How Many Marriages Do You Have to Go Through to Be a Good Songwriter?

here ought to be a warning label on a songwriter:

May cause marriage, divorce, heartbreak, drinking, bad decisions, and eventually a pretty good chorus.

So how many marriages do you have to go through before you become a good songwriter?

Technically, none.

But apparently some songwriters like to do extra research.

Country music has always been built around real life. Love, marriage, cheating, divorce, loneliness, forgiveness, regret, and that wonderful moment when somebody drives away and leaves you standing there wondering who gets the dog.

That’s songwriting material.

Marriage Number One: You’re Still Writing Love Songs

The first time around, you’re optimistic.

You write:

“I’ll love you forever.”

Everything rhymes with heart, start, and apart.

You believe every word.

Then somebody says, “We need to talk.”

Suddenly you’ve got an album.

Marriage Number Two: Your Lyrics Get Better

Now you’ve learned something.

You don’t write:

“Our love will never end.”

You write:

“Our love will probably make it through Tuesday.”

That’s called maturity.

You’re beginning to understand that the best songs aren’t necessarily about perfect relationships. They’re about imperfect people trying to make relationships work.

Sometimes they succeed.

Sometimes they don’t.

Either way, the songwriter wins.

There’s a song in it.

Marriage Number Three: Now You’re a Country Songwriter

By the third marriage, you understand country music.

You know what an attorney costs.

You know what an empty house sounds like.

You know that “I’m fine” almost never means anybody is fine.

Most importantly, you’ve learned that there are two sides to every breakup—and unfortunately your ex has been telling everybody hers.

Now you’re writing from experience.

Verse one: She left.

Verse two: Here’s why she left.

Bridge: Maybe I deserved it.

Chorus: She still shouldn’t have taken my damn guitar.

Now we’re getting somewhere.

Marriage Number Four: You’re an Outlaw Songwriter

At this point you stop blaming everybody else.

That’s when the songs can become interesting.

A young songwriter might write:

“She broke my heart.”

An older songwriter might write:

“I handed her the hammer.”

That’s a much better line.

Experience teaches you that heartbreak usually isn’t simple. Good people screw up. Bad people occasionally do something good. Two people can love each other and still drive each other absolutely insane.

That’s where good songs live—in the gray areas.

Do You Actually Need to Get Divorced?

Absolutely not.

Please don’t tell your spouse:

“Honey, ChatGPT says I need another divorce for my songwriting career.”

That’s going to be difficult to explain.

You don’t need four marriages, three divorces, two restraining orders, and a bartender who knows your Social Security number to write a great country song.

What you need is life experience and observation.

You can write about something you lived through.

You can write about something somebody else lived through.

You can even invent the whole damn thing.

The important part is making the listener believe it.

Heartbreak Doesn’t Automatically Make You Talented

Getting divorced doesn’t make somebody a songwriter any more than owning a hammer makes somebody a carpenter.

You still have to learn the craft.

Structure matters.

Melody matters.

Hooks matter.

Knowing which words to leave out matters.

And one of the hardest lessons in songwriting is learning that your personal story may be fascinating to you but boring as hell to everybody else.

A songwriter has to turn personal experience into a universal emotion.

The listener shouldn’t only hear your divorce.

They should remember their divorce.

That’s when you’ve written a song.

So What’s the Correct Number of Marriages?

Let’s establish the official songwriting scale:

Zero marriages: You can still be a great songwriter.

One marriage: Plenty of material.

Two marriages: You’re getting suspiciously qualified.

Three marriages: Nashville may start returning your calls.

Four marriages: Forget the songwriting award. You need a good accountant.

Five marriages: Just buy a recording studio. It’ll probably be cheaper.

The truth is, great songwriting doesn’t come from the number of people you’ve married.

It comes from paying attention while you’re alive.

Fall in love.

Get your heart broken.

Make mistakes.

Watch other people make bigger mistakes.

Laugh about some of it.

Regret some of it.

And remember the good lines.

Because sooner or later somebody is going to slam a door, and the songwriter in the room is going to think:

Damn. There’s my chorus.