Week Twelve

Going Home
By Kim Davidson
(c) 2010

It’s been three days since the call, though it doesn’t feel that long
And a voice I didn’t recognize said “You’re daddy’s gone.”
And I might have cried, but I ran out of tears long ago
For the life I had to leave to start my own
But ghosts of memory haunt me now from the attic of my mind
And suddenly I’ve never felt more alone…

CHORUS: Now I am going home, if I can call it that
When I haven’t been back in such a long time
Will we know each other—this old forgotten place and I?
After years of running, will it fill this empty heart of mine?
This place called home… that I used to call home…

The people look the same, and I never thought I did
But they all remember me, like I’m that same little kid
Who ran through this dusty town before the longing set in
To see the world beyond the county line
And I feel it to this day, how deep their disappointment
Like wanting something more was some kind of crime

CHORUS: Now I am going home, if I can call it that
When I haven’t been back in such a long time
Will we know each other—this old forgotten place and I?
After years of running, will it fill this empty heart of mine?
This place called home… that I used to call home…

BRIDGE: And maybe they’re all having the last laugh
Since nothing’s quite turned out, the way I wished it had
And daddy left the rundown house to his only child
Sorely needing love as much as I need to stop running wild…

CHORUS: So I am going home, if I can call it that
When I haven’t been back in such a long time
Will we know each other—this old forgotten place and I?
After years of running, will it fill this empty heart of mine?
This place called home… that I used to call home… oh I used to call home…

It’s getting harder. At least, this week was hard. The hardest yet; the most “eleventh-hour” yet.

I started on Tuesday like I always do. I don’t know if I was just tired, but nothing was really coming to me. I mean NOTHING. I didn’t try to force it. I read over my old song ideas, waited to see if something would click. Nothing did.

I spent the whole day like that, and in the end had nothing to show for it. I decided I’d go back to my original Week 4 song, which had gotten unceremoniously bumped for “Everything Will Be All Right.” It had been finished except for a melody, and I thought it shouldn’t be such a big deal to give it one.

But I wasn’t entirely sure I was really thrilled with it enough lyrically anymore. So on Wednesday I spent some time surfing the web, checking out different lyric idea web sites, trying to find a source of new inspiration. Again, nothing really hit me, but I guess the process itself unlocked something and I started sketching out an idea. I couldn’t quite rein it in, however, and only about a half-song made it to the page. So I went home and played with the older song, trying to find a melody that would work; trying to find chords that would support the melody. But I was stuck. I just wasn’t loving it; it wasn’t flowing naturally enough. I was frustrated and went to bed knowing I’d have to record something by the next night, resigned to record the old song as it was, like it or not, if nothing else came to me.

I woke up with an idea. It seemed to come flowing out of my subconscious, spurned on by my clock-radio blaring at me to get the hell up already. I don’t know where the idea came from because the song playing on the radio had nothing to do with the subject my brain was throwing at me, which was “coming home.”

How cliché, was my first thought. I mean, hasn’t every writer at one time or another written a song about coming home? Then again, we have all written and rewritten every love song anyone could ever need, too. So maybe I shouldn’t be so snooty about it. I’d come across the idea during my trawling through the song writing web sites the day before and rejected it. But maybe it’s just my turn.

So I did an about face and embraced it. Since it was the only idea actually presenting itself, that seemed a wise choice. I had a chorus within a moment or two and waited impatiently for my computer to boot itself up so I could type it into Word. Naturally my computer had to run through all kinds of virus protection updates and whatnot just in that moment, making everything open even more slowly than usual. The state of my PC these days is much like my first PC, when I had a dial-up connection and would try to watch videos online. Now it’s more of an overall thing. I have 512 MB of RAM powering this thing, and in a 4+ GB world, I might as well be pedaling a bicycle to generate the power. It’s just not enough. I digress…

Word finally loaded and I got down a decent first draft of the song. I sent it to myself at work knowing I’d have to tweak it throughout the day so when I got home all I’d have to do was figure out chords and get it recorded so I could make my posting deadline.

It’s interesting to me that it’s not a song about MY home. I guess I’ve done so much writing about myself that my current instinct is to write about other people whenever the opportunity presents. I don’t know who this is about—that is to say, it’s not a specific person I’ve ever met. I know who it’s about in essence.

And on the way into work I had another song idea come to me, which I sang into my little recorder. So maybe next week I won’t have this problem. Actually, next week I’m co-writing for the first time with a new songwriter friend, Nancy Beaudette. I’m excited because I really love Nancy’s stuff, and she asked ME to co-write, which I think is a huge compliment. And she wants to be involved in the NSW project, which is again, so cool.

I have to say, as my work day wears on, and I know I have to finish my song, record AND edit the video tonight when I get home, I am wishing for a week off. Not from the song writing, but from everything else. I can’t tell you the last time I had a vacation. We’re talking a number of years in the double-digits. It would be nice if the only thing I had to worry about for one week was getting my song posted. Not going to happen anytime soon, but I’m definitely starting to feel the wear and tear of having too many balls in the air in my life.

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