Emily Wright

Bah

Posted by Emily Wright | Sep 8, 2007 | Misc | 2 |

When I originally submitted my manuscript to Oxford, I received a very cordial letter of not-quite rejection, not exactly acceptance. It praised the vibe of the book, the formatting, content, and even the images I selected. The editor suggested that I look at a particular trumpet book OUP had put out, and that if I wanted to expand upon what I had and make my own text more like that one, they would happily consider my efforts. It’s been a busy summer. Articles for AST Journal and Strings were written. Gigs were played. Students were corralled into a performance. Oh yeah, and I like to do non-cello things from time to time, too. So the text went to hibernate, and today I decided to check out this exemplar of fabulousness the editor spoke of. Before I get into the text, I would like to advise anyone in the Los Angeles area who has not been to the Brand music and arts library in Glendale to please, please go! It’s magnificent, and they have everything. Everything, including the driest, lamest, most antithetical-to-the-Emily-sensibility book I have ever laid my four eyes upon. Holy Mother of Pete. I was aghast. No pictures. No diagrams. Paperback novel size. I nearly died holding it in my hands as it sucked my soul out through my fingertips. If there was a conservatory for people who...

back in the saddle again

Posted by Emily Wright | Aug 28, 2007 | Misc | 10 |

I really detest summer. Don’t get me wrong: I have all sorts of happy memories from the summer months, but the weather had nothing to do with the happiness. I actually had to forgive the memories of their hot weather and endless days in order to love them! We still have a good month of swelter left in Los Angeles. At least a third of my Halloweens as a kid in Riverside were spent in costumed asphyxia due to temperatures upwards of 85 degrees. Yet, the incoming season flirts with those of us who know what to look for: this morning, the light in the kitchen was changed. Last night, the urge to sit on the porch with candle-filled glasses was irresistible. We had a smattering of rain, and the smell of wet pavement has not quite left certain corners of the city. Hooray! And now, inspired by all of this promise and change, I shall begin draft 2 of the book. Good riddance,...