Yesterday morning I was driving to work when I got an idea for an avenue to pursue in the piece I’m working on. I whipped out my cell phone, tooling down the highway (legal here), and called my office, leaving a message on my voicemail.

“hello Lawrence, this is Lawrence — you know that passage that begins with the bassoon solo?…”

When I got to my office fifteen minutes later, I checked my messages, and found the idea, which I had already forgotten (which gives you some sense of what a haunted house my mind is – I lose ideas in these drafty corridors all the time), and I swiftly scribbled it down on a pad of paper.

Then I emailed myself, describing what I had written down in front of me.

When I got home last night, I checked my email, and there was the idea, fresh as the jangled angles of the morning sunlight. I began threading it into the piece I’ve been working on.

The 12-hour journey that idea took – car to phone to voicemail to notepad to email to score — I couldn’t have conceived of such a thing twenty years ago. I wonder how archaic it will seem in another twenty years.

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