night after returning to the woods and my truck. It is a different piece and the computer generated recording does not do it full justice because the repeats are taken at different tempos, but I hope she will like it.
As of the date of this posting it is also in the side bar for anybody to listen too, although at some point that mp3 player podcast will be changed to another piece of my music. For now, I hope the spirit reaches Amraah, and that it entices you as well.
She drove a van that she called Bear, and I think she told me he was Red Bear. She lived in her van and had been living in a vehicle for 15 years or more. She traveled where she wanted and kept limited contact with the world by laptop. Amraah was on a spiritual trip and felt infused with the spirituality of life.
In the middle of a forest, on a seldom used road, she stopped to help me where my truck was stranded. Three other people from the area had driven right by me. Amraah, on the otherhand, was not from the area and was just out looking and searching and had chosen this road for a reason she could not explain. Yet, she stopped to help a man she didn't know, and who with long ratty looking hair, beard, old beat-up truck, and two dogs, probably didn't look to savory.
After trying to jump start the battery in the truck she offered to drive to town, 38 miles away, so that I could get a new battery. During the drive she didn't drown me with her spirituality but there was an aura about her that told me she was different than anybody I had known before.
Before we parted ways I told her I wanted to name one of my music compositions after her. I told her that it wouldn't necessarily be about her but that I liked naming music for people. In this case the music turned out to be about her and to explore some sense of her spirit.
She gave me her business card so that I could tell her about it. And then I lost it for ten months. Today I found it and sent her a copy of the music "Spirit of Amraah" so that she will know I kept my word. I wrote the music that very night after returning to the woods and my truck. It is a different piece and the computer generated recording does not do it full justice because the repeats are taken at different tempos, but I hope she will like it.
As of the date of this posting it is also in the side bar for anybody to listen too, although at some point that mp3 player podcast will be changed to another piece of my music. For now, I hope the spirit reaches Amraah, and that it entices you as well.
14 March 2010
On The Road...
March 14th -- Unlike most blogs that make multiple entries per day, or one per day, my blog is less precisely timed. You might say that it is calendorically challenged. (I could have used "calendric" but "calendorically" seems to fit better.) This particular entry may be updated over the next several days or weeks as I progress across country from California where I can nearly touch Oregon, to Memphis, Tennessee which Google Maps tells me is a "1 day, 17 hr." drive. I hope to have the cameras ready to go during the trip, several of my Recorders, music scoring paper, and the laptop. I just may stop at any moment whether there is a railroad crossing or not.
--- There are a number of photographic projects I've deferred working on until I returned to a more populous area. I hope to finish planning them out so that when I've completed moving into my Memphis house I can get started on them again. Of course the music writing and practising, and the child lit. is like a faucet with no turn off valve. I've spent a year now in camping mode, more secluded then ever before, perhaps even lonelier than ever. I'm not sure if that stimulates or retards my music and writing. I guess time will ... In the mean time, you may want to bookmark this blog and watch it for periodic updates during the travel.
March 24h -- Well that didn't work too well. My long slow drive across country turned into a race in front of snow storms and heavy rains. I am now in my home in Memphis and just this evening got the internet up and running with the new satellite dish on the roof. The trip itself was a challenge. I got run off the road in New Mexico by a big dark green semi. If you see any, look for tan paint on the driver's bumper and let me know. I ended up in the median bouncing across rocks with my overloaded truck. Blew two tires and had to replace all four. I had no other damage and the rest of the trip was uneventful other than stormy weather.
--- Upon arrival I moved right in and began some of the repairs that still needed to be done. Papers are signed and the house is mine now (as long as I make the payments). I've meet some of my neighbors and shared some hardcore yard work with Barry across the street. He suffered gout and I had swollen joints from unloading. But we got the edging all done for both yards, and helped their landlady (also mine) move stuff. Benefits us all, so we did well.
--- Also had 750 emails to handle and only half were spam that the filters missed. I have several photography projects pending for which I had advertised via Craigslist. I had a slew of messages regarding them so those projects may be on the way soon. The studio space is not quite what I expected but I hope to make use of it so I don't have to rent a studio. It will work well for the recording of my music I plan, and the video recordings for YouTube.
--- My employee in the Phillipines has continued working while I was on the road so other projects are moving forward as well. All in all I guess the month turned out better than it started.
--- Just as I was preparing to move, and finishing helping my friends move a friend of theirs, a dear friend proposed. I am sorry to say that I have had to turn down the offer simple. As some of the stress evaporates from the move process, and the projects get under control again, perhaps I will be able to consider her offer with the illumination that considers the welfare of both of us and not just my own selfish reasons. I have, for ten years, been a single person, but I truly enjoyed being part of a family. Life will wait on me and we shall see what happens.
