Over the years, I have developed a few strategies to aid my
composing process. While these strategies might not work for everyone, I have
found them to be particularly effective, and offer them in the hope that
composers can adapt them to suit their own needs.
1. One Minute a Day Challenge
One of the biggest hurdles in starting a new piece is staring at a
blank score page. That page can be quite intimidating! What if the notes I
scribble down aren’t good enough? How can I possibly fill up the entire page with
amazing, earth-shattering music? Self-doubt and high expectations can be real
buzzkills. So years ago, I decided that whenever I start a new piece, I would
write one minute of music a day for seven days. It doesn’t have to be a great
minute of music, or even a good minute, but it has to be one full minute. Giving
myself permission to compose without judgment is an essential point to the
strategy. While the first few days are typically challenging (with some truly
terrible ideas littering the page), I eventually produce solid ideas that have
real potential. I also get increasingly focused on how to creatively use the
instruments. By the end of the week, I look over all of the sketches, choose
the best ideas, and officially start the composing process for the new piece.
2. Create a Road Map
When I was in high school, I had an economics class in which the
teacher proposed a problem: two people in two separate cars want to drive from
California to New York. One person hops in his car and just starts driving,
randomly selecting highways as he goes. The other first studies a map, lays out
a plan, and then drives. Who would get to New York first? Now, this discussion
took place in the mid-1980s, so we didn’t have access to the internet yet to
the extent that we do nowadays, nor were commercial GPS devices available, and
a mobile phone (if a person could afford one) was the size and shape of a
brick. The point of this exercise is that the person who took the time to lay
out a plan (probably using an AAA TripTik!) had the better odds of arriving in
New York ahead of the other who elected to just randomly select a route. I feel
the same is true with composing. How can a piece have direction if you don’t
have a road map of its formal structure? Once I have a general concept of what
I want a piece to be (fast, slow, lyrical, sweet, dramatic, etc.), then I draw
a graph for the work. The graph can show many elements – how many sections the
composition will have, what characteristics each section will contain, how will
the music grow and release tension, and so on. My graph often evolves over time
– I might want to add or delete a section or change some characteristics – but
I keep the graph in sight as I compose to ensure I know where the piece is
headed.
3. Part Artist, Part Scientist
One of my favorite teaching strategies in working with students is
one that I have been employing since my own graduate days: we should consider
ourselves as part artist and part scientist. Composers need a creative spark to
get a piece started. But once they’re composing, what happens when they aren’t
sure of the best way to shape a phrase, or how can they move past a roadblock?
Composers can’t help but be subjective about their work. So I propose that we become objective in moments that we are indecisive or find that we’re stuck. For
instance, when I get stuck, I back up to a few measures before the trouble spot and
begin experimenting by rewriting the passage at least two more times, each time leading to a
different musical outcome. Within an hour or so, I then have three or more
possible options to consider. Not only does this process usually unearth a new
way to proceed, but it can also supply additional musical material that I can use
elsewhere in the piece. This strategy also serves to bring home the point that
there’s no one exact path that a composition needs to follow. Instead, there
are several potential paths, each with its own strengths and weaknesses. My job
as a composer is to discover the path that best fits the musical material at
that particular juncture in the piece.
4. Adding Buffer Zones to Deadlines
When I was in college, I had the habit of finishing a composition
only a few weeks before it was to premiere. While this is not an unusual pattern for
students in school, it doesn’t bode well in the real world. Professional
musicians expect to receive their parts six to eight weeks prior to a concert;
large ensembles need even more time than this. I made these longer deadline
adjustments rather easily, but a new issue became apparent: if I was composing
a piece right up to its due date, I ran the risk of having to compose so
quickly that I didn’t have the proper amount of time to make the piece do something
original. Or, worse yet, life events would unexpectedly intrude on my
already-scarce composing time, leading me to have to write even faster than I’m
comfortable doing. It took a few bad experiences for me to realize that unless
I did something different, I ran the risk of turning out a long string of
half-baked works. This isn’t what I wanted for my career, nor for my own
musical development. So I instigated a two-month buffer zone rule on all
pieces: if a work was due August 1st, then I had to be done with it
by June 1st. This strategy has been immensely helpful. Sometimes
I’ll have an unexpected event crop up in my life that takes away from the time
I thought I’d have to compose; the buffer zone provides me with enough extra
time to still do a good job composing the piece. Better yet, if I finish a piece two
months early, then I can get a jump start on the next piece.
Ultimately, each composer needs to find strategies that best fit
his or her own writing habits and schedule. Once you identify weaknesses in
your composition process, explore various options to increase your productivity
while giving you ample time to write exactly the piece you want.
