I write in many formats, but my first experience with crafting my own passage of words was
when I was seven or eight, bashing out a score of deranged orchestration on my
grandmother’s Yamaha. Growing up in a music-blooded family certainly gave me a push in
the right direction, as it wasn’t often when I was not surrounded by melodies and lines of
lilting notation. At thirteen, I had written my first album of songs. It was during the lockdown
period, and I found myself enjoying the time I spent poured over the black and white keys for
endless weeks, thankful for something to occupy my mind that wasn’t staring at a computer.
As time went on, I began to cling to my unhinged musical composition as if it was my
lifeline. It was the thing that stayed with me – when I moved schools because of a deep level
of harassment from peers, and getting through the weeks away from home because of
boarding in this new environment. After school days, I would lock myself in a forgotten room
full of windows because of the tired piano at the wall, layered with dust and old memories. I
would be lost for hours in the magical vibrations, any worry or pain kindly melting at the
pedals beneath my feet. I am now sixteen, and musical composition is just one of many ways
I poetically experiment with words. I do not spend as much time sleeping with my forehead
on the ivories as I once did, but I will forever remember the importance of music in one of
the hardest times in my life. My world would be immensely different without the intervention
of conscientiously structured sound, and I am forever grateful it has found its way to me.
Madeleine Walker
Diocesan School for Girls
From the author: I have entered a personal prose on my experience with musical composition growing up. I explore the impact music has had on me in the past, and how it has helped me grow into a fulfilled individual with a passion for the creative world.
