Showing posts with label discussion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label discussion. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 6, 2016

Blog Index — Organized by Topic (®Sept/2016)

Welcome to another year of composition studies! I wish you much growth and success on your journey to becoming the best composer you can be.

My primary motivation in creating this blog was to provide a forum in which a variety of composition-related topics could be explored and discussed in greater depth than is feasible in the classes I teach at Memorial University. While this was created for my students, comments may be left by anyone. Periodically, spam-bots leave comments, usually characterized by their enthusiastic brevity, followed by a link of some sort, kind of like this: "Great post! It really made me think. Check out DezynerSunGlassez.con for fantastic deals!"

Other times the spam-bot leaves some incredibly long-winded word collection, possibly copied from some obscure technical manual. I have no idea what the point of any of these spam posts is, but, if you see a comment that even vaguely resembles spam, do not click on any links, and let me know about it asap.

I get an automatic notification anytime someone leaves a comment, no matter how old the post, so, feel free to comment on very old posts if the topic interests you.

Below is an index of most blogs posted thus far. Entries relating to class business – reminders of deadlines, concert congratulations, order of class presentation, etc. – are omitted.

Links are loosely organized by topic to facilitate browsing.


→ Exploring the Creative Process; Struggles and Solutions ←
Strike While the Iron is Hot! (includes section on "writer's block")

→ Planning ←

→ Playing With Expectations; Musical Dichotomies ←

→ Composition Techniques 

→ Form in Post-Tonal Music ←

→ Atonality; What's in a Name? ←


→ Winning and Losing; Judging and Being Judged ←

→ Audience Response to Contemporary Classical Music and Marketing ←

→ Composition Issues (10-part series that started this blog) ←
1.1. The quality of ideas may not matter very much in assessing compositions that emerge from them; and
1.2. The degree to which these ideas are original may not matter very much.
2.1. Study the music of others.
2.2. Compose as much as you can.
2.3. Invite criticism from others.
3.1. Live with it for a while.
3.2. What is it about?
3.3. Does it change character?
3.4. What is its function within the context of the piece?
3.5. Structural Analysis.
3.6. Harmonic (or Pitch, Scale, etc.) Analysis.
7.1. Less is more / More is more
7.2. Always leave them wanting more / Give them what they want
7.3. Don't treat the listener like an idiot / There's a sucker born every minute
7.4. There can be too much of a good thing / If you have a good idea, then stick with it!
7.5. The George Costanza approach.
8.1. Three models for the role of a composer
8.2. Mastery or Mystery?
8.3. The value of a plan
8.4. Getting stuck, and possible workarounds
8.5. Don't obsess
8.6. Challenges = Opportunities

→ Composition Projects ←

Saturday, January 16, 2016

Blog Index — Organized by Topic (®Jan/2016)

Below is an index of most blogs posted thus far. Entries relating to class business – reminders of deadlines, concert congratulations, order of class presentation, etc. – are omitted.

Links are loosely organized by topic to facilitate browsing.


→ Exploring the Creative Process; Struggles and Solutions ←
Strike While the Iron is Hot! (includes section on "writer's block")

→ Planning ←

→ Playing With Expectations; Musical Dichotomies ←

→ Composition Techniques 

→ Form in Post-Tonal Music ←

→ Atonality; What's in a Name? ←


→ Winning and Losing; Judging and Being Judged ←

→ Audience Response to Contemporary Classical Music and Marketing ←

→ Composition Issues (10-part series that started this blog) ←
1.1. The quality of ideas may not matter very much in assessing compositions that emerge from them; and
1.2. The degree to which these ideas are original may not matter very much.
2.1. Study the music of others.
2.2. Compose as much as you can.
2.3. Invite criticism from others.
3.1. Live with it for a while.
3.2. What is it about?
3.3. Does it change character?
3.4. What is its function within the context of the piece?
3.5. Structural Analysis.
3.6. Harmonic (or Pitch, Scale, etc.) Analysis.
7.1. Less is more / More is more
7.2. Always leave them wanting more / Give them what they want
7.3. Don't treat the listener like an idiot / There's a sucker born every minute
7.4. There can be too much of a good thing / If you have a good idea, then stick with it!
7.5. The George Costanza approach.
8.1. Three models for the role of a composer
8.2. Mastery or Mystery?
8.3. The value of a plan
8.4. Getting stuck, and possible workarounds
8.5. Don't obsess
8.6. Challenges = Opportunities

→ Composition Projects ←

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Talent? Skill? What's the difference?

