Monday Mood: Start Soft, Burn Slow

By: Violet McCleod, Madeline

I used to think Mondays had to mean momentum. Like if I didn’t start the week sprinting, I’d never catch up. If I didn’t fill my planner, check off a task, or post something brilliant before noon, the whole week was wasted. But lately, I’ve been wondering what happens if we start from stillness instead. Not laziness. Not avoidance. Just presence. Just breath.

What if you don’t need a plan today? What if you don’t even need to be productive? Maybe you just need to feel your feet on the floor. Maybe you just need your tea a little hotter, your inbox a little quieter, your thoughts a little kinder. That doesn’t mean you’re not showing up. It means you’re showing up without sacrificing your softness at the door.

Some fires start as explosions. Some start with a spark. But some—the good ones, the long-burning ones—begin as embers. Low and glowing. Steady heat. They don’t demand attention, but they hold their own. I think there’s power in that kind of start. The kind that doesn’t rush. The kind that builds slowly and deliberately, refusing to burn out just to burn bright.

So if all you’ve done this morning is exist, you’ve done enough. If you haven’t made the to-do list, if you haven’t answered the messages, if you’re still figuring out what this week is even about—that’s not failure. That’s the ember phase. And it’s just as sacred as the wildfire.

You don’t have to conquer the week. You just have to begin it, gently. And that counts. Start soft. Burn slow.

"Shattered Constellation" - Original Composition (Doctor Who: Starlit Saga)

I may not be able to fluently play piano just yet, but I certainly like to write for it. It’s a fundamentally perfect sketching tool for orchestra writing, and I always enjoy starting with it. However, what it typically means is that I start with a melody or rhythm on a very basic level so I can expand on it as I go.

“Shattered Constellation,” or MI01, was one of these sketches. I wrote the original piano demo all the way back in June of 2023 and let it simmer until early 2024, which is when I arranged it for orchestra. It was then released almost another year later with its corresponding album. It was one of the more sizable journeys for a piece like this that I’ve experienced, but it was certainly well worth it in the end.

Unlike some of the sketches I do, this one still has the original piano skeleton inside it. The very first bit of it I wrote, a wild and kind of wacky piano escalation, is still the first thing that can be heard when the song plays. I didn’t know what I wanted to accomplish with the song as a whole, I started with that and let it build naturally from there. It wasn’t the destination that made the piece work in the end; despite the many months between points of progress on this piece, the starting point was all I needed to keep going.

Thank you for reading! Ember & Ink is a reader-supported publication.

Please consider supporting us on Ko-Fi.

We are also available for marketing, design, and voice work services.