I’ve got this song stuck in my head—I hate when that happens. I was minding my own business, noodling around some potential blog topics, doing something mindless … my day job, I think.

When, BAM!

Three Dog Night is whining in my head that “one is the loneliest number.” Just that one lyric, over and over and over—and I know there are more words to that song. I Googled it to be sure. Yep. There’s verses and a chorus. It’s a regular composition, an oldie but goody, a blast from the past.

I felt gipped. I didn’t even rate high enough to get an entire song stuck in my head. Just a lousy line. There oughta be somebody you can call and complain. Some sort of earworm police.

But there’s not.

The good news is that it did give me a blog topic. So, ready to face the music?

See what I did there?

Fine. Be that way. At least I didn’t trot out the old marching to the beat of a different drum thing. Or tooting my own horn. Or get all Fleetwood Mackie and tell you just to go your own way.

You got off easy.

But I digress—as I often do.

Every writer has his or her own relationship to music. Within and outside of their books and stories. Some even make it a part of their process. For example, Stephen King—who I seem to mention a lot, BTB. Almost as though he were paying me to plug him … though he always says “No” when I suggest it.

Digression again. It’s like a disease—thank you, Matchbox 20.

Anyway, Mr. King blasts rock ’n’ roll when he writes. I guess to create a cushion of white noise, like how thunderstorms help some people sleep. I tried that. I ended up with something like: “Then he took her by the hand, off to never, never land.”

Maybe I have too much of a connection to music—to Metallica, anyway.

I’m kidding myself. It’s not just Metallica. Or AC/DC. Or U2, GNR, or The Shoe—that last one was for any repeat readers. Or their stunt doubles. The point is, every step of my writing journey—the trip, not the band—is paved with song.

My first rejection letter—Rod Stewart, The First Cut Is the Deepest.

The time between sending that query and getting that first rejection—Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers, The Waiting (because it is definitely the hardest part).

Swallowing that rejection and sending ouy more queries—Journey (the band, not the trip), Don’t Stop Believin’.

Having to write this blog every week—Meghan Trainor, NO.

And more. So much music, it’s enough to make you crazy, Cypress Hill crazy. Or maybe this is too much, and you’re like Ground control to Major Tom. I’d apologize, but I was Born this Way.

And you know what? The stupid lyric is STILL stuck in my head.