i've started to write several songs this summer but can't finish any of them. strange; my muse keeps flirting with me but slipping away before full consummation can take place. a sort of compositus interruptus.
there have been songs on: the difficulties of being a young adult in these straitened and compassionless days; relationship difficulties (would you believe!); relationships ending and why they might (wyb); the beauty of an intimate and poignant moment; being at a folk-singing event - and a song entitled something like 'the winners write the histories'. and a song with a four-line verse (aabb) the final line of which is 'but whether my heart's waiting, well, i don't get to choose'.
i went to see chris wood a couple of weeks ago and he was very, very good. note to self; don't make comparisons. i've finally accepted that i can't be as good as dylan and mitchell, so why put more hurdles in the way?