With all the unique thought patterns, interests, and ideologies in the world, there will always be those who say, “you will never write anything original,” or “being an artist isn’t a real job” or “all of the good songs have already been written.” I’m not here to argue with the elitists. I was an English major in college, and it’s never done much good. I’m not interested in whether they’re right or wrong, anyway. Instead, I would suggest that if, as my college creative writing professor stated, “there are two types of literature: Literature and literature,” there must also be two kinds of art: Art and art. Those who metaphorically insist on fancy capitalization and emphatic pronunciations can keep their art locked up in museums, behind paywalls, and at fancy parties. The rest of us will continue making art, unbounded. And I'll do it through writing and through music. Music is not about strict adherence to rules or about being better than what came before it; music is about fierce passion and authentic connection, and for me, it’s about stories.

Early in my Bachelor’s degree, one of my creative writing professors announced to my class that we would “never write anything original.” He insisted that everything had already been written, but that if we were lucky, we might write something that was uniquely our own. Of course, most of the class had been too insulted by the first half of his declaration to absorb the rest, and despite the abundance of wisdom he had to offer, a good chunk of the class had little respect for what he had to say after that. I, however, think he was really echoing my favorite Willa Cather quote: “There are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before” (O Pioneers). It’s this fierce and passionate repetition of stories that I believe distinguishes artists from any other individuals.

Maybe it’s my small-town heritage, but I have always considered myself an artist with a lowercase “a.” A songwriter, a singer, a musician, of course, but what I really am is a story lover and a storyteller. Through storytelling we connect authentically to each other, and to the past.

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Two summers ago, my family gathered in Pioche, Nevada to see the ranch my grandmother grew up on. Along the way we’d stopped at a cemetery to see relatives' graves. I stood staring at the name “Martha Elvira Sanford Craw.” She was my fourth great grandma, and my dad started to tell a story he’d read about her. Apparently she’d set a young man’s ranch on fire after he’d wronged two of her daughters. My grandmother shook her head, trying to hush up the scandalous story, but I was intrigued. When I got home, I found Martha’s story recorded by a distant relative. After reading the story, I felt I had to write it into a song. Though it wasn’t the first song I’d written, that’s really how my love for songwriting began. I wanted to tell forgotten stories about those who went before me.

As I've searched my history for more relatives’ stories, a disturbing trend has emerged. Martha’s story was a novelty, a rare piece of exceptional drama, and I recognized that from the start, but the lack of any kind of story at all about so many of my ancestors filled me with a sense of loss. I can trace my family back for generations in terms of birth and death dates, locations, and relatives, but personal stories about these people are few and far between.

So, maybe my passion for storytelling songs sprung more from what I didn’t find in family history than from what did. What I know is that my goal as an artist is to tell untold or forgotten stories through music and lyrics, and record and preserve them as songs for future generations. If nothing else, I hope my songs inspire others to find and record their own stories because I believe the connections we build now continue beyond the grave.