Final -- Since this did not turn into a daily journal of my 2500 mile trip this is the last entry for this blog title. My dogs are snoozing on the floor in comfort. They have had all week to stretch out in any corner, on all the furniture, and even convinced me to put a step-up to the very tall bed for them to get up there to sleep as well. They have checked out the woods, the yard, the neighbors' yards and have decided that this is home. At least, as long as the food dish and water dish are filled and they can give me directions to make their life pleasant, then they are happy with where we are at. For those of you whom have read this, you will see that it is different from my standard blog posts, but it was a major change in an old life that is springing forward with a new spark. If you enjoyed this I hope you will still read my other blog entries. If you didn't like this one, then you most certainly need to read the others because they are different.
--- There are a number of photographic projects I've deferred working on until I returned to a more populous area. I hope to finish planning them out so that when I've completed moving into my Memphis house I can get started on them again. Of course the music writing and practising, and the child lit. is like a faucet with no turn off valve. I've spent a year now in camping mode, more secluded then ever before, perhaps even lonelier than ever. I'm not sure if that stimulates or retards my music and writing. I guess time will ... In the mean time, you may want to bookmark this blog and watch it for periodic updates during the travel.
March 24h -- Well that didn't work too well. My long slow drive across country turned into a race in front of snow storms and heavy rains. I am now in my home in Memphis and just this evening got the internet up and running with the new satellite dish on the roof. The trip itself was a challenge. I got run off the road in New Mexico by a big dark green semi. If you see any, look for tan paint on the driver's bumper and let me know. I ended up in the median bouncing across rocks with my overloaded truck. Blew two tires and had to replace all four. I had no other damage and the rest of the trip was uneventful other than stormy weather.
--- Upon arrival I moved right in and began some of the repairs that still needed to be done. Papers are signed and the house is mine now (as long as I make the payments). I've meet some of my neighbors and shared some hardcore yard work with Barry across the street. He suffered gout and I had swollen joints from unloading. But we got the edging all done for both yards, and helped their landlady (also mine) move stuff. Benefits us all, so we did well.
--- Also had 750 emails to handle and only half were spam that the filters missed. I have several photography projects pending for which I had advertised via Craigslist. I had a slew of messages regarding them so those projects may be on the way soon. The studio space is not quite what I expected but I hope to make use of it so I don't have to rent a studio. It will work well for the recording of my music I plan, and the video recordings for YouTube.
--- My employee in the Phillipines has continued working while I was on the road so other projects are moving forward as well. All in all I guess the month turned out better than it started.
--- Just as I was preparing to move, and finishing helping my friends move a friend of theirs, a dear friend proposed. I am sorry to say that I have had to turn down the offer simple. As some of the stress evaporates from the move process, and the projects get under control again, perhaps I will be able to consider her offer with the illumination that considers the welfare of both of us and not just my own selfish reasons. I have, for ten years, been a single person, but I truly enjoyed being part of a family. Life will wait on me and we shall see what happens.
Final -- Since this did not turn into a daily journal of my 2500 mile trip this is the last entry for this blog title. My dogs are snoozing on the floor in comfort. They have had all week to stretch out in any corner, on all the furniture, and even convinced me to put a step-up to the very tall bed for them to get up there to sleep as well. They have checked out the woods, the yard, the neighbors' yards and have decided that this is home. At least, as long as the food dish and water dish are filled and they can give me directions to make their life pleasant, then they are happy with where we are at. For those of you whom have read this, you will see that it is different from my standard blog posts, but it was a major change in an old life that is springing forward with a new spark. If you enjoyed this I hope you will still read my other blog entries. If you didn't like this one, then you most certainly need to read the others because they are different.
07 March 2010
Lady Grey...
My favorite Internet haunts are overflowing with inane comments on what is happening at the Oscars. Like most programs on television, I figure if I wanted to know what was happening I'd turn on a television. The fact that I don't own one anymore is a moot point, I could easily buy one or just visit somebody who already has it on (or never turned off).
Instead of growing irritated at the flow of messages that I can't filter out without turning off the people I normally enjoy reading, I'm sitting here drinking a huge mug of Lady Grey tea and listening to the "Taking Tea With Lady Grey" trio that I wrote a short time ago. I am both writing at projects and composing another piece of music in snippets at a time.
As Lady Grey comes to a close I click on replay, click on the tab for the score, contemplate a few notes, click on the blog screen and enter a few letters, then back to the score, the blog, the score, the blog, and eventually to a moment of pause and bliss. Those moments are when I sip tea and consider the mood that the music just provided.
Listening to one piece of music while writing another one is a challenge. The first challenge is to make sure I don't mimic the aural sounds with the new written sounds. I don't want a clone of Lady Grey. I found her to be both tasty as tea, and delicious as music but do not need to create a copy of her. She is there for my enjoyment as desired.
Just a moment, click, click, click, click, the process had to be started over. When I tire of the same music I'll simple click on the mp3 player and have it randomly play through all of my music. Music from solo to an eighteen voice brass ensemble. Trumpets, trombones, timpani, to piano, strings, woodwinds and brasswinds. And because I play Recorder many of the pieces are computer-voiced as Recorder.
