I am no musician myself; that’s a gift I never had. I cannot sing, I cannot dance, I cannot read music. But that doesn’t mean I do not love music… or rather, songs. Instrumental music, classical music, operas, those are all great, no doubt, but they are not for me. I am a word guy. I want the lyrics. I want them to be audible, not drowned out by the instruments. I want them to be beautiful, I want them to touch me, to move me, to make me think, become a part of me. Some of you may have noticed that the word “song” keeps appearing in the titles of my books and stories. A SONG FOR LYA, SONGS OF STARS AND SHADOWS, SONGS THE DEAD MEN SING, DREAMSONGS, A SONG OF ICE & FIRE, SONGS OF THE DYING EARTH. There’s a would-be songwriter buried inside me, no doubt. Oh, I managed some to do “The Rains of Castamere” and “The Bear and the Maiden Fair” (part of it, anyway) and “The Dornishmen’s Wife” and “The Last of the Giants,” but damn, writing songs is hard, even if you’re only doing lyrics and leaving the actual music to the listeners.