Do You Whistle While You Write?

Over the weekend, my husband and I went to see the Disney film, Enchanted. We were originally thinking more along the lines of American Gangster, but the review of Enchanted in the Wall Street Journal won us over (and the fact it stars Amy Adams, who was incredible in Junebug). It borrows from Snow White and Cinderella, and includes the usual quirky cast; a silly prince, an evil queen, and a talking chipmunk. The protagonist, Giselle, lives a pretty decent life in her cottage with a menagerie of forest creatures. They help her clean, make clothing, and sing back-up…until she’s banished to New York City. For us city dwellers, the funniest scene comes when she enlists the help of animals from her new urban environs - rats, mice, cockroaches - to help clean her pal’s place on Riverside Drive. The film’s overarching theme is that Giselle is delighted by simple pleasures, so she sings while she works or when the mood strikes.

This film reminded me of when I knew that I liked writing. Really liked it. I started humming while I wrote. Every so often, I would even break into dance (not breakdancing, per se, but a few pirouettes and leaps). This never happened to me before. Prior to writing my first book, I toiled in various offices and television stations. But whistling while I worked did not come naturally to me. At that time, I could never relate to a Disney character or, for that matter, even my own father, who is an artist. As a child, I used to hear my father’s singing emanate from his downstairs studio and echo throughout our house. I knew he was feeling especially pleased with a painting when he’d sing even louder. “Dad, how could you?” I used to ask, thinking it was a foolish thing to do. He’d just shoot me his knowing Cheshire grin. Twenty-five years later, now that I’ve found what makes me happy, I realize the better question would be “how could you not sing?” or perhaps, I wouldn’t have to say anything at all.