In my previous blog entry, I posed the question:

What about talent? Where does that fit in the makeup of a good composer?

Here is a definition for "talent," from the online Cambridge Advanced Learner's Dictionary:

A natural ability to be good at something, especially without being taught.

Other definitions often use the word "innate," meaning "something you are born with," which means the same thing in this context as "natural."  Some of the many areas in which people are sometimes said to have talent include:
  • Public speaking
  • Dance
  • Mathematics
  • Writing
  • Sports
  • Being funny
  • Chairing meetings
  • Music
But how could anyone possibly be born with a talent for chairing meetings? you might ask, possibly with some indignation After all, babies seemingly never actually chair meetings, at least when grown-ups are around (when grown-ups aren't around, who knows what they are up to?).

Since we tend not to see babies engaging in action such as chairing meetings, writing fiction or non-fiction, composing concertos, etc., how do we know if they are born with these talents?

It would seem very difficult to establish proof of talent in many of these areas in an infant; I would suggest that they generally become evident at later stages of development (c.f. Erickson's stages of psychosocial development), after an individual has had the opportunity to develop skills relating to these areas (talent in composition generally follows the development of skills as a musician, for example).

This leads me to propose the following:

Talent must be developed in order to be manifested.

However, something that has to be developed in order to be manifested sounds very much like a skill; how is talent different from skill?



Here is a definition of Skill in The American Heritage Dictionary:

Proficiency, facility, or dexterity that is acquired or developed through training or experience.

The essential difference, it would seem, is that talent is something we are are born with, while skill may in fact be related to an innate talent, but it must be developed.

But even this does not fully clarify the difference between talent and skill, because if talent is only manifested after at least some development, then how is it any different from skill, which is also manifested after development?

Some might argue that the difference is that a person with a particular talent would require less training to develop proficiency in that area than someone without that talent.

Perhaps this is true, but the speed with which one develops proficiency in an area is also highly dependent on other factors as well, such as motivation, environment, opportunity, and instruction. Someone of average talent might develop skill more quickly than an individual with greater talent, if the first person were more motivated, and/or had better teaching.

All of this leads me to wonder if it is possible to measure innate ability, and, if it cannot be measured, is it possible to prove that it even exists?

Let's explore that.



When we describe an individual as "talented," we often mean that they learn or develop particular skills very quickly, or do them very well, with seemingly less effort than someone else with seemingly less talent.

However, these things do not necessarily mean that an individual is talented; perhaps the so-called "talented" person learns particular things quickly or does them well because they have had more practice doing so.

Or perhaps some of the skills a person has developed in one area (e.g., bicycle racing) can be transferred to another (e.g., speed skating), and it is this that allows them to develop so quickly in the second area.

(Canadian Clara Hughes, who has won multiple medals in both the summer and winter Olympic games, is a great example of this kind of skill transference. Another example is Pierre Boulez, who quickly (while still in his twenties) established an international reputation as one of the leading composers of the Modernist era, but he has subsequently also become known as one of the leading conductors in the world.  Most of the "great" composers of classical music were also regarded as among the great performers of their time.)

As a teacher, it can be tempting to conclude that one student is more talented than another because of a difference in their rates of progress. However, because teachers have limited knowledge of their students prior to meeting them in the classroom or private studio, we do not actually know how much time students have spent developing skills in the areas in which we teach, or in cognate areas. Not only that, but we don't really know how hard students work outside of the classroom on the skills we teach, or how efficiently they are working.

While teachers often get a sense that some students seems to learn more easily or develop skills more quickly than others, the lack of information we have about their background, practice habits, and other impediments to learning (there are many circumstances in a student's personal life than can inhibit learning) gives us no basis on which to conclude that one student is any more talented than another.

A potential danger in drawing conclusions on the relative talent levels of our students when we don't really have a basis for doing so is that we might give in to the temptation of tailoring our teaching in some way to the "talented" students, perhaps because they respond better to our teaching, thereby ensuring that those who struggle continue to do so. Or, more generally, we might encourage the "talented" more than the "untalented."



Are you suggesting that there is no such thing as talent?

