I wish I could sing.
I can write and take photos and speak a few foreign languages and do plenty of other fun and useful things. But I cannot sing. Not well, anyway; not well at all, though I’m shameless when it comes to karaoke, because who cares?
And it makes me feel creatively hungry and wistful in a way that’s hard to pin down.
See, it’s like there’s this Other Me who strums on a guitar and makes noises lovely enough to stun a room into perfect silence. I can see her up there, singing her heart out.
She’s not real, but there it she is anyway, mocking me with her achievement.Read More