A holnapi napon két kedvenc szerzőm könyve is megjelenik, így arra gondoltam a ’Zene a könyvben’ posztomat is az ő tiszteletükre ajánlom. Mivel legutóbbi alkalommal az egyik kedvenc Julie Johnson könyvemet választottam a poszthoz, ezen a héten az egyik Colleen Hoover könyv kerül főszerepbe.

Colleen Hoover először a Hopeless című könyvével lopta be magát a szívembe, azóta pedig minden egyes története magával  ragadott. A Maybe Someday pedig igazán különleges helyet tölt be a szívemben, hiszen a zene mindig is nagyon közel állt hozzám, és én magam is sokáig zongoráztam. Imádom, ha egy könyvbe belecsempésznek valamilyen zenét, valamilyen hangszert, de ezen könyv különlegessége, hogy a kötetben szereplő dalok nem csak a papíron léteznek, hanem Griffin Peterson csodálatos tehetséggel életre is keltette őket. Ez a könyv varázslatosan mutatja be a zenét, valami egészen különleges aspektusból. Őszintén mondom, hogy mindenkinek el kellene olvasnia ezt a könyvet, mert garantáltan rendkívüli élményben lesz része.

Tomorrow, two of my favorite authors will release a new book, so in this occasion I thought that I should focus the attention on them. For my last ‘Music in the Book’ post I chose one of my favorite books of Julie Johnson, so this week I bring my excerpt and a song from a book by Colleen Hoover. 🙂

Hopeless was my first book from the author, and that book instantly stole my heart. After Hopeless every single book of the author hooked me, but Maybe Someday always will have a special place in my heart. Music was close to me forever and I also played the piano for many years. I really love when music or an instrument is smuggled into a book, but the specialty of Maybe Someday is that the songs in the book are not just are on the paper, but Griffin Peterson could vivify them with his high talent. This book shows us music from a really individual aspect and this was really magical journey for me. I highly recommend this book for everyone!

“I’m sitting on the floor again. It’s not the most comfortable place to play, but it’s much better than being on the bed next to her. I can never seem to focus on the actual music when I’m in her personal space and she’s in mine.
She requested that I play one of the songs I used to play when I sat out on my balcony to practice, so we’ve been working through it. She’s lying on her stomach, writing on her notepad. Erasing and writing, erasing and writing. I’m sitting here on the floor, not even playing. I’ve played the song enough for her to know the melody by now, so I’m just waiting while I watch her.
(…)
She’s focused on the lyrics, though, so I need to pull my shit together and focus on them, too. I set my guitar down and pull myself up, then walk to the bed and lie beside her. I take the notebook out of her hands and pull it in front of me to read what she’s written so far.
She smells good.
Damn.
I try to block off my senses somehow, but I know it’s a wasted effort. Instead, I focus on the words she’s written, quickly impressed at how effortlessly they come to her.

Why don’t we keep, keep it simple
You talk to your friends, and I’ll be here to mingle
But you know that I, I want to be
Right by your side like I ought to be
And you know that I, I want to see
The way that your eyes seem to follow me

I’m confused about the lyrics, because they aren’t at all what I was expecting. I’m not sure I like them. I thought we were writing an angry song about Hunter.
She shrugs, (…) “I tried. The subject of Hunter doesn’t really inspire me anymore. You don’t have to use them if you don’t like them. I can try something different.”
“I love them.”
She smiles and says, “Thank you.” She flips onto her back, and I catch myself appreciating this moment and this night and her low-cut dress way more than I probably should. When my eyes make their way back to hers, she’s watching me, plainly aware of what’s going through my head. Eyes don’t lie, unfortunately.
When neither of us breaks our gaze, I’m forced to swallow the huge lump in my throat.
Don’t get yourself in trouble, Ridge.
(…)
I glance up at her without being too obvious about it and write the first thing that comes to mind.

And I must confess my interest
The way that you move when you’re in that dress
It’s making me feel like I want to be
The only man that you ever see

I pause from writing and look up at her again, feeling every bit of the words in this chorus. I think we both know the words we write have to do with each other, but that doesn’t seem to stop us at all. If we keep having moments like these with words that are way too honest, we’ll both end up in trouble. I quickly look back down at the paper as more lyrics begin to enter my head.

Whoa, oh, oh, oh
I’m in trouble, trouble
Whoa, oh, oh, oh
I’m in trouble now

I refuse to look up at her again while I write. I keep my mind focused on the words that somehow seem to flow from my fingertips every time we’re together. I don’t question what’s inspiring me or what they mean.
I don’t question it . . . because it’s obvious.
But it’s art. Art is just an expression. An expression isn’t the same as an act, as much as it sometimes feels that way. Writing lyrics isn’t the same as directly informing someone of your feelings.
Is it?
I keep my eyes on the paper and continue to write the words I honestly wish I didn’t feel.

I see you in places from time to time
You keep to your business and I, I keep to mine
But you know that I, I want to be
Right by your side where I ought to be
And you know that I, I want to see
The way that your eyes seem to follow me

The second I’m finished writing, I’m so worked up I don’t allow myself to witness her reaction to the words. I quickly hand her back the notebook and pull my guitar around and begin playing so she can work through the chorus.”