During the long weeks of isolation of the second Covid Lockdown, the music of JS Bach was a constant companion during my daily walk, coffee in hand, to an old rusty bench in a nearby park.
Like a child with an imaginary friend, I found myself entertaining conversation with the composer and wondering what it would be like if I had indeed an opportunity of interchange with him. I seemed to be talking to his music rather than him as a (former) human being, although at times I tried to imagine what he would say if he were to have a conversation. I wished to be able to write a musical book, where both words and music had their space. Not an easy project, as I found out later.
So, the idea of this book came to mind and I found solace and company in writing, free to go back in time with memory or get out of time with imagination. Such is the beauty of creative writing, it gives one the freedom to fly to different worlds and different times, to make a story begin, develop and end, at the writer’s will. It may feel a little God-like, to become the creator of stories, but this is fiction, it resides in the writer’s mind and only later it’s transferred to words.
The magic of writing is exactly this. An idea forms in the mind, it takes shape slowly and convolutely, it evolves into a project, it changes and develops. It is then transferred into the spoken word and written down. Now the shape can be seen and can be redefined over and over again in an endless editing endeavour. Finally, it is delivered to the world on the day of its publication. The story, at that point, no longer belongs to the author, it belongs to everyone.
As any parent would have experienced, one wonders about this new creature’s future. Will it sell? Will it bring something good to the reader, will people love it or hate it? Will it be completely ignored and forgotten? Will it be a happy book, or useless?
Here I am wondering about BACH IN THE PARK, as it begins its own worldly journey.
Bach in the Park is available on Amazon: