Where the Songs Come From

People ask where the songs come from, and the honest answer is: mostly from paying attention.

I keep a running list on my phone — not lyrics, just... evidence. A bartender who described somebody as "tall, sweet, and over you." The way Monday feels when the tan lines are still fresh. A stool nobody sits on anymore. Most of it never becomes anything. But every so often two scraps rub together and make a spark, and then I can't do anything else until the song exists.

The rule I try to keep: specific beats poetic. "Sunscreen and a seashell from a town I can't pronounce" says more than a hundred lines about memory ever could.

Pay attention. Write it down. That's most of the job.