It makes for a pleasant time without the repetitive voice and commercials on television. It lets me do what I want to do while I plan for a move across country to a house with space for my studio. And it lets me still enjoy the onslaught of Internet activity - I just bypass the parts I don't wish to view.
So all is fine in the world when taking your tea with Lady Grey...
Instead of growing irritated at the flow of messages that I can't filter out without turning off the people I normally enjoy reading, I'm sitting here drinking a huge mug of Lady Grey tea and listening to the "Taking Tea With Lady Grey" trio that I wrote a short time ago. I am both writing at projects and composing another piece of music in snippets at a time.
As Lady Grey comes to a close I click on replay, click on the tab for the score, contemplate a few notes, click on the blog screen and enter a few letters, then back to the score, the blog, the score, the blog, and eventually to a moment of pause and bliss. Those moments are when I sip tea and consider the mood that the music just provided.
Listening to one piece of music while writing another one is a challenge. The first challenge is to make sure I don't mimic the aural sounds with the new written sounds. I don't want a clone of Lady Grey. I found her to be both tasty as tea, and delicious as music but do not need to create a copy of her. She is there for my enjoyment as desired.
Just a moment, click, click, click, click, the process had to be started over. When I tire of the same music I'll simple click on the mp3 player and have it randomly play through all of my music. Music from solo to an eighteen voice brass ensemble. Trumpets, trombones, timpani, to piano, strings, woodwinds and brasswinds. And because I play Recorder many of the pieces are computer-voiced as Recorder.
It makes for a pleasant time without the repetitive voice and commercials on television. It lets me do what I want to do while I plan for a move across country to a house with space for my studio. And it lets me still enjoy the onslaught of Internet activity - I just bypass the parts I don't wish to view.
So all is fine in the world when taking your tea with Lady Grey...
24 February 2010
(Book) -- It Is A Colorful Day...
(Sneak preview...seeking publisher...excerpt...send links to friends...by Daniel J Hay.)
It is a colorful day today. The sky is super blue and the sun is blazing yellow. A few puffy white clouds are floating along. I like those colors.
It is a colorful day today. The sky is super blue and the sun is blazing yellow. A few puffy white clouds are floating along. I like those colors.
The grass is greener than a frog. The tree bark is browner than a worm. The house is painted pink. And I like those colors too.
I wonder what color I should make my clothes today? Should they match? Should they clash? Stripes, or dots, or perhaps ziggity-zaggity every which way.
If I had a rainbow I could wear it on my shirt.
If I had a cloud I could paste it on my shoe.
Or maybe I could mow the yard and cover myself with grass.
Okay now, I'm looking in my closet. I think I can find just what I want to wear.
Ah, a shirt that is light brown with short sleeves. On the back it has a big blue ball with white and green. Oh its the world. The entire planet printed on my shirt. On the front a big red heart.
And shorts, hmmm, blue, or green, or black, or brown, or... there they are... Stripped shorts in red, white and blue with gold and silver stars all over. Yes, those will be cool.
Socks will be fun to choose. I think I'll wear a neon-green sock on my left foot. It even has an orange stripe around the top. For my right foot I shall wear a black sock with lots of white dots.
Then I will put on a red sneaker for my left foot and tie it with yellow shoe string. On my right foot a green sneaker with a purple shoe string.
Look at me. I am covered with colors. All I need now is a funny looking hat.
Can you fine one for me to wear?
(Ends with a picture of many hats jumbled in a closet.)
13 February 2010
(Book) -- Enchanted Fire...
(Sneak preview...seeking publisher...excerpt...send links to friends...by Daniel J Hay.)
The Story of the Enchanted Fire...or...The Boy With a Measuring String...
Once upon a time... Oh bother! Its another one of those stories. You know the type. Those stories that just could not be real. Nothing in life could happen the way those stories say they do. Nope. Not at all.
Nevertheless, we will go on with the story. However, just so you know... this story is real. Don't shake your head in doubt. Really, it is a real story. Truthfully it is a true story. Honestly. Honest.
You don't believe me? Phooey on you. Just go ask your librarian. Do it tomorrow or the next day, okay? (Uh, don't mention my name though.)
Anyway, once upon a time...ah let's just skip to the action...
“Grrrr...” (See, action already.) “Pokay, mokey, slokay, hokey,” growls the old man in a tall pointed hat. “Scrats, bats, colo, bolo,” he continues, “within this room you shall stay for eternity. Fire, spire, flame, smame, my treasures here you will guard.”
(Note: never rhyme the last words of spells or they explode on you.)
If we were actually with the spell caster we would see a sudden explosion of flame as a fireball bursts throughout the dark room. You would have seen his grizzled face sizzling in the heat as flame burst into existence.
“Aiieiee...” screeched the man as he stumbled backwards. He turned and ran up the tunnel he had laboriously carved into the mountain. When at last he reached cool night air any hidden viewer would have seen... well... a mess.
The wizard, for that is what he was, now wore a charred black hat. His face was scorching red. His beard and eyebrows were turned to ash and fell off even as he shook ash from his badly burned robes.