I am suggesting that we need to reexamine our assumptions of what talent is, whether there is any way of measuring it, and yes, even of whether there really is such a thing as talent (as opposed to skill, which is something that very clearly exists and that can be both developed and measured).

One way to prove the existence of talent would be to establish a control group of kids who all received identical upbringing, including parenting style and values, education, and training in the arts and sports, and then measure their achievement in the various areas in which they had been trained at regular intervals to see if some were to demonstrate a significant and lasting superiority to their peers in particular areas.

I'm not actually sure this would prove anything (other than being an impossible study to conduct from a practical standpoint, not to mention the ethical/legal impediments to establishing such a control group!), because you would have to factor motivation in there as well; people learn more easily when they are motivated to do so, and there it would seem unlikely that everyone from this hypothetical control group would have a similar level of motivation in all areas.

Another way — and this has the advantages of being both feasible and legal(!) — would be to study identical twins adopted into different families to see if one twin's significant strength in a particular area is matched by the other twin. I would guess studies like this have been done, and if I find any, I will report back on a later blog.

But what about Mozart? He must have been HUGELY talented to compose symphonies when he was only four years old!

Indeed, he would have been, but he wrote no symphonies (or any other type of music) when he was four. After Mozart's death, his sister, Nannerl, wrote: At the age of five he was already composing little pieces, which he played to his father who wrote them down (Deutsch 1965, p. 455).

There are several points to note from this statement:
  1. Nannerl was writing years after the fact, at a point when her late brother was widely acknowledged as a great composer — according to Wikipedia, Mozart's sparse funeral did not reflect his standing with the public as a composer: memorial services and concerts in Vienna and Prague were well attended. Indeed, in the period immediately after his death Mozart's reputation rose substantially: Solomon describes an "unprecedented wave of enthusiasm" (Solomon 1995, p. 499) for his work; biographies were written (first by Schlichtegroll, Niemetschek, and Nissen); and publishers vied to produce complete editions of his works.

    Nannerl also wrote that upon meeting her brother and becoming familiar with his music in 1781, Joseph Haydn said to Mozart's father: I tell you before God, and as an honest man, your son is the greatest composer known to me by person and repute; he has taste, and what is more, the greatest skill in composition (Deutsch 1965, pp. 461–462). It seems likely that Nannerl's goal in writing these statements was to document (and perhaps even embellish) her brother's greatness, and, as such, it is difficult to know how historically accurate they are.

    In any event, that Mozart became a great composer as an adult after having been a precociously-skilled child is not in question (at least by most people familiar with his music; Glenn Gould famously felt otherwise, arguing that Mozart died too late rather than too early (Ostwald 1997, p. 249)). What is less certain is the degree to which his youthful compositional efforts were aided by his father.

  2. Nannerl mentions her brother composing "little pieces." Not symphonies. Now, admittedly, composing little minuets at the age of five (or six, some historians maintain) is pretty darn special, but did these little pieces contain the seeds of greatness he would later achieve as a composer? Or, put another way, there have been (and continue to be) many highly-precocious young kids in the world whose impressive early achievements might have been comparable in some way to Mozart's, but very few of them have come anywhere close to achieving what Mozart did as an adult. Mozart's place in music history was achieved on the basis of his compositional work as an adult, not as a child.

  3. "... which he played to his father, who wrote them down." His father, Leopold (1719–1787), was a highly-accomplished musician himself — he was deputy Kapellmeister to the court orchestra of the Archbishop of Salzburg, as well as a composer and an experienced teacher. If young Wolfgang played mistakes (parallel fifths, doubled leading tones, etc.) in his childhood compositions, might Leopold have corrected them in the process of transcribing them to music manuscript? Given that he was an experienced teacher (and his son's greatest advocate, AKA a "stage parent"), it seems likely that Leopold would have pointed out mistakes and ways of improving these little pieces.

    It is presumably for these reasons that the symphonies listed as #2 and #3 by Mozart are now listed as "spurious," with #2 thought to have been composed by Leopold.

    In any event, the point here is that it is hard to know the degree to which Mozart's early compositional efforts were aided by his father, and it is therefore at least possible that some of what we attribute to "pure genius" or "natural talent" on the part of Mozart can be attributed to the help received from his father.

