When I’m in the zone, I listen to extremely loud music.
For me, music is the language of the soul, the language of love, the language of writing.
I translate the notes—I can’t read—into words that dance onto the screen as my fingers dance across the keyboard.
Listening to playlist with lyrics interferes with the flow of words twirling around inside my head like F-4 twisters.
When I edit, I need a cone of silence.
When I’m writing, I listen to classical music, orchestra music, and movie soundtracks.
I need the pounding end credits from The Chronicles of Riddick, the eerie repetition of the theme from Terminator, the rushing sound, like waterfalls, of The Last of the Mohicans.
I love the epic music of Audiomachine. audiomachine.com
Rhythm helps keep the action moving in my stories.
It’s hard to get bogged down, in long winded exposition, when you’re typing to the beat of battle, the symphony of ecstasy, the crescendo of crisis.
I sit in my recliner, computer on my lap desk, noise reducing headphones encasing my ears, turn up the music as loud as I can stand it, and drown out the rest of the world.
Suddenly, whole new worlds flow onto the page like molten images spewing forth from a volcanic imagination.
The rhythm of the music choregraphs the dance of the words. And, I am in the zone.