I’ve had many thoughts and feelings the past few days. I think a lot of people have. Plenty of anxiety and shock and sadness and fear. But then I started to feel something else. Something bright and sharp, like a newly whetted knife as light gleams off it or the leap of a flame as it catches kindling. It’s not hate. No, hate kills, and I’ve no interest in that. It’s more like purpose, like a certainty.

I’m no great orator. I’m not physically imposing or someone you’d expect to survive a fistfight. But I am a creator.

My words are my weapon. My songs, a balm to the hopeless. I will not be afraid, because I am in the company of the greats, among the artists and creators, the dreamers and music-makers, the movers and shakers.

I will use my stories to tell truths out of lies and to…