  4. And finally, although you and I were probably not composing little pieces for the piano at the age of five, we also did not have Leopold Mozart as our dad. Leopold published a treatise on violin playing the year that Wolfgang was born, and taught both of his children how to play violin and piano at remarkably early ages. He also assembled books of compositions from which to learn piano (and perhaps composition as well) for both of his children (Blom, p.11). Mozart was home-schooled by his father, and this home-schooling included much musical training. Leopold's desire to show off the skills of his children (did I mention he was a stage-dad?) is obvious from the frequent tours to perform for European royalty that began when Wolfgang was six. Given his skills as both a musician and teacher of music, and his evident desire for his children to excel at music and be recognized for it, it seems at least possible that other children growing up in that environment might also have been "composing little pieces" at remarkably early ages.

    To what degree were Wolfgang Mozart's childhood accomplishments the result of the intensive musical training he received, and to what degree were they a product of his musical gift or innate talent?



Postscript: After writing the above, I was reading Outliers — The Story of Success, by Malcolm Gladwell – mainly because I wanted to learn more about the so-called "10,000 hour rule" discussed in my Inspiration, Perspiration, and Perspicacity blog of about a month ago – and found this quote from Genius Explained, by the late British cognitive psychologist Michael Howe:
... by the standards of mature composers, Mozart's early works are not outstanding. The earliest pieces were all probably written down by his father, and perhaps improved in the process. Many of Wolfgang's childhood compositions, such as the first seven of his concertos piano and orchestra, are largely arrangements of works by other composers. Of those concertos that only contain music original to Mozart, the earliest that is now regarded as a masterwork (No. 9, K. 271) was not composed until he was twenty-one: by that time Mozart had already been composing concertos for ten years (Howe, p. 3).
The music critic Harold Schonberg goes even further:
It is strange to say of a composer who started writing at six, and lived only thirty-six years, that he developed late, but that is the truth. Few of Mozart's early works, elegant as they are, have the personality , concentration, and richness that entered his music after 1781" [the year he turned 25]. (Lives of the Great Composers, Part 2, p. 103)
We can become so caught up in the mystification of genius that we overlook the fact that any person of significant accomplishment, even those we call geniuses, achieved what they did through protracted hard work.

I will conclude by returning to the question posed at the outset: Where does talent fit in the makeup of a good composer?

It's hard to say. I'm not prepared to say there is no such thing as talent, but I will suggest the following:
  • If there is such a thing as talent, it needs to be developed in order to be manifested;

  • Skill clearly exists, and can be developed through good training;

  • Skill is measurable, but if someone has come up with a way of measuring talent as an independent quality from skill, I don't know of it;

  • I see no benefit in concerning yourself with the issue of how talented you are, or whether you possess enough "raw" talent to achieve greatness. If you focus on developing your skills, and, if you work both diligently and intelligently over a sufficiently long period, you will become highly skilled. 

  •  If you become highly skilled, AND continue to work hard and intelligently you may distinguish yourself in your field, but achieving publicly-recognized success is dependent on factors that may have nothing to do with talent or skill!

  • Perhaps the main reason everyone who sets out to become highly skilled does not succeed in doing so is that many loose their motivation somewhere along the way.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Is Originality a Detriment in Art?

I think originality is an essential element in art, but in my previous entry I suggested that there are many examples of great art in which the degree of originality is arguably not very high, but this does not seem to detract from the value of this art, or its impact on us.

Today I will go a step further and suggest that originality, and the power of art to move us, may exist in a kind of inverse relationship; that is, a groundbreaking, highly original work of art may be less likely to move us than a work that uses techniques and conventions with which we are familiar, albeit in a somewhat original way. Or, put another way, if someone makes up a beautiful poem in Klingon language, most of us are unlikely to be moved by it unless we know Klingon. Which, alas, I do not.

But first an explanation of why this topic interests me.

I [used to] post my music at MacJams.com, a site where anyone can could upload their music for the purposes of getting feedback from others. I liked it a lot; it is was a very welcoming to people who make the effort to be involved, which I suspect is true of all on-line communities. [MacJams ceased to exist around 2015. ]

In addition to written comments, you can could also vote on others’ music (although some artists chose to disable this option for their submissions, preferring to receive comments only and not votes). The voting system goes from 1 to 10 in four categories, one of which is “originality/creativity,” which is explained as follows: “Has this artist created something unique or pushed the musical boundaries?”

