Songwriting is Like Working Out

I spend every day writing, reading, and practicing guitar. Much to my chagrin, none of these activities seem to be giving me chiseled abs.

So, I’ve taken up running and strength training again. Nothing terribly intense; just push-ups, crunches, and pull-ups to add a bit of muscle. My metabolism’s pretty fine, see, and right now I’m a bit on the bony side, to give it a boost, however, am planning to incorporate something similar to this nad supplement into my diet.

Moving on, with the exception of that wild snowstorm we got here in Maine on October 30th, there’s not much to look at while running on a treadmill. What with my eyeballs jiggling and arms flailing, reading is pretty much out of the question too. Usually I blast the Talking Heads, Electric Masada, or Dinosaur Jr. to help pass the time.

Today while I was running it occurred to me that songwriting’s just as difficult as starting an exercise routine. The avoidance tactics, the weasely excuses, the question “Am I doing this right?”, the stoic manly tears: all these come in equal doses during both pastimes. Right now I’m avoiding both guitar practice and running by writing this post. Clever, no?

Here are a few vital songwriting lessons I’ve learned by working out.

1. Good intentions aren’t enough.

We all know-in the abstract-that we should be eating more spinach, fewer sugary things, and should be learning chord theory. On an intellectual level, we know all of that. But it takes real strength to actually act on these common-sense things with any consistency.

Reading a fitness book doesn’t burn calories, and reading a songwriting book won’t do you any good unless you apply what you learn. A little less lip service and a lot more action, please…

2. Plan ahead to make sure you don’t quit.

In the short term, there are always about seventy-three things that sound far more attractive than the idea of running. Likewise, I’m never super excited about spending hours in a secluded room rewriting a lyric or a melody. It’s always tempting to skip the parts that feel like work, and it’s always easier to quit than it is to ride out a challenge.

Yes, this temptation is difficult to resist, but I’ve learned to lay traps for it ahead of time. Since I know I’ll want to quit when the run gets tough, I decide on a minimum distance or time commitment before I start to run, before I start feeling the burn. If it hasn’t been at least half an hour, I don’t stop. Period.

It’s worked so well that I’ve taken to setting egg timers before I start to practice guitar. If I still feel like quitting sometime after that alarm goes off, I’m allowed to-but not a moment sooner.

If I stop exercising the second it feels the tiniest bit uncomfortable, I’m wasting my time. Knowing that, I plan on doing pushups until my poor little pectorals are on fire. Likewise, when studying music theory I expect to feel some kind of burn: frustration, boredom, distraction, overstimulation, confusion. Every time I continue despite one of those, I’m outlasting some songwriter who quit at that junction. Every day of practice sharpens my advantage.

Plan for pain, and plan to continue despite it.

3. Momentum sets in quickly.

Of course, often when the alarm goes off, some little part of me is relieved. But there’s another voice in my head, too, that says quietly “Hey, let’s see if we can write for another 15 minutes.” I’ve learned to quickly add fifteen minutes to the timer and always act on the voice that wants to run just a little further than I did yesterday…

Then, after even a few days of good behavior, paying dues starts getting easier. You’ll find that you actually develop a taste for that mental or physical burn.

Best of all, procrastination tactics and excuses lose their power when you’ve successfully resisted them a few times in a row. New strength develops; new confidence takes over. Living up to your potential feels great, and it’s addictive.

4. To strengthen a muscle, isolate it.

At the gym, each exercise is designed to target one specific group of muscles. The same principle is useful for breaking down the process of songwriting and developing your own etudes and writing exercises for the things you need to get better at.

There’s a Zen-like calm that comes from repeatedly practicing small, simple things. Guitar athlete Steve Vai suggests that guitarists practice vibrato technique by sitting down and vibrating a single note for an hour. In his book Composing Music, William Russo imposes restrictions on the reader for each workout; these limitations are carefully designed to make sure you’re working the muscles that Russo intends for that given chapter.

Am I tempted to resist the limitations and “cheat” by using more notes than he allows on a given exercise? Absolutely. Just like I’m tempted to use bad form to get a few more repetitions when I’m lifting weights. But bad form means that you’re not working the muscles you’re supposed to be working. The benefit’s lessened or even lost entirely when you deviate from form.

Exercises for writing abound. Two books I’ve found useful are The 3 A.M. Epiphany by Brian Kiteley (intended for fiction writers) and Writing Better Lyrics.

I encourage you to focus on what’s weak in your writing and develop your own etudes to force yourself to work on them.

7. It helps you sleep at night.

It’s incredibly satisfying to go to bed when you know you gave the day every bit of energy you had to give. Is it exhausting? In a way. But it’s also replenishing.

What’s your routine like?

Do you have a regimented practice plan that you stick to? Are you embarking on a new one? Can you help me achieve rock solid abdominals?

I’d love to hear from you in the comments.