“Well, that is that,” he grumbled to himself. “My treasures are safe. Nobody can survive that guardian flame,” he laughed as he staggered away.
You know, of course, that many years went by. As the wizard traveled from place to place he would tell of his wonderful treasures and how he had protected them. He bragged about his eternal flame guardian. He said none could stand... (the rest is hidden in the book...)
The Story of the Enchanted Fire...or...The Boy With a Measuring String...
Once upon a time... Oh bother! Its another one of those stories. You know the type. Those stories that just could not be real. Nothing in life could happen the way those stories say they do. Nope. Not at all.
Nevertheless, we will go on with the story. However, just so you know... this story is real. Don't shake your head in doubt. Really, it is a real story. Truthfully it is a true story. Honestly. Honest.
You don't believe me? Phooey on you. Just go ask your librarian. Do it tomorrow or the next day, okay? (Uh, don't mention my name though.)
Anyway, once upon a time...ah let's just skip to the action...
“Grrrr...” (See, action already.) “Pokay, mokey, slokay, hokey,” growls the old man in a tall pointed hat. “Scrats, bats, colo, bolo,” he continues, “within this room you shall stay for eternity. Fire, spire, flame, smame, my treasures here you will guard.”
(Note: never rhyme the last words of spells or they explode on you.)
If we were actually with the spell caster we would see a sudden explosion of flame as a fireball bursts throughout the dark room. You would have seen his grizzled face sizzling in the heat as flame burst into existence.
“Aiieiee...” screeched the man as he stumbled backwards. He turned and ran up the tunnel he had laboriously carved into the mountain. When at last he reached cool night air any hidden viewer would have seen... well... a mess.
The wizard, for that is what he was, now wore a charred black hat. His face was scorching red. His beard and eyebrows were turned to ash and fell off even as he shook ash from his badly burned robes.
“Well, that is that,” he grumbled to himself. “My treasures are safe. Nobody can survive that guardian flame,” he laughed as he staggered away.
You know, of course, that many years went by. As the wizard traveled from place to place he would tell of his wonderful treasures and how he had protected them. He bragged about his eternal flame guardian. He said none could stand... (the rest is hidden in the book...)
21 December 2009
Music by Daniel J Hay...
I've installed PodBean podcasting service so that I can selectively put my compositions on my blog page. I don't know if I want to try and squeeze it into the FaceBook and MySpace pages or not. I may add it to some of my personal websites later. But for now, these are somewhat like sneak previews.
This first PodBean driven playback is Susan's Concerto: for English Horn, Bassoon, and Violin.
Although I have performed many of my solo works the only chamber piece ever performed to date is the Two Flutes and A Cello I mentioned in an earlier blog posting. Of the 300+ pieces lost in Hurrican Katrina in 2005 most had been choral pieces and a good number had been performed.
Among the many tasks I have assigned myself, which includes writing more childrens stories and getting them published, and composing more music, I wish to get my music published. To do so I am squeezing time in on preparing collections for print and CD. The ones featured on my blog, PeriODDically... will be part of that process.
I am interested in forming or working with one or more chamber groups to get my works performed. Currently in the northern portion of California, I could be available locally. Or, perhaps something could be arranged for long distant contact.
This first PodBean driven playback is Susan's Concerto: for English Horn, Bassoon, and Violin.
Although I have performed many of my solo works the only chamber piece ever performed to date is the Two Flutes and A Cello I mentioned in an earlier blog posting. Of the 300+ pieces lost in Hurrican Katrina in 2005 most had been choral pieces and a good number had been performed.
Among the many tasks I have assigned myself, which includes writing more childrens stories and getting them published, and composing more music, I wish to get my music published. To do so I am squeezing time in on preparing collections for print and CD. The ones featured on my blog, PeriODDically... will be part of that process.
I am interested in forming or working with one or more chamber groups to get my works performed. Currently in the northern portion of California, I could be available locally. Or, perhaps something could be arranged for long distant contact.
15 December 2009
(Book) -- Pooka's Story...
(Sneak preview...seeking publisher...excerpt...send links to friends...by Daniel J Hay.)
The story about Pooka is very, very long. It is so long that you do not have time to listen to it unless this is Wednesday. This story takes many, many pages to make into a book. In fact, her story is so long that I know you won't listen to all of it. So, I am not going to tell you her story.
Nope. Not at all. I absolutely refuse to tell you that Pooka was a puppy with a special name. You can look for Pooka in that big book of words that tells you what words mean. Go ahead. Do it. I don't have the time to tell you Pooka means "animal spirit". When you see who used that word you will know it was a special word.
Since you won't listen to this story why should I tell you that she got her name because her heart didn't pump when she was born. Oh, and her lungs didn't give her air. And, her people were very sad.
You are not reading the book so you won't know that the house cats meowed at her. Pooka didn't hear them. Her mommy nudged her and she didn't nudge back. Her oldest and older brothers whined. Her younger and youngest brothers were waiting their turn to be born. But mommy was sad. Her people were sad. Even the cats were sad.
