A couple of years ago, I started writing songs. It’s all those morning pages from The Artist’s Way. God bless Moleskine journals.

Shyly, secretly, I would sing a few bars into a handheld tape recorder (yes they still make those), then bury the loaded cassette in some drawer or file cabinet.

After a while, some of the emotional angst dissipated, and I began developing the bars into verse/chorus/verse, etc. Soon I had whole song structures, minus accompanying music, just my voice serving as the melody. Then I got up the nerve to share some of my music with real-life people — as opposed to my plants, who I must say found me absolutely sensational.

There’s been a lot of encouragement coming my way, from Darryl and Anne and other sweet gems. When I went to Los Angeles, I got a nice kick in the pants. I met up with some of my dearest friends, including the lovely Novena Carmel, also delightfully known as Babystone.

Novena is a ham, plus she’s also incredibly bright and insightful, so she makes a great idea bouncer-offer. We didn’t get to spend nearly enough time together, but after our pow-wow, I left pretty clear — I’m going to record an EP.

If you don’t know, an EP is old-school speak for a short album. So something like four to six tracks. In many ways, recording artists find EP’s more difficult to produce because you’re not jam-packing a CD with fifteen pieces. When you have such a small amount of material, every note counts, one could argue.

This is kind of a relaxed excitement for me, since I’m not currently pursuing music as a career. The music swimming in my head each morning that I offload on to my mp3 recorder (moving up in the world), is a natural expression, not a business pursuit. For me, this takes some of the pressure off. I’m doing it because I wanna. That’s all.

So far, it has a bluesy, country feel. I’ve noticed this sets people back a bit. I understand. In this music landscape (or crisis), it’s hard to avoid pigeon-holing people. It’s hard to not be duped by the mainstream, duped into thinking all black women sing like Etta James, or Chaka Khan or Beyonce. I’ll explain.

Credit: Bill Carrier, © API photographers Inc.

When Darryl and I were in Memphis last year, we visited the Stax Records Musuem, the classic soul record label that brought us Otis Redding, Isaac Hayes, and The Staple Singers among many others. Before beginning the tour, you watch a 20-minute documentary on the history of the label, to put what you’re about to see in context. Through interviews with artists, you see that many black artists of that time period, specifically in Memphis, grew up listening to white acts singing at the Grand Ole Opry.

That is, many R&B/soul singers were influenced by country music. Conversely, many white musicians of that era were equally influenced by black gospel sounds, the beginnings of jazz and so on. It was a natural outcome of the communities being so closely tied together, and yet, so far apart. Blues, R&B, country, jazz — none of it would have become as rich and full of depth, without the contributions of both communities — both experiences. Set aside the tales of business tactics. I’m talking about music that moved people to create something new. That’s beautiful. Consider my forthcoming EP an iteration of that collaborative history. A little Roberta Flack, a little Hank Williams, if you will.

I don’t know how far off the completion date will be, as I’m still churning out melodies and lyrics, but I wanted to share anyway. I’m working on singing live here and there. Maybe they will let me hold a concert at Ivy Hall once I start at SCAD? Eh? Just putting it out there, I mean songwriting is writing!