On our last full day in New Mexico, Springer and I took the beautiful drive to Eagle Nest and Ute Park. The last piece of that road through Cimmaron Canyon State Park is one of the most beautiful drives on earth.
Four hours of mountain driving had taken their toll, and we decided to stop for a rest before returning to Santa Fe. Springer walked Kit Carson Drive while I took my laptop into Tazza House Coffee for ninety minutes of writing. I recalled that the shop had a lovely flagstone patio in the back with umbrellas and an arbor.
On my way through the back room I passed a fellow in his thirties seated at the large table near the rear entrance. He held a guitar in his lap and was writing music across several pieces of staff paper spread out before him. We exchanged a nod, and I continued on to the patio where I set myself up at the table with the best chance of an hour and a half of shade.
After a while, a guy in his forties sat at the next table with his guitar and asked if I minded if he played. I said I didn’t. As he set up, he complained that the barista had charged him for his coffee unlike the one the previous day who gave him coffee gratis for playing. I muttered something sympathetic and returned to my work. The fellow played Eagles and Crosby/Stills tunes haltingly, having forgotten a few of the lyrics and changes. But his voice was good, and I liked the tunes, so I wasn’t at all annoyed.
After a half-dozen songs the composer from inside appeared with his guitar and began playing along, very well I thought. After several songs the composer stood up and the two exchanged compliments. Before going back to his work inside, however, the composer asked the singer if he minded some criticism. After the singer assured him that he didn’t, the composer told him that if he needed to rehearse, he should do it in private. It would make his public performance more welcomed and, in fact, better because his mind would be focused not on himself but on his audience.
I’ve thought about that conversation for several months now, and I think I finally understand the composer’s wisdom, as it applies to me at least. It is just what my good friend, the writer Daisy Wilson-Morrow, was trying to tell me. I have a tendency to always be editing. Editing certainly is important, but real composition is not done by editors – or composers editing. To compose is to perform, even if the composer is alone. Stopping a performance to make a change halts the imagination. The musician/writer is sent from the room, and the editor/critic is brought in to smooth and niggle and balance. That’s all very fine, but the writer should understand that composition has not actually advanced.
