Technology is Awesome!

by Marsha Ward

When I read about Robyn's book trailer, then went to see it, I was awestruck at her accomplishment and thought I should go and do likewise - someday. I put the notion of doing a couple of trailers for my novels into the overflowing "to-do someday" section of my brain. Then I set out to find the Movie Maker on my computer so I'd be ready for "someday."

At first I couldn't find it. That must have triggered my "By dang! I'm going to do this now" contrariness quirk, so when I discovered that the software was indeed residing on my 'puter, I launched into a two-day stint of creativity.

Since I had some people check out my first efforts to portray The Man from Shenandoah on electronic video and got good suggestions to implement, and since my second version wasn't quite perfect either, I can't direct you to the exact location of my fledgling book trailer today. However, once I take my handy flash drive into town tomorrow and use my laptop at a free broadband hotspot so the upload doesn't take an hour like today's did, I'll come back here and add the address for youTube.

Besides, youTube is undergoing a scheduled maintenance.

--->youTube address for the Book Trailer is right here<---

In the meantime, let me tell you a bit of how I'm feeling in the aftermath of this outpouring of adrenaline.

I searched for the perfect words, the perfect music, the perfect images to convey the essence of The Man from Shenandoah. In all humility, I had help. This whole Internet thing--the ability to search a myriad of places for resources, the miracle of youTube and similar sites--is simply amazing. I must acknowledge, as well, that as I progressed through this process I had heavenly help. My heart is full of gratitude for the tender mercies I've received in my quest to do the best job I could.

When I began, I found a bunch of pictures that I thought would help sell my book. One by one I pared them out of the film. Instead, I used mostly titles set against a rich almost-maroon background that echoes the book cover. Review quotes are on a color that picks up the grays in the cover. Perfect grace brought me the image of a young red-headed pioneer woman in a red dress.

The first music didn't work for me. Then I found a piece that is lilting, haunting, evocative of the emotions in the novel. When I made my final cut and listened over and over as I watched the images flash by, I was astounded to notice that a certain melodic theme played as the girl stared at me, and it was repeated, more softly, at the sight of the book cover, The Man from Shenandoah himself. I realized that the pizzacato strings under the solo violin and the throbbing *bass viol lines accentuate the fact that these people traveled via animal power, with clip-clopping hooves an ever-present sound. Who would've thunk that a piece by the Baroque master composer Vivaldi would so well suit a tale of distressed Americans on the move to the West?

I didn't.

My soul is soaring.

Edited to add the youTube address.
*Yeah, it might be a cello playing, but my first impression was that it is a string bass, so I wrote it that way.

When September Ends it'll be Brown Eyed Girl

So I'm officially a bass player ... I'm learning at least. That's got to count for something. It's something I wasn't sure about at first, but I find it's addictive and strangely therapeutic.

So I took the plunge a few months ago and bought a four-stringed electric bass guitar and amp. It fit nicely with all the other loud instruments in my basement. Now I'm playing ... music ... really. I went through a book of bass lessons and have spoken to several bass players. I considered lessons from a real live person, but he moved before we set them up ... so I'm teaching myself, which is fairly common where bass playing is concerned, or so I've heard.

So I learned an easy one to begin with, Wonderful Tonight. I moved on from there to Sweet Home Alabama, which I'm still trying to get down; and to Rocky Mountain Way. Fun, fun, fun.

Now that I've mastered When September ends, my favorite to date, I'm working on my first song with a real bass solo, Brown Eyed Girl.

I'll be jamming in no time! Watch out, Roy, here I come!

Bragging Rights

As the mother of a musical prodigy, I'd like to claim my bragging rights. Yes, it's true, I have a musically talented six year old child. I always knew she had an ear for music, literally. Her violin teacher announced recently that she could play nearly anything she heard, but she wasn't learning the notes on the page. We're still working on reading music, but it's coming.

This last couple of weeks have been especially fun as she's experimenting more with her music. My husband found a song on You Tube and cranked up the volume. From the basement my daughter began playing along with it on her violin. It's one she's played before, but it had been quite a while since she'd even looked at the song. Then the other day she began playing a song on the piano that was currently playing on the radio! She doesn't really even play the piano, or hasn't. Now she's playing her violin songs on the piano too, from ear.

