Every time I think about the tragedy of my second great-grandfather’s (Elmer Karchner) death it’s now amplified at the knowledge he once labeled himself as a musician yet died a coal miner. While the necessity of an occupation change is understandable it only aggravates the frustration I have about my own choices.
As a writer I welcome constructive feedback. I want to know what my strengths are and what areas need improvement. If a story leaves you confused or moves you I want to know. I thrive on honest yet helpful criticism.
As a singer, if you tell me I was off-pitch, lagging behind the accompaniment or just plain okay I’m likely to internalize that criticism into “I am not a singer, no matter how much I may want to be.” I often wonder why there’s such a drastic shift between writing and music, and how I define myself.
Is there some part of me that is terrified of actually defining myself as a singer? I call myself a writer without hesitation – without doubt of truth. Plenty of family and friends commend my writing. They champion my desire of pursuing writing as a career choice. But, no one has ever told me, “Why aren’t you singing professionally?” I’ve been told I have a beautiful voice and people are surprised that such a powerful voice comes out of such a tiny individual. Yet, those around me aren’t apt to tell me to give up writing and pursue music.
I don’t blame them, after all there’s a part of me that believes it too. Or else I would’ve found the strength and determination to pursue a career in music if that’s truly what I wanted. Is it enough just to enjoy singing on a smaller scale? To see the smiles on my niece and nephews’ faces when I sing to them. To burst out into song with my car windows rolled down on a perfect Spring day. To blare a musical theatre soundtrack and sing along with it when the house it empty.
I get fulfillment from both writing and singing. The difference is…I earn money with the prior. Even though Elmer Karchner may have found just as much passion for music it wouldn’t have earned him enough money to support his family. Not at the turn of the 20th century anyway. I hope that he shared his love of music with his children. That they gathered around on a Sunday afternoon in Hazleton and played. Whether he played an instrument or sang I like to imagine Elmer, Miss Mattie and their children joined in song during the holidays; their family and friends surrounding them with love and appreciation.
Your life ended too short Elmer, but your love of music has not died!
Love,
Kelly
Branches and Leaves 