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And the day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. – Anais Nin Several months ago a dear friend asked, "When did you decide to become a songwriter?" "I didn’t," I answered, "it was decided for me." At the age of six I began piano lessons. Once a week from first grade until eighth, I sacrificed my lunch recess and walked two blocks to traditional, classical lessons from the only piano teacher in Coal County, Oklahoma. I recited Bach, Brahms, Beethoven, and opened the Sunday School service with a few gospel favorites. Rather than study music at a Bible college, I chose a basketball scholarship, took the "easy road" and became an English teacher. During my senior year at the University of Oklahoma, my fiancée gave me a Willie Nelson songbook and my first piano. As I labored over 19th Century British Lit, Dante, and piles of term papers, I found true joy in the familiar lyrics of Willie’s songs. In 1983, I married, moved to Wisconsin and began a masters program. I survived those long winter nights by playing lullabies, quieting my own spirit while hushing my young children to sleep. In 1991 we moved to Austin, TX, where I became immersed in the public school system, first as a volunteer, then as a full-time English teacher and department chair. Once again, music disappeared from my life. Many nights at 10 p.m. I sat at the piano and wept, too tired, too out of practice to produce the music that swelled inside me. Six years ago, in the Spring of 1998, I consciously began a journey, one I hoped that would lead to personal peace. I resigned from teaching English and set out to find my true path in life. I became a first-rate dabbler, trying my hand at ceramics, painting, even another round of piano lessons. I spent hours trying to perfect difficult classical and jazz pieces, sheet music that challenged my mind but did not feed my soul. Dissatisfied, I closed the lid on my piano and retreated into my laptop and wrote—short stories, poetry, a musical, and the rough draft of my second novel. Still haunted, I forced myself to face the jagged truth—I craved music. So, I began again and made the wisest decision of my life. I turned everything over to the power of the universe, to Great Spirit, to God. I began to pray and ask for guidance, agreeing to create whatever was sent to me as long as I found some degree of personal peace. One bright winter day hiking through the woods, words and music began to merge inside me as song lyrics starting writing themselves in my head. I found myself dancing and swaying under a green canopy of live oaks where I wrote my first song—a simple country waltz, Tangle of Love. There was never an intention to write songs, never a decision to become a songwriter. Simply stated, songs began to pour through me. As my friend, singer/songwriter Kimmie Rhodes, once said, "We don’t write ‘em, we just write ‘em down." I am only the instrument. Lynda March 15, 2004