Art & Creativity Quote by Harlan Howard

Songwriting isn’t a lightning bolt; it’s reps. Harlan Howard’s “pencil sharpeners” line strips the romance off creativity with a musician’s shrug and a craftsperson’s honesty. The intent is almost corrective: to tell young writers that most output isn’t meant to be immortal, it’s meant to make your hand steadier. Calling songs “exercise” demotes them on purpose, not out of cynicism but out of respect for the work. You don’t get to the three-minute miracle without burning through a pile of almost-right verses.

The subtext is a quiet permission slip. If a song doesn’t “matter,” it can still be useful: it teaches you how a melody sits against a line, how to land a title, how to cut the fat. “Pencil sharpeners” is especially revealing because it’s tactile and unglamorous. It suggests that writing is partly maintenance, partly preparation for the moment when you do have something sharp to say. The metaphor also implies waste you shouldn’t mourn: shavings on the floor are evidence you’re doing it.

Context matters: Howard came out of the mid-century Nashville machine, where productivity wasn’t optional and the bar was clarity. This is the voice of someone who lived inside deadlines, co-writes, and publishers, where craft beats mystique. He’s also defending the ordinary song - the one that won’t make the greatest-hits setlist - as the invisible scaffolding that holds the “real” work up.