We've decided she has music in her soul. She can't do a thing without humming or singing. Her cars on the Xbox games even sway to the music that's pouring from her cute little lips. She's memorized nearly every song on our karaoke game and can sing all the words to songs like "We are Family" and "Play that Funky Music."

A few nights ago we retired to the basement for a jam session, my husband on drums, my older daughter on guitar and me on bass ... the sun fell and my six year old drifted off to sleep, her foot still tapping out the beat.

I Love Being a . . .

by Marsha Ward

Of course I'm supposed to go with Tami and put in "Writer," yes? Of course I am. And of course I love it.

But, last night I had a little blip. My inner musician surfaced and caused me to lose sleep.

I blame it on the music in my head.

This is the week I'm supposed to finish up all the little corrections on my book and send it off to a certain publisher, right? Well, instead I've spent at least two days checking out blogs and doing research on the Internet--but not anything relevant to my book or my next novel. I've been downloading MIDI files of patriotic songs.

Why? you ask (and I do, too).

Because I bought this music program several years ago that I've put off installing on my computer. It's notation software, for writing down/printing off any musical compositions or arrangements I might have lurking in my head (and they've been coming out lately!). I had the notation software, and I have this electronic keyboard, plus a cable thingie to hook it up so I could play and see the notes appear on screen. At least that was the plan. For someday.

I opened the cable thingie last week and discovered that my new computer doesn't have the 15-pin joystick interface I needed to attach it. Bummer! I found a USB powered interface on the Internet, ordered it, received it, opened it (discovering that the manual is not there, but I think I can figure out how to install it), and it's still sitting near my computer. Waiting for someday.

Late last week I installed the notation software and let the icon sit on my desktop. I even moved it around a bit, but I didn't open it. You see, I have this novel to finish!

Well, last night I remembered that I'd left my dial-up connection open, and returned to my computer from watching "Deadliest Catch," to check my email.

That's when everything went to heck!

I OPENED THE PROGRAM!

Not only did I open the program and discover that when I opened the MIDI files in it, I could see the notation guts of the songs--some in up to seven tracks--I scrounged around and found some long-ago-written music and entered it into the program.

Do you know how alluring hearing your music played flawlessly on a piano, or a church organ, or by a string ensemble, is?

Sheesh! I didn't get into bed until 5 a.m. this morning.

AND MY NOVEL STILL ISN'T FINISHED! Yes, I'm yelling, but it's at myself. Today I'm headed for the library with my laptop and flashdrive to get away from the music so I can finish those last little changes.

Did I ever tell you how badly I can get distracted? It's the ADD.

Why Do I Bother to Worry?

by Marsha Ward

It was branch conference last Sunday.

For those not of the LDS faith, it's a once-a-year occasion in the local congregation when the next-higher tier (stake) leaders--both the ecclesiastical and auxiliary leaders--come and give the lessons. The stake president also gives a talk in the worship service. These lessons and talks contain insights the leaders want to share with us, and encouragement for further advancement in faith and good works during the coming year.

Our choir leader choose a special arrangement of a well-beloved hymn for the choir to prepare and present. Mind you, our choir generally consists of about ten people. The arrangement she chose was written for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir of over three hundred singers. Most of the choir members don't really read music, especially the men. The Mack Wilberg version of the hymn is quite complex, including several key changes, and eight voice parts at the end.

Well. We don't have any tenors to speak of, and eight parts into ten people generally leaves 1+ person per part. Our chapel isn't huge, so that's okay. It wasn't volume that concerned me. I worried about our ability to render the arrangement in any recognizable fashion. Not that amateur singing was my paramount concern. I know that the spirit the choir brings to the congregation's worship experience is much more important than whether or not a few sour notes get produced. I worried that Lynn would be disappointed, that the choir would feel deflated, or that God would not accept our puny efforts to do the arrangement justice.

Why do I bother to worry? Lynn did her due diligence to recruit visitors and more people from the branch to sing today. Some had practiced with us a time or two; others had not. The results: awe-inspiring!

The sound was full--angels must have joined us, as they have in the past. The spirit of God was in the performance. I felt it so strongly that when I sat down I cried for the overwhelming sense of love it brought. I'm crying now as I recall it.

The hymn?

"The Spirit of God Like a Fire is Burning."