Nearly every night at about 2:00 a.m., I can hear the distant sound of a train whistle drifting through my open doors and windows. It always has the most profoundly melancholy effect on me—especially if I’m writing at the time (which I often am). And as an author who often uses sound for effects, I usually can’t help stopping and wondering exactly why.

I know, for example, that most train whistles are keyed to a minor chord, giving them a melancholic quality. I’ve also learned that steam engine whistles tend to waver in pitch, giving them a sort of wailing effect. It’s almost like hearing the forlorn cry of a lone animal in the dark—maybe something we can all relate to in some way.

Then, of course, there’s the association with saying goodbye to someone, and of long, uncertain journeys before modern communication was so readily available. Old movies, learned behavior, or genetic memory perhaps?

You don’t need to be an author to feel this way, but there is the fact that the writing life, by necessity, has a certain lonely aspect to it…that no matter how many people or how much love you might be surrounded by, when it comes to the writing, to making that story real, you’re a creature wandering alone in the darkness, trying to find your way.

Who knows…maybe that’s why that whistle makes such a striking impression on me, especially when I’m writing in the long hours before dawn.
Kindred spirits.