I remember a simpler time, when it was easy to identify the genre of the song streaming through my iPod. When a friend said they liked pop, I knew that meant Madonna and Michael Jackson. Classic rock meant Steve Miller Band or the Cars. In my small world, taste was polarized and listeners less likely to wander outside their listening genre to include other kinds of music. Jazzers were deep into jazz, classical was classical, singer-songwriter was pop and there was no such thing as EDM. 

Choosing to pursue a career in music appears as intelligent as poking a stick through the bars of a lion cage. In this analogy, the lion is the music industry. For many of us, the choice to try to tame the beast comes from great passion, or great rebellion. Without it, we wouldn’t last until the final curtain.

When I went into songwriting as a career, I felt like most of my titles were forced, as if they flashed neon “this is the hook” or “look how clever I made this turn of phase!” I worked so hard for the few titles that sold their message with subtle cleverness. Then sometimes I’d have a good title, and like an archer I’d aim for it only to hit everywhere but the bullseye.

Cheesy lyrics are those that insinuate a lot of drama, but fail in making us feel the weight and truth of the concept. They take a truth and boil it down to a hollow triteness that elicits an almost cynical response.

Somewhere along the way to writing our best songs we consider the commercial quality of our creations. But the word “commercial” pertains to industry, describing the parameters of a song that put it within a familiar boundary of sound.

For many of us, songwriting started as a passion. We’re enraptured in the joy of creating, and even the simplest of creations inspire us to try again. But somewhere along the path, the fantasy deflates. We feel that dreaded plateau, when almost nothing we write feels worthwhile, and for the first time, calling ourselves ’songwriter’ sends an uncomfortable sting like we’ve just been caught taking steroids after winning an Olympic medal. 

To many songwriters, lyrics can feel like the most difficult element of a song to get right. For those of us who come to songwriting from a musical background, words can feel arduous and abstract to manage, where melody and harmonic cadence may come with certainty and control…

I used to complain there weren’t enough hours in a day. A morning writing appointment would seep into a late afternoon lunch out, followed by a meeting with my publisher, phone calls, emails, some online teaching or coaching, an evening gig, then popping into a networking event with a friend. I’d stay up late in the glow of my laptop, refining my social networking platform for the 89th time or tugging on a few lyrics with my guitar.

“I make a lot of tracks, and normally I consider myself to be pretty good at writing melody. But I’ve got all these tracks lying around, and for some reason, I don’t feel like any of the melodies I’m singing are that great. I’d like to finish more of my songs, and I really believe in the tracks. What can I do?”

Some songwriting tools elude us by sitting right in front of our eyes. Tempo is one of those tools. One of the first decisions we make when we sit down to write a song is tempo. Tempo leads directly to the harmonic rhythm, frequency of chord changes, pacing of the lyric and melody, and overall believability of the song. Who knew such a pedestrian concept could have so much riding on it.

Songs may be delightfully more magical than the essays we were obligated to write in high school, but there are some similarities that can demystify the task of finishing a song. In that high school essay, we’re accustomed to knowing our main point before we begin, and the supporting arguments we’ll use leading up to it. Songs may not have paragraphs, but they do have verses, and that’s just where the supporting detail tends to fall. When it comes to the chorus, however, sometimes we struggle to build the section out from the main point, or even identify a good title.

As an aspiring songwriter, finding ways to make the most of your creative time is crucial. We all have days when time is scarce and distractions abound, so it's essential to zero in on a process that keeps us coming back to the writing desk. In this article, I’ll dig into 3 exercises prolific and experienced songwriters use to achieve a more focused and efficient songwriting routine. Each activity should take around 30 minutes.

Many of us spend hours in our studios or living rooms, starting songs and trashing them, with the hopes that just putting in the hours will be enough to eventually write something we’re pleased with. Undoubtedly, practice does lead to growth. But I find it amazing that it is generally accepted that we can learn an instrument using a tried and true methodology, but don’t ascribe the same potential to learning to write songs. 

As writers, we may fancy ourselves poets or storytellers. But as lyricists, we’ve got to keep a strong hold on those reins of free-flowing prose. Connecting with our listener requires signals, keying them in to when sections begin and when they end and which phrases are most central to the main point and which are not.

We songwriters rarely get to choose how our songs come to us. Concept, chords, or melody first, these elements tend to descend on our bedroom nightstands in the late hours of the night or early morning before we’re fully conscious. We know that familiar shiver when the air around us sparkles with inspiration.

Some things in life that should come with a manual, don’t. Living healthy, choosing a college major, being a good friend, choosing a spouse, and raising a child are just a few. It seems that meaningful living simply doesn’t distill well into a one-size-fits-all instruction booklet. Neither does the Smagora wardrobe I recently purchased from IKEA. Songwriting, as it seems, is similarly perplexing.

I once heard Taylor Swift refer to inspiration as a “purple, sparkly cloud.” It’s common to assume songs magically descend on our favorite artists and writers without all the hair-pulling and self-doubt.

There are three things Valentines Day gets me thinking about. One of them is LA traffic. Three hours in a car for a two-hour dinner on February 14th sucked the magic right out one year. The second is free chocolate. No explanation needed. The third, though, is canned love.

Inspiration isn’t ours to control. We can, however, learn to tame it, understanding its ways so it drifts by more often.

As a songwriter who has struggled with lyric writing and come out the other side, I’ve recognized a few reasons why my cryptic lyrics happened, and what I did to change them.