You have survived to the end of the month. Look at you go. It’ll be Summer before you know it, and then it will be Fall, and we all know that Fall is the best season.

Wherever this letter finds you, I hope that it makes you lighter, and that each step takes you a little closer to whatever your Fall is.

Thanks for tuning in.

WONDERCRAFT |

love your darlings.

When I was 19, I had a song get hunted by one of those little pay-to-play compilation CD companies that were everywhere on Myspace in the oughts.

To me, it may as well have been Sony.

I gladly forked over the cash, absolutely positive that their reach was going to be the thing that got me spotted by some nebulous person who mattered. I was gonna find a band and we were going to tour and people would sing my songs (which I would totally write) back to me.

Obviously, Chill Out: An Acoustic Compilation 4 or whatever it was didn’t catapult me into stardom, but I remember thinking just how proud I was of it.

And, God help me, I couldn’t tell you why. I listened back to the song they picked a few years later and boy howdy is it bad. Just straight up not good. I tracked it into the built-in microphone on my 2006 Macbook Pro.

But I remember being so proud. Because I had worked on it. Because it may not have been good, but it was me.

I was talking with my friend this week about previous work, and I said something about how I end up hating everything I work on by the time I finish, but I don’t think that’s true at all.

I think I just feel like the man in Stephen Crane’s poem up at the top of this email, and I suspect that, if you’re a Maker, it’s not a lot different for you. “Is it good?” is not a question I can answer about something I’ve made. I don’t know if it’s any good. I’m too close to it. All I know when I’m looking at it is which parts don’t measure up to the standard I’d set for it in my own head—which parts I didn’t have the skill to pull off.

It is bitter—bitter, but it’s my heart. I’m in that thing somewhere, and I’m learning how to like that person. So I like it, too. If I’m growing as a writer or a composer or an editor, hopefully I look back and see things to improve on.

How absolutely embarrassing if you don’t.

So this week, do me a favor. Try to like what you’re making, regardless of what it is. Regardless of whether it’s art or a spreadsheet. Whether you’re writing a song or a titration. Makers are makers, and they cannot stop making or else they’ll drown in the air, and Makers cannot make without putting themselves into it.

So let it be bitter, but like it. Who knows, maybe learning to love the things that you make is a step on the path to learning how to love yourself.

MUSIC |

plumb.

I don’t always immediately love a sketch, but I immediately loved this one. It was also one of those cases where things progressed pretty much exactly the way the final mix came together: I was fiddling with a synth, which led to a groove, which led to finding a little home for the Discovery launch audio.

I couldn’t tell you why, but it’s the first time I ever thought to incorporate stock audio in a sketch. Usually when I’m making a sketch, I start by trying to emulate a synth or a drum kit or a production technique. I have a little template set up with a bunch of instruments and patches I know I can turn to if I need a certain sound or vibe, but that means that I sort of end up doing only that forever.

I guess what I’m saying is that it’s good to switch up your materials every now and then. I liked working with the vocal samples in this one, so I wanted to try it again (and I’ll share that one next week), and that sketch ended up getting me a job. So look at that.

Anyway, sort of like last week, I’m putting these project files up for sale on my shop, but y’all can have them for free.

Thanks for being awesome. Enjoy Plum.

ROLODEX |

exeunt.

That’s enough from me. If you’ll give me just a few more minutes, I want to introduce you to this week’s feature: Roxy.

I first met her in Miami, where she was our photographer and, sort of unofficially, our translator. She’s a powerhouse behind the lens, but even more than that, she’s about the intentions behind getting behind the lens. You get the sense talking to Roxy that making is as easy as breathing, that nothing isn’t making, that you can figure out how to follow through on anything you can say “yes” to.

If you have a story to tell, she’s probably the one to help you tell it. I hope that you’ll lend her your ear for a second!

Until I see you next, take care of yourselves. You’ve got this.

-your pal,
hamilton.

ROXY |