Of course you aren't sad because have not heard this story. You have not read the book because it is so very long. Suddenly people-daddy thought of something and you don't know what he thought. While you are ignoring this long story the people family took the tiny bundle of black fur and wrapped her in a towel.
They rubbed her briskly and vigorously just like a person drying their hair. Daddy breathed into Pooka's nose, "Puff, puff, puff." They tapped a finger over her heart, "Tap, tap, tap." In a few minutes she open her mouth and whined. She wiggled a paw. She was waving at her people and asking for warm milk. Soon she was tucked into the blankets with brothers and mommy.
Did you have to use the big word book to look up some of these words? Oh, I forgot, you aren't reading this story because it is so very long. You might not even know that there are words to be learned.
After a while all the people were sure that Pooka was warm and snoozing. They could see her lungs were working and could feel her little heart pumping very strongly. They kept her tucked into the blankets with her puppy family. Mommy kissed her over and over. Brothers rolled over and went to sleep.
If I was not trying to make this long story short I would tell you that this is how she got her name. She has a very special spirit inside of her.
Many pages and a great amount of ink were required to tell this part of Pooka's story. I am not going to waste more paper and ink. This is a very long story. You are not reading it so I can skip all of the long parts. You won't miss them anyway, right?
In the long story book I would have to tell you that Pooka had a very special mommy. Her mommy told her stories about her people. Pooka knew that mommy was named Kita. When they asked her if she liked that name she wagged her tail and yipped in agreement. Besides, the people name didn't really matter to her because she knew her puppies would always call her mommy.
Do you know that in the long story I would tell you about Pooka's brothers? I could tell you their names. Each of the four had white fur of different length than his brothers. They could have been named Longest Fur, Long Fur, Short Fur, and Shortest Fur. But they weren't. That would be ridiculous so none of them were named Fur. In the middle was Pooka with her black fur. This book is to long to spell out her brothers' names.
After a few weeks of warm milk Pooka had a big little tummy. She could sit up and look like a grizzly bear except that her ears flop over. Mommy's ears stand up. Brothers' ears stand up. Pooka's ears flop.
Yes, I know, the story is already to long to be telling you about ears. Pooka's ears do flop. When she runs they flop. Do your ears flop? Silly question to ask somebody who is not reading this story. Sorry. I'll go back to making this a short story.
Puppies grow faster than people children. Soon they get older and need their own new people families to play with. Sometimes they get to be pets and sometimes they get to work with their family of people.
Kita was a breed that protected people from little creatures and big insects ................. (the rest is hidden in the book...)
The story about Pooka is very, very long. It is so long that you do not have time to listen to it unless this is Wednesday. This story takes many, many pages to make into a book. In fact, her story is so long that I know you won't listen to all of it. So, I am not going to tell you her story.
Nope. Not at all. I absolutely refuse to tell you that Pooka was a puppy with a special name. You can look for Pooka in that big book of words that tells you what words mean. Go ahead. Do it. I don't have the time to tell you Pooka means "animal spirit". When you see who used that word you will know it was a special word.
Since you won't listen to this story why should I tell you that she got her name because her heart didn't pump when she was born. Oh, and her lungs didn't give her air. And, her people were very sad.
You are not reading the book so you won't know that the house cats meowed at her. Pooka didn't hear them. Her mommy nudged her and she didn't nudge back. Her oldest and older brothers whined. Her younger and youngest brothers were waiting their turn to be born. But mommy was sad. Her people were sad. Even the cats were sad.
Of course you aren't sad because have not heard this story. You have not read the book because it is so very long. Suddenly people-daddy thought of something and you don't know what he thought. While you are ignoring this long story the people family took the tiny bundle of black fur and wrapped her in a towel.
They rubbed her briskly and vigorously just like a person drying their hair. Daddy breathed into Pooka's nose, "Puff, puff, puff." They tapped a finger over her heart, "Tap, tap, tap." In a few minutes she open her mouth and whined. She wiggled a paw. She was waving at her people and asking for warm milk. Soon she was tucked into the blankets with brothers and mommy.
Did you have to use the big word book to look up some of these words? Oh, I forgot, you aren't reading this story because it is so very long. You might not even know that there are words to be learned.
After a while all the people were sure that Pooka was warm and snoozing. They could see her lungs were working and could feel her little heart pumping very strongly. They kept her tucked into the blankets with her puppy family. Mommy kissed her over and over. Brothers rolled over and went to sleep.
If I was not trying to make this long story short I would tell you that this is how she got her name. She has a very special spirit inside of her.
Many pages and a great amount of ink were required to tell this part of Pooka's story. I am not going to waste more paper and ink. This is a very long story. You are not reading it so I can skip all of the long parts. You won't miss them anyway, right?
In the long story book I would have to tell you that Pooka had a very special mommy. Her mommy told her stories about her people. Pooka knew that mommy was named Kita. When they asked her if she liked that name she wagged her tail and yipped in agreement. Besides, the people name didn't really matter to her because she knew her puppies would always call her mommy.