The answer to this question is clearly “no” for every piece I have ever heard there, including my own music, if one understands “unique” to mean "highly unusual or rare," "the single one of its kind," or "radically distinctive and without equal" (definitions I found at OneLook.com). Fear not, gentle reader; I do did not therefore go around MacJams giving scores of “1” in this category. I do did what I suspect most voters do did; I give gave high scores to music that doesn’t didn't sound too much like a blatant rip-off of something else, and medium scores to music that does did. Being Canadian, my genetics prevent prevented me from giving low scores.

In any event, the existence of this voting category at MacJams got me thinking about the meaning of “originality/creativity” (which I see as two separate categories, by the way, but that is a discussion for another day) and the importance of originality in the evaluation or creation of art.

Other reasons that this topic interests me are that (a) I am a composer, and it’s an issue that is on my mind whenever I write music, and (b) I am a composition teacher, and an idea that I try to communicate to students is that being overly concerned with the originality of one's creations may be dangerous, because it can lead to extreme self-censorship, i.e., not continuing any musical ideas because, upon reflection, they are not original enough.

On the other hand, it seems to me that at least some originality is essential if one does not wish to write music that sounds too much like somebody else's. As with so many other things in life, it comes down to a question of balance.

And so, to answer the question posed in today's blog entry, originality, by which I mean the quality of uniqueness, being significantly unlike anything else that exists, can be a detriment in art if one of the goals of the artist is to express something that others can understand. In spite of this, it is an essential aspect of art. Perhaps it can be said that a little goes a long way, but too little goes nowhere at all!

Saturday, February 7, 2009

Group Composition Lessons - Pros and Cons

Learning composition in a class format has its plusses and minuses. I've been thinking about this for a while, so I thought I would try to list a few, and ask for your thoughts on the issue.

Plusses:
  • Students get to hear each other's work on a weekly basis, which can create a sense of shared mission, and can foster a supportive and positive learning environment.
  • Hearing others' works in progress can give us ideas we can use in our own compositions.
  • Commenting on the works of others can help develop critiquing skills, and the more developed these are, the better we can critique our own music.
  • Students can draw upon classmates' performance skills to arrange readings of works in progress, and to get tips on how to write idiomatically or use extended performance techniques for the instruments they play.
  • Feedback given to any particular student is often relevant to other students.
  • It gives students multiple perspectives on their compositions, which, since perspective about one's own creations is easy to lose, is particularly valuable.
Minuses:
  • There is less time for individual feedback.
  • It makes it harder to deal with details, and, as I think everyone understands by now, details are of tremendous importance in composing music.
  • The peer feedback process works really well when you get useful feedback, but it works less well when people either don't comment, or don't feel comfortable saying anything 'critical' about others' work.


Any other plusses and minuses you can think of?

What do you think of the the group composition class format?

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Running into a Brick Wall

"Running into a brick wall" is, in this case, a metaphor for getting stuck, something that everyone who has tried to create something (music, books, art, science, relationships, etc.) has probably experienced. Things may be proceeding swimmingly (i.e., smoothly) up to a point when you suddenly hit a proverbial wall. You feel stuck; you've tried x, y, and z, but none of them worked, and you feel at a loss as to how to proceed.

I wrote about this in part 8 of my "Composition Issues" series that I posted last August, and, because I know that at least one of you is feeling stuck right now, I thought I would revisit and significantly expand the part of my earlier blog post that deals with this issue:

There is no "one size fits all" solution for when you are stuck, so you may need to try several approaches until you discover one (or more) that helps you get out of your predicament. Here are some options to consider:
  1. The "boot camp" approach: Suck it up, cupcake! Call upon your inner Rocky Mountain Bighorn and RAM that brick wall repeatedly until you break through! The main requirements for this are stubbornness on an epic scale and an extremely hard head, ideally equipped with ram horns and a concussion-proof skull. The upside is that it sometimes works! The downside is that it can lead to even greater frustration, which may make you feel like dumping the entire piece into the trash, which I strongly discourage. However, this "extreme stubbornness" approach can work, and it has worked for me at times, such as this: I had written about 30-40 seconds of a solo piano piece that I really liked, but no matter what I tried, I couldn't figure out a good way to continue the piece. I would revisit the piece periodically, until finally, ten years after I came up with the opening idea, I managed to "bull" my way past the section that had become an impediment, and I finished the piece about 2-3 months later. It became one of my all-time favourite pieces, and it has been played by a variety of pianists in different countries, including multiple venues in Japan, and at Carnegie Hall in New York.  It is "Dream Dance," if you want to check it out. 
  2. When feeling stuck, we tend to focus our energies on getting unstuck from that point forwards. If we get stuck at bar 100, for example, we tend to spend days trying to progress past bar 100 in a way that makes musical sense. It may be, however, that the root of the problem occurred much earlier in the composition; we may need to go back several pages to identify the point where things began to go awry – such as bar 70 – and write a new continuation that improves the piece from that point forwards. We may need to scrap (or at least set aside) several pages of music, but it will be worth doing if it results in a better piece. And sometimes the music you removed turns out to fit nicely in a different section, or even in a different piece.
  3. Analyze your music. We learn analytical tools to help us understand music better, but how often do you analyze your own music? You might be surprised at how often composers don't fully understand their own music until they analyze it. The composition process is inherently subjective, which makes it easy to lose perspective on your composition, but analysis forces us to think more objectively about it. Don't just browse the score to figure out where the major sections are; do a full structural analysis that includes pitch centres, cadence points and types, phrase structure, musical character, and formal structure.
  4. Did you start with a plan? If not, now would be a good time to make one. A good starting point would be to analyze what you have written, then make your plan based on that. Plans can definitely be useful, but don't be afraid to change them as you go. In fact, it may be that we are stuck because the music we want to write at a particular point in the piece does not fit with the plan. In that case, change the plan.
  5. Take a break – do something else for a while. Frequently all we need is a different perspective, which may be gained by simply not thinking about the piece for a couple of days.
  6. Exercise. This is one of the things you can do while taking a break. Some scientists suggest that strenuous exercise releases endorphins in the brain that make us feel better. And if you feel better, you might be able to think more clearly about how to get out of the 'writer's block' that you are experiencing. The exercise does not have to be strenuous; many composers kept diaries in which they described taking long walks every day as a way to clear the mind. 
  7. Lower the bar! Stop trying to write great (or even good) music! We can sometimes put too much pressure on ourselves when we do that. You may have to lower your level of expectations in order to finish the piece. You can always return to your composition later if you wish, and improve sections that are less than you feel they could or should be. But frankly, my advice is generally to finish the piece, and then move on to your next piece; your tenth composition will likely be better than your first one, or your first few, but you won't get to your tenth composition until you finish the first nine! Beethoven's first published works, the three Opus 1 piano trios, were not his first compositions; he had written over one hundred works before that. Nobody ever started out writing great music; it takes time to become a good composer.

    Beethoven's Opus 1; clearly not his first rodeo

  8. MEET YOUR DEADLINE, NO MATTER WHAT! This is, or at least can be, related to the previous point. You are on the verge of panicking because a deadline is imminent, and you feel that if you blow it, YOU WILL NEVER WORK IN THIS TOWN AGAIN! Perhaps missing one deadline will not necessarily torpedo one's career, but below are a couple of scenarios that are possible:
    1. If you are a student, some professors may give you a mark of zero if you miss a deadline, while others may impose a less Draconian penalty, such as a grade reduction of 10- 20%; you will not be forcibly removed from your Institution of Higher Learning for missing one deadline, of course. But even so, being penalized for missing a deadline is something that most of us would prefer to avoid.
    2. If writing for professionals, or even non-professionals who have asked you to write something for an upcoming concert, missing a composition deadline is very bad form. The musicians (a) may decide against playing your piece if and when you finally manage to finish it, and (b) may not ever ask you to write something for them again, because you have added the stress of having to quickly reprogram their concert at the last minute, and any printed materials such as programmes and posters will need to be changed. And, if you develop a reputation for missing deadlines, it's a pretty safe bet that others will not ask to compose music for them either.

    Neither of these situations is one that any of us would want to experience, obviously, so what I have done on at least two occasions that I can think of is this: Work like an obsessed crazy person for days on end, writing as much music as possible, all the while asking myself a simple question: Is it okay, or isn't it? If my answer is "yes," or "maybe… I guess so?" then I keep it and move onto the next part of my piece. If my answer is "no," or "this isn't terrible, but it kind of sucks!" then I try to improve it before moving on, or I set it aside and move on with the plan to return to the problem section later.

