Enchanted by a Line: Jilian Medford

I'm consistently drawn toward the ability of short bits of writing – sentences, phrases, single words – to cause visceral reactions in us. I can't clearly identify the catalyst for this, but it may have been a flash-fiction unit of a creative writing class I took in college. The parameters of "flash" as a genre depend largely on whom you ask, but the bottom line is: these are really short stories. Like 20 words, sometimes. It's about being efficient, making every word do some narrative heavy-lifting. At the most elemental level, it's about decisions. Maybe I'm so compelled by these ephemera of language because I'm decidedly bad at packing a lot of punch into limited real estate. In fact, I tend to do quite the opposite, on the page and out loud: over-explaining, over-indulging, words, details, more words. In any case, I thought I'd start a series, of sorts, about brief lines from various media – stories, poems, songs, movies – that moved me, positively or otherwise.

I'll try to avoid the interpretive, often hopeless "what did they mean by that?" analyses, a la Genius, and instead focus on how a particular line of writing made me think and feel in the moment I experienced it. In doing so, I suppose there may be some level of "analysis" going on, but only as it is necessary to express my own reaction to the words. I also thought this would be a more substantive way to share my thoughts and feelings about writing than posting a cropped photo of a book or web page my Instagram (check that out, too, though...some good stuff on there). Without further ado, the first installment of "Enchanted by a Line":

"I'll start, I'll start
Sayin' your name
Sayin' your name
Backwards so I'll forget it."

 -Jilian Medford as IAN SWEET, "Drink The Lake"

Let me first say that I was hesitant to start this off with a song lyric. It can feel criminal to divorce words from the music that together make a song completely what it is, and you should listen to it. However, even standing alone, without the slow, sunken drums and reverb, it is, for me, such a commanding line. Of course, it's sad, but it's also hopeful and sure of itself: she knows what she needs to do to forget, which makes it all the sadder. This line is repeated over and over in the chorus – well over half of the song is Medford pleading with herself in a voice so soft and reserved that it feels metabolic. The first time I heard these words I was flooded with sympathy, pain, familiarity, and I knew before the track was even over that I needed to listen to it again, right away.

We all carry strong associations with certain names: our parents, friends, first loves. Most of these we can shake, if we want. After all, there are plenty of Jakes and Allisons and Logans in the world; at some point they become sort of diluted. But others we can't. They've made such a profound impact on us – our hearts, minds, the way we see ourselves – that the only way to forget is to make it so we don't recognize them anymore.