Do you know that in the long story I would tell you about Pooka's brothers? I could tell you their names. Each of the four had white fur of different length than his brothers. They could have been named Longest Fur, Long Fur, Short Fur, and Shortest Fur. But they weren't. That would be ridiculous so none of them were named Fur. In the middle was Pooka with her black fur. This book is to long to spell out her brothers' names.
After a few weeks of warm milk Pooka had a big little tummy. She could sit up and look like a grizzly bear except that her ears flop over. Mommy's ears stand up. Brothers' ears stand up. Pooka's ears flop.
Yes, I know, the story is already to long to be telling you about ears. Pooka's ears do flop. When she runs they flop. Do your ears flop? Silly question to ask somebody who is not reading this story. Sorry. I'll go back to making this a short story.
Puppies grow faster than people children. Soon they get older and need their own new people families to play with. Sometimes they get to be pets and sometimes they get to work with their family of people.
Kita was a breed that protected people from little creatures and big insects ................. (the rest is hidden in the book...)
06 December 2009
Lemon Squeezed...
What do you do with a blog posting that is empty and won't allow itself to be deleted?
Apply lemon juice to it.
Exactly! Since it was seen as place holder with no text in it and obviously was a mistake glaring with strobic effect, the solution is to Edit It Into Lemonade. This particular blog entry is now being squeezed and twisted, juiced out, and teased into something fruitful.
This container is now filled with something useful instead of just announcing to the world that it was a mistake. Now it is sweetened to taste and can be poured into your routine with some assurance of sparking a smile or chuckle.
By the time you see this posting it has undergone a unique metamorphosis. It is no longer a creepy-crawly bug-like burp on the screen. With this final sentence it takes wings and flies in gentle spirals to its rightful position within the blog as an acceptable entry.
Apply lemon juice to it.
Exactly! Since it was seen as place holder with no text in it and obviously was a mistake glaring with strobic effect, the solution is to Edit It Into Lemonade. This particular blog entry is now being squeezed and twisted, juiced out, and teased into something fruitful.
This container is now filled with something useful instead of just announcing to the world that it was a mistake. Now it is sweetened to taste and can be poured into your routine with some assurance of sparking a smile or chuckle.
By the time you see this posting it has undergone a unique metamorphosis. It is no longer a creepy-crawly bug-like burp on the screen. With this final sentence it takes wings and flies in gentle spirals to its rightful position within the blog as an acceptable entry.
(Book) -- Henny Penny the Singing Rooster...
(Sneak preview...seeking publisher...excerpt...send links to friends...by Daniel J Hay.)
Once upon a time, a very long time ago, there was a chicken named Henny Penny. She thought the sky was falling and began a long journey to go tell the king about the falling sky. Of course, she was mistaken as you can clearly see. Go outside and see if the sky has fallen.
It hasn't.
However, this is not the story of Henny Penny of "the sky is falling" fame. No. Not her. This is the story of somebody else who just happened to have the same name. Yes. It is the story of Henny Penny. (Remember, this is a different Henny Penny. Okay?)
Now, since Henny Penny didn't live a very long time ago we have to start the story over. So...
Once upon a time there was a rooster with a magical voice. His name was Henny Penny. It is true that most of his friends thought his name was really the name of a hen, but since his parents gave him the name, well then, it must be a name for a rooster. People who came to visit at the farm where he lived might laugh at his name, but once he stood up and fluffed his gleaming feathers out, puffed up his chest and sang ?awk-a-doodle-doo? at them they stopped laughing.
Everybody praised Famer Dan for his wonderful rooster. The first awk-a-doodle-doo they heard caused them to admire the handsome Henny Penny. Why, if Henny Penny had been a king they would have bowed to him. Many people came just to hear Henny Penny singing his rooster song.
That's right, his rooster song. If you ask around you will find that most people say roosters crow. That just isn't right. Roosters are not crows. Maybe some roosters sing so poorly that people think they sound like crows, but not Henny Penny. In fact, Henny Penny had blue ribbons and gold medals from many contests because he sang so well. So, no, he didn't crow, he sang.
If you remember, we said that Henny Penny was a rooster with a magical voice. When he sang at contests and sang to the visitors at Farmer Dan's farm he didn't use his magic voice. The magic was very special and had to be saved for his job.
Yes, roosters have jobs. They are supposed to sing every morning and every evening so that all the animals and all the people on the farm know when to wake up, and when to go to sleep. Some people use an alarm clock to wake up and then just guess when to go to sleep. But all the best farms use rooster song. And at Farmer Dan's farm they used Henny Penny songs. They did not know that his song was magical but they knew he had a very fine awk-a-doodle-doo. Just ask anybody ................. (the rest is hidden in the book...)
Once upon a time, a very long time ago, there was a chicken named Henny Penny. She thought the sky was falling and began a long journey to go tell the king about the falling sky. Of course, she was mistaken as you can clearly see. Go outside and see if the sky has fallen.
It hasn't.
