Scarlatti is so pretty. Isn't this the most tender, intimate, beautiful thing you've ever heard? This is Vladimir Horowitz playing. He has the sweetest-sounding piano, and--wow--he plays with the most amazing range of colors!
Horowitz was amazing at bringing the listener into the music, as if he were confiding a secret. You know how sometimes you can be told a secret in such a way as you feel flattered?
He makes his performance such an intimate experience, even when he has hundreds in the audience. It's almost as if you're his lover, and he's whispering sweet secrets in your ear.
And of course, that got me thinking about writing. How can I make my stories as tender and intimate? How can I make my words pull the reader in?
Not just hold their attention, but make them feel special?
And Horowitz had such a range of colors. He once cited over two hundred, or so the legend goes. What would the equivalent of colors and shading be in writing? The different rhythm of sentences we use? Maybe our own stylistic quirks?
I don't know. Something to think about. But this week, I'm going to try to write as Horowitz playing Scarlatti.
PS: Okay, I can't help it. One more: