Twenty twenty twenty four hours ago

I have to have music playing.

There’s something about silence that can be wonderful. A gorgeous stillness that rings like a bell inside your chest. The kind that speaks so you don’t have to.

But that kind of silence is a rare thing. Most of the time, silence to me screams of boredom. It fills up with tiny little scritches and scratches that I can’t quite hear but keep my attention flickering nonetheless.

This is when I put on music.

Sometimes, my mood is gray and loveworn, so I put on something indie and acoustic, soft like snowfall. Other times, I’m pissed off and laughing, so I bang my head to the Ramones and Rise Against. When I’m trying to write, I go where my characters go, whether that’s the sloped hills of Vivaldi or bright cities named Rodrigo y Gabriela or the rich, green forests of a Miyazaki soundtrack.

In my car, my windows are almost always rolled down, the wind nearly as melodic as the song pouring through. And, I just can’t help but sing along.


Published by Ren Martinez

Ren is a thirty-something Lost Boy whose personal aesthetic is “suspected of witchcraft by local villagers.” She subscribes to cheerful nihilism, the destruction of the patriarchy, and the belief that glitter makes everything better. She is a Richmond-based writer and performer who has fiction and non-fiction work found in a variety of publications, such as The Mary Sue, RVA Magazine, The Quotable, and Nostrovia Press. She is currently the fiction editor and a regular contributor at Quail Bell Magazine. She is also the co-host of the podcast, This F***ing Guy! Find out more at or read her dumbass tweets on Twitter @itsrenmartinez

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