However, this is not the story of Henny Penny of "the sky is falling" fame. No. Not her. This is the story of somebody else who just happened to have the same name. Yes. It is the story of Henny Penny. (Remember, this is a different Henny Penny. Okay?)
Now, since Henny Penny didn't live a very long time ago we have to start the story over. So...
Once upon a time there was a rooster with a magical voice. His name was Henny Penny. It is true that most of his friends thought his name was really the name of a hen, but since his parents gave him the name, well then, it must be a name for a rooster. People who came to visit at the farm where he lived might laugh at his name, but once he stood up and fluffed his gleaming feathers out, puffed up his chest and sang ?awk-a-doodle-doo? at them they stopped laughing.
Everybody praised Famer Dan for his wonderful rooster. The first awk-a-doodle-doo they heard caused them to admire the handsome Henny Penny. Why, if Henny Penny had been a king they would have bowed to him. Many people came just to hear Henny Penny singing his rooster song.
That's right, his rooster song. If you ask around you will find that most people say roosters crow. That just isn't right. Roosters are not crows. Maybe some roosters sing so poorly that people think they sound like crows, but not Henny Penny. In fact, Henny Penny had blue ribbons and gold medals from many contests because he sang so well. So, no, he didn't crow, he sang.
If you remember, we said that Henny Penny was a rooster with a magical voice. When he sang at contests and sang to the visitors at Farmer Dan's farm he didn't use his magic voice. The magic was very special and had to be saved for his job.
Yes, roosters have jobs. They are supposed to sing every morning and every evening so that all the animals and all the people on the farm know when to wake up, and when to go to sleep. Some people use an alarm clock to wake up and then just guess when to go to sleep. But all the best farms use rooster song. And at Farmer Dan's farm they used Henny Penny songs. They did not know that his song was magical but they knew he had a very fine awk-a-doodle-doo. Just ask anybody ................. (the rest is hidden in the book...)
05 December 2009
Naming Music...
When I start composing a piece of music it usually is because there is a melodic phrase POUNDING between my ears. Most instances there is no name for that music so the piece gets started with a number as the file name.
When I switched to using Finale for scoring I started using Opus numbers so that I would have a convenient way of naming files. Up until Hurricane Katrina I had just over 300 pieces of handwritten music stored in my lockable file box. When the box was stolen I started numbering at 313 to be sure there was no overlap of the earlier pieces. There was a slim hope that the filebox would be recovered and I didn't want to renumber later. I actually think 307 was the last piece prior to Katrina, but the memory is questionable.
I have recovered the first and second pieces I wrote. They were both written at Blair Academy. "The Hermit" for Oboe and Strings has never been performed although the computer playback is great. "Two Flutes and a Cello" was performed at Blair by myself and classmates Louise Ewing and Donald Blocker. (I have mentioned this before.) At least a few of our classmates were actually at the Headmaster's home for that performance. Not an exciting name for the piece, but it certainly was descriptive. As a tidbit, the only other piece I have written which is named for the instruments it uses is "Trombone and Timpani, with Piano and Strings".
Three other pieces, "Sarah's Trumpet," "Horn March," and "Brash Brass" have different stories. Both Sarah's and Horn were written for Recorder although the Sarah in question was actually a trumpet player and both are now stored on my computer with brass voices instead of Recorder. Brash Brass is an eighteen-voice brass piece that was written for a Dallas Symphony contest but due to illness was not completed in time to meet the deadline.
Names for my music generally come to me as I am completing the work, or later when I am rehearsing it. Some of my music has remained numbered and hence, unnamed, for years until the feeling that I knew the name I wanted came over me.
On the other hand, I do have pieces that are named from their very first note. Some of these are the four piece Blue Ridge Mountains Water Music, Sorcha Lawhir, and Shasta Snow Light. At a guess I would say that maybe 30-35% of my music compositions start out with names.
On the other hand, some are actually renamed because the music evolved as it was being written from the concept the name originally portrayed. Some had names applied for competitions and then renamed when I didn't win, and others get renamed to fit or to honor individuals such as "Susan's Concerto" for Englilsh Horn, Bassoon and Violin or "Bodil Diesen" who is the maker of two of my Recorders. And a few still bear the "Ode" titles with a number because I couldn't remember the original purpose of the music.
So is there an art to naming music? Most assuredly, but it is exercised differently for each composer. As a larger portion of my works are for solo performance it would be repetitive to name the piece for the type and number of instruments. Just a number for a name doesn't feel right to me. But still, at times the name is nothing more than a convention because it gets attached to the music that has been struggling to get out of my head.
One thing I promised myself was to never name a piece for the key it was written in. As an example, consider a Dance in A-minor; once it get's transposed it is no longer a Dance in the original key. So at least I have one restriction in my naming process even if the others all more closely follow gut reaction.
