Ask any writer about their prefered conditions under which to write, and one will often receive remarks about ‘strong coffee’ and ‘good music’.

Sipping a chai tea latte this evening while listening to Pandora, and was inspired to try a writing warm-up.

Wrote down these pieces while listening to the following songs- meaning I allotted three to five minutes to write each piece. Practicing creative expression with a dose of musical inspiration.

. . .

Song Inspiration: (Look Up – Litche)

The Words I Wrote:


There is an abandoned cabin in woods
A woman once built from sticks and stones
and on nights when the full moon casts a milky white shadow
through the looming pines-
One can glimpse her naked frame-
Standing at the cobwebbed window,
kneading dough in the kitchen 
leaving breadcrumb trails
down to the icy river,
where she swims in her warmest winter coat-
pockets filled with stones,
letting her ghosts find their way back home.

. . .

Song Inspiration: (Inner Movement – Ralf Illenberger)


The Words I Wrote:

Buongiorno, Roma

Bedroom painted cornflower blue, olive wood floors, a handmade quilt wrapped around my frame. White sunlight filters through crimson shutters, as sparrows conduct a symphony.

Ciao, Roma.

Last night’s limoncello still clouds my head, belly full from homemade bucatini all’amatriciana.

The garden is a tangle of bougainvillea and cypress trees and mosaic bird baths and blue tiled fountains.
Steam from my espresso rises through the trellis as I sit, nose buried in a map of Rome’s public transportation, marked with the well-traversed must-sees; the Colosseum, Trevi Fountain, Pantheon and Vatican- and my host’s recommendations; ‘il miglior gelato a Roma’, succo di melograno fresco al mercato locale, dove guardare il tramonto, i giardini nascosti della città.

Eight o’clock in the morning, on the outskirts of Rome, and I’d found home in a foreign city. Left a piece of my heart behind, and in turn, discovered a piece, somewhere hidden within cobblestone streets and understated beauty and romanticized language, where every sentence was a song, every moment unfolding like poetry.

. . .

Song Inspiration: (Go Fuck Yourself- Two Feet)

The Words I Wrote:

The Hollywood Sign

Single bed, concrete floors, disheveled gray sheets, an empty goldfish bowl on his nightstand,
And she’s standing in his high-rise apartment, wearing knee-high leather boots,
and black eyeliner
because she thinks it makes her look dangerous-
the sexy kind of dangerous-
like she’s seen more of the world than she has in her nineteen years.
And the Los Angeles skyline is brighter than she imagined.

He tells her that if she stands on the kitchen countertop,
she can glimpse the corner of the Hollywood sign-
(and he can see up her skirt)
he offers her a shot of vodka
and she politely says no, ‘do you have any tea’-
and he asks her, if she’s ever shot a gun before
and she lies
that, yes, she has
because his question makes her nervous

and he asks her if she’s ever done this before-
because of course a girl like her has done this before-
that he could tell, by the way she danced at the club-

but these are her roommate’s boots and
she hasn’t done this before- she doesn’t even know what ‘this’ is,
she just likes how the thrum of the bass makes her forget,
that this city is eating her alive and
she had dreamt of seeing the Hollywood sign-
Didn’t want to stay in LA forever,
but couldn’t find the courage to leave-
empty handed.

. . .

Song Inspiration: (Pursuit of Happiness – Kid Cudi)

The Words I Wrote:


It is six o’clock pm and the island air smells like
Pineapple and marijuana-
As the jungle grows around us,
And there’s something inconquerable about a place
Where nothing can remain the same
As we drive the jeep through sugarcane fields,
Speeding down a single lane highway
While I am trying to be okay-
With living lifetimes in a moment-
With pondering questions I cannot answer-
With loving people who will not last.

. . .

x. Natasha Overin



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