    But I avoid asking myself if it's great, or, if it's good, then how can I make it better – both of which I constantly ask myself during my normal composition process if a deadline is not imminent – because doing so slows everything down, and the consequences of missing a deadline greatly outweigh the consequences of completing a piece on time that might have been slightly better if I had spent more time on it. And for me, the most surprising thing about going through this process was that in both cases, I actually felt pretty good about the compositions when I had finished, and I continue to be happy with them.
  9. Stop listening, and start imagining. Or, more precisely, stop relying on the playback capability of Finale or Sibelius to give you a sense of what's going on in your piece. Try not playing back your music for a day, then two days, then longer, if possible (it's tough to do; most of us are addicted to MIDI playback!), and see what difference it makes. It may cause you to think more about motivic relationships, or you may begin paying more attention to structure, or set theory, or gestures... You will almost certainly start to think of your piece in a different way if you try this. (This suggestion courtesy of Andrew Staniland.)
  10. Perspective; use it or lose it. This is a quote from a Richard Bach book (Illusions), and my point in mentioning it here is that perhaps the most common reason that we get stuck is that the subjective nature of the composition process makes it remarkably easy to to lose perspective on our own creations. All of the above suggestions (except the first) are ways of overcoming this loss of perspective.

    Another way of gaining perspective on your music is to play it for others (your teacher, another teacher, your classmates, a non-musician) to see what they might suggest — but make it clear that you REALLY want their honest reactions/suggestions, as opposed to a pat on the back. While it can be encouraging to receive compliments on your music, sometimes what we need most is an honest critique. I have received some great suggestions about my music from my wife, who is not a musician. Not all feedback you receive will be equally useful, but even suggestions you reject (or comments with which you disagree) are sometimes helpful if they cause you to reconsider some aspect of your composition, and if doing so makes the piece better. Part of making good decisions is discerning when to take advice and when to reject it.
  11. Listen to other compositions that are in some way similar to yours. If you are writing a string quartet, listen to a few different models and study the scores as you do so. If you are writing for a non-standard collection of instruments, just listen to different examples of chamber music while studying the scores if possible. The models don't have to be of music composed in the last 50 years, but it probably would help if some were. Or just listen to any music, even if it has nothing to do with what you are writing; you may get some ideas that way.
  12. Look at an orchestration textbook. Orchestration texts have information about the capabilities of every orchestral instrument, often including contemporary extended techniques, some of which you may wish to try.  In addition, there is usually information about writing idiomatically for instruments, different articulation possibilities. etc., all of which can be inspire ideas for your own compositions.
  13. Stop the piece you are writing and start again. This is a pretty extreme option if you have already invested a lot of time in the composition — after all, you are almost guaranteed to get stuck at some point, especially in a longer composition, and if your default response is to scrap it all and start again you are unlikely to complete very many compositions — but if you are in the early stages of a work, a fresh start may get you back on track.

Never throw your rejected ideas away; I recommend keeping a compositional "blue box" (recycling bin) for ideas that didn't get very far.
At some later point, when you are in a different frame of mind, you may be able to browse through your recycling bin and find a compositional fragment that inspires you to complete it, or to use it in a completely different composition. I once tried this approach in a piece called Memory Quilt (1999), in which I began by laying out a some compositional fragments from earlier projects that I liked but had never used, and then I experimentally combined them in different ways until I found a result that I liked. I also composed a significant amount of new material based on the musical fragments to give cohesiveness and organicism to the overall musical structure.

One of the worst cases of "running into a brick wall" I ever experienced took place a long time ago, when I abandoned a composition that I had spent about 6 months writing; I had about fifteen minutes of ready-to-perform music written, but it was during a particularly low period in my life and I could not figure out how to finish it. I then started a new and completely different piece ("Steppin' Out") that I finished in about a month. I have never been able to bring myself to even look at the abandoned piece again; too many traumatic memories.

Getting stuck is common, so perhaps the most important thing to remember is that it is a normal part of the creative process. If you can learn to take it in stride you are less likely to stay stuck for very long.

Sometimes, the solution(s) you come up with to being stuck end up being the the most inspired part of your composition. Here is an axiom that may sound trite or corny, but it is true, or at least it is if you allow yourself to see things this way:
Challenges present opportunities for inspired solutions.