When I switched to using Finale for scoring I started using Opus numbers so that I would have a convenient way of naming files. Up until Hurricane Katrina I had just over 300 pieces of handwritten music stored in my lockable file box. When the box was stolen I started numbering at 313 to be sure there was no overlap of the earlier pieces. There was a slim hope that the filebox would be recovered and I didn't want to renumber later. I actually think 307 was the last piece prior to Katrina, but the memory is questionable.
I have recovered the first and second pieces I wrote. They were both written at Blair Academy. "The Hermit" for Oboe and Strings has never been performed although the computer playback is great. "Two Flutes and a Cello" was performed at Blair by myself and classmates Louise Ewing and Donald Blocker. (I have mentioned this before.) At least a few of our classmates were actually at the Headmaster's home for that performance. Not an exciting name for the piece, but it certainly was descriptive. As a tidbit, the only other piece I have written which is named for the instruments it uses is "Trombone and Timpani, with Piano and Strings".
Three other pieces, "Sarah's Trumpet," "Horn March," and "Brash Brass" have different stories. Both Sarah's and Horn were written for Recorder although the Sarah in question was actually a trumpet player and both are now stored on my computer with brass voices instead of Recorder. Brash Brass is an eighteen-voice brass piece that was written for a Dallas Symphony contest but due to illness was not completed in time to meet the deadline.
Names for my music generally come to me as I am completing the work, or later when I am rehearsing it. Some of my music has remained numbered and hence, unnamed, for years until the feeling that I knew the name I wanted came over me.
On the other hand, I do have pieces that are named from their very first note. Some of these are the four piece Blue Ridge Mountains Water Music, Sorcha Lawhir, and Shasta Snow Light. At a guess I would say that maybe 30-35% of my music compositions start out with names.
On the other hand, some are actually renamed because the music evolved as it was being written from the concept the name originally portrayed. Some had names applied for competitions and then renamed when I didn't win, and others get renamed to fit or to honor individuals such as "Susan's Concerto" for Englilsh Horn, Bassoon and Violin or "Bodil Diesen" who is the maker of two of my Recorders. And a few still bear the "Ode" titles with a number because I couldn't remember the original purpose of the music.
So is there an art to naming music? Most assuredly, but it is exercised differently for each composer. As a larger portion of my works are for solo performance it would be repetitive to name the piece for the type and number of instruments. Just a number for a name doesn't feel right to me. But still, at times the name is nothing more than a convention because it gets attached to the music that has been struggling to get out of my head.
One thing I promised myself was to never name a piece for the key it was written in. As an example, consider a Dance in A-minor; once it get's transposed it is no longer a Dance in the original key. So at least I have one restriction in my naming process even if the others all more closely follow gut reaction.
04 December 2009
Submitting Query To...
The process of submitting email query letters to literary agents or publishers is just as fraught with potholes as is the snail mail process. I have to say I don't enjoy getting rejections, but then, who does.
Some of the agents/publishers make good use of the email process while others seem to have that process glued down to the stack of snail mail piled in the corner.
As an avid researcher, digging and delving into every topic that interests me I do watch a FEW blogs. Too many of them would be way to much information, tiring, and ultimately both boring and a waste of productive time.
One blog I watch is that of Nathan Bransford of Curtis Brown, Ltd. After having determined that Nathan was a good potential literary agent for my Grandpa Jester story I sent the email query.
Sadly, Nathan didn't feel the way about Grandpa Jester as I thought he might. So, I received another rejection notice. However, I must say that he has what appears to be a nice way of handling it and does not ramble on about how the story doesn't fit the genre, or the author should have paid attention to the categories this agent is interested in, yada yada yada.
Nathan merely thanked me for submitting. And then excused himself as not thinking he was the best agent for my work. Although this query led to another plodding step, it does put me closer to publication because I now have one less agent/publisher to go through -- therefore, I must be closer to finding the correct one.
Whoppeeee! Uh, sorry about that. Did you feel the tension release? Okay then, back to the writing, the reading, the joy, the fun, SNAP... ooops my pen broke.
Some of the agents/publishers make good use of the email process while others seem to have that process glued down to the stack of snail mail piled in the corner.
As an avid researcher, digging and delving into every topic that interests me I do watch a FEW blogs. Too many of them would be way to much information, tiring, and ultimately both boring and a waste of productive time.
One blog I watch is that of Nathan Bransford of Curtis Brown, Ltd. After having determined that Nathan was a good potential literary agent for my Grandpa Jester story I sent the email query.
Sadly, Nathan didn't feel the way about Grandpa Jester as I thought he might. So, I received another rejection notice. However, I must say that he has what appears to be a nice way of handling it and does not ramble on about how the story doesn't fit the genre, or the author should have paid attention to the categories this agent is interested in, yada yada yada.
Nathan merely thanked me for submitting. And then excused himself as not thinking he was the best agent for my work. Although this query led to another plodding step, it does put me closer to publication because I now have one less agent/publisher to go through -- therefore, I must be closer to finding the correct one.
Whoppeeee! Uh, sorry about that. Did you feel the tension release? Okay then, back to the writing, the reading, the joy, the fun, SNAP... ooops my pen broke.
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