Hitting the Woodshed in a Winter Wonderland

by Drew Holmes

“F-sharp!” I frustratedly thought to myself, once again missing the note. My middle school band was playing “Winter Wonderland” and as the only trumpet player the solo was mine. This would be an honor at any age, but as a seventh grader this was my first big feature.

Playing trumpet for just over two years, I was still learning key signatures. This arrangement was in G-major, one sharp, but every time I saw F-sharp my fingers instinctively played F-natural.

The solo was only a few bars, but I spent hours “in the woodshed” practicing it until eventually it was perfect (or at least as perfect as a 12-year-old could make it). Confident in my ability, I knew I was at the top of my game.

I remembered this solo while writing about our semi-annual instrument step-up event at Boomer Music. Two years ago, I crafted a letter outlining the event and telling the story of how my dad took me to get the trumpet I still play today. For days I pored over each word and turn of phrase until everything was pitch perfect.

To promote this year’s event, I decided to dust off that letter and freshen it up. Reading what I had written two years ago I was appalled. Thoughts were incomplete and verb tenses were inconsistent. Word choices were adequate, but upon further review whole paragraphs of what I had composed needed reworking to properly convey the message.

Why on earth did I ever think this letter was good enough for public consumption?

Then I realized — the letter was perfect for the writer I was then. I have been writing essays nearly every week for two years, improving my skills and streamlining my process. What seems elementary and unfinished now was polished and perfect then. I’m not the same writer I was when I wrote it — I have advanced.

This posed an interesting question. Should I have held back publishing the letter until I could create something better, keeping it under wraps until it could withstand the harshest critics’ finest scrutiny?

Of course not! Perfection is unattainable, but process is key. Small gains in writing skill have compounded with every essay. Instead of feeling embarrassed comparing these early writings to today’s work I appreciate having a record of progress, a real catalog of just what is possible through consistent practice.

Developing the skill of writing has led to some exciting and unexpected opportunities. My son and I attended a Colorado Rockies game in the private box of the team president as his invited guests. I have a regular column in Music Inc magazine where I share my thoughts and insights with my industry. Without publishing those early drafts, my writing would have stagnated and none of that would have happened.

In high school several years later, we were preparing our Christmas concert and were a few pieces short of a complete program. Mr. Lasdow pulled some charts out from the library, simple seasonal tunes the band could prepare in short order. To my delight and surprise, “Winter Wonderland” was included, the same arrangement I had played those years before.

Now playing the solo section every F-sharp came out with barely a thought. I had grown as a player and the floor of my ability had far exceeded the ceiling of my seventh-grade self. Because of my struggles at age twelve, I had advanced beyond my wildest dreams. That piece was a benchmark to show me just how far I had come in a short amount of time.

I was glad then, as I am now, for the opportunity to reflect on these milestones and measure how far I have progressed and write about them. With no intention of slowing down, I cannot wait to see what I write two years from now.