The Musicality of Storytelling — A Creative Pursuit with Emotionally Layered Complexity

Have you ever listened to a piece of music—with or without words—that stuck with you for a long while after? Has that ever happened to you with a book?

A couple of months ago, I spent an afternoon at the orchestra, where I heard the world premiere of two new compositions—and in some ways, it reminded me of releasing a book. (No, I haven’t released a book yet, but I’m very familiar with the process.) While listening to these new, amazing pieces of music and learning about the composers’ influences for those pieces, I realized composing music and writing stories are two sides of the same coin.

Composing and writing have so many similarities, and often result in similar experiences for listeners and readers (though by no means the same). Both require a lot of time spent in the world, simply living life, finding inspiration far and wide, and then crafting alone, pulling disparate parts and ideas together into a cohesive whole. Both employ layers upon layers of meaning, often building to a climax with tension and breathing space in equal measure.

Most importantly, both evoke emotion in the listeners and readers in a way that typically changes the listener/reader in some small way. Or sometimes a big way. They make us think, and feel, and sometimes question ourselves or our world. A composer’s building blocks are the instruments they choose, dynamics of loudness or intensity, musical key, tempo, melody, harmony, structure, rhythm, and so many more. To me, these are comparable to the author’s building blocks of plot, setting, character, point of view, dialogue, description, and voice, among many other options. Layering these building blocks carefully and at the right times—sometimes dropping one, sometimes circling back on another—brings the depth that touches hearts.

But I find authors and composers both employ some of the most important components of storytelling (to readers): theme, pacing, and the ability to draw emotion out of the reader/listener. I think this is a big part of the reason many authors are inspired by musical pieces (myself included) or simply love writing to music. We’re drawn to the innate story and emotions evoked by such music, even music that has no words to it, whether it’s evoking a specific story or simply an aspect of nature.

Another thing that struck me when hearing the composers talk about the process of creating their newest pieces was how much work goes into it. Like authors, composers devote hours and days and years to learning their craft, and then spending hours alone to create a singular work. Work that’s often consumed in a matter of minutes, many listeners unaware of the pieces of the composer’s heart and life buried within. Neither writing nor composing are without sacrifice, and both see the final product that may have been months or years in the making consumed with little effort or understanding. Both hone their craft but find there’s always more to learn, more to hone, and the next project we take on isn’t easy.

Yet we do it anyway. We create art for people to consume—we create to share our hearts with others, lift them up, and give them something positive to take forward into this crazy world. We create for the chance to suspend time and give it a moment where it has no meaning. A moment where all that matters are the words on the page or the music in our ears. A moment where we transport others along with us through time or into a new world, one we haven’t been able to find here on this earth, but we can find within notes and words.

But despite the necessity of creating alone so much of the time doesn’t negate the necessity of the community and collaboration needed to get these works out into the world. Authors need editors and publishers and readers. Composers need conductors, producers, other musicians, and listeners. The collaboration helps us hone our craft, and we become better authors and composers for it.

We spend our time alone—sacrificing time with family, vacations, and other fun things—in order to create works containing small pieces of our souls we send out into the world, where it will be judged by a myriad of people. Some will embrace and praise it, while others either won’t understand it or criticize us for “wasting our time.” Yet we push on. We keep learning, keep creating, keep honing our craft, all for the joy of sharing that creation with others.