By

Steven M. Wilson

I’m sure all writers have little tricks that prepare or assist them in writing. Some people type standing up, some in the bathtub, or some, like myself, with a cat walking across the keyboard.

 I find music helps me visualize scenes or develop characters, so I draw on soundtracks when I’m writing. Works by composers such as John Williams, Dimitri Tiomkin, Alfred Newman, or John Ottman (to mention just a few), supplement my efforts to describe events. Adding music clarifies the scene for me, much the same way that music on the screen supports the action. I used a portion of the William’s score for Nixon In VOYAGE OF THE GRAY WOLVES to enhance Firedancer’s battle with the storm, and William’s again in BETWEEN THE HUNTERS AND THE HUNTED for her attack on Sea Wolf.

I suppose my use of music comes naturally from my love of music and its place in my life. Some of my earliest memories are of songs, or pieces of music that have stayed with me over the years. Music, I think, has a way of working itself through a person’s mind, creating or supporting emotions so completely that the two are inexorably linked. One just naturally leads to another. The impact of music (again, from my viewpoint) is significant, and can elevate a person’s creative process.

When I write I often seek music that complements the theme of the book, supports certain characters, or solidifies action. Classical music works but I found that soundtracks, because they combine the visual with the emotional, work best. There is a language in soundtracks as surely as the written language is the writer’s tool. Combined, they make an effective contribution to the writer’s psyche, the writer’s journey.

My collection of soundtracks includes modern composers and those from the golden era of films. One of my favorite composers is Dimitri Tiomkin, although I’m certain few people have heard of him. He can be bombastic, overwhelming, intrusive, and melodramatic. That said, if he doesn’t get your blood boiling, nobody can. And there it is in a nutshell. A composer should ignite your emotions, and Tiomkin’s music from Duel in the Sun, The Old Man and the Sea, or Dial M For Murder, does that for me. Alfred Newman (not to be confused with the character from Mad Magazine), was, before John Williams, the most honored composer in cinematic history. His greatest score was for the Tyrone Power’s film Captain From Castille. The love theme of that movie is particularly lush and moving, capturing the troubled relationship between the conquistador and the commoner perfectly.

Modern composers Thomas and Randy Newman, cousins I believe, provide similar motivation although their styles are entirely different. I’ve used the former’s score from 1917, and the latter’s from The Natural, although not literally (that is, music directed toward a particular scene), to set the mood.

You may employ music in the same manner, although you may rely on classic rock, bluegrass, or classical. Makes no difference, use all the tools at hand.

I was told some time ago that “I didn’t understand music.” This from a very intelligent man who deplored my choice of music. I countered I understood music completely. Music is not the purview of the composer or the musician. Once heard, ownership passes to the listener to be interpreted however they see fit, perhaps within the scope of the composer’s intentions, but not necessarily so. Nor does this avoid crediting the musician. They, in every sense, are the story tellers, and the work, for better or worse, is revealed by them. I say this because I have heard, as an example, music written by Tiomkin (as well as others), conducted by others. Poorly conducted I might add, and the result is a pale imitation of the composer’s efforts. When listening to soundtracks, I insist on two things; that the composer conducts and every bit of the music for a particular film, is offered. That seldom happens, but what are you gonna do?

But music belongs to the listener because he or she translates what they hear into emotion, a truly personal commodity. It is at that moment, when the listener loses themselves in the composition, that the magic of music emerges.