Dear Hans Zimmer, John Williams, Ramin Djawadi, Howard Shore, Thomas Newton Howard, and countless other film score composers,

Though I have never met any of you, your works have enlivened my life since my early childhood. For as long as I can remember, music I heard growing up overflowed with film scores and theme. Even as I sit here writing to you, I hear Ramin’s “Light of the Seven” fill my room, an eerie echo reverberating through the hallway.

I must begin where it all began: the soundtrack of Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron. Quite different from his most well-known works, this film score is my favorite by Hans Zimmer. As my first CD ever, this beautiful collaboration between Hans Zimmer and Brian Adams filled my days. I memorized every note of every song; I can even tell you exactly what scene occurs during which melody. That was nearly 13 years ago, and I still have the soundtrack, playing the CD in the car when commercials monopolize the radio. As I cruised past the browning corn and changing leaves on my way back to college, I couldn’t keep my eyes from welling up when “Homeland” played. This opening scene sweeps over majestic forests abutting spewing hot springs and culminates as wild horses stampede across the plains. This particular track always ignites a sense of adventure and a freedom of spirit that makes my soul long to soar.

Another one of my favorite childhood memories growing up regularly occurred in the evenings during my dad’s last few months of work on his PhD. On multiple occasions, we played “Pomp and Circumstance,” the classic graduation piece, to encourage my dad as he edited his dissertation. The following song on the CD: the march from "Raiders of the Lost Ark" by the legendary John Williams. When the fanfare of trumpets would erupt at the start of the march, my brothers and I would march through the hallways and parade throughout the house, each of us miming a different instrument. To this day, the “Raiders” march reminds me of not only a fantastic and classic film, but also reminds me of my dad and those nights when we bolstered him on and celebrated his diligence.

Klaus Badelt’s famous trio of “The Medallion Calls”, “The Black Pearl”, and “He’s A Pirate” reminds me of the two years I played in my high school’s pep band. Howard Shore’s “The Lighting of the Beacons” from "The Lord of the Rings" scores carry my right back to New Zealand, where I spent four months studying abroad. I could share moment upon moment in which a piece from a film or TV show molded my life, cementing that experience into memory.

What you do with music is more than simply writing the background music to fill in those awkward, silent moments in films and television shows, or even the awkward, silent moments felt by those watching the films or television shows. Your music brings stories to life, engendering the deepest emotions from within the listeners. John Williams’ theme from Schindler’s List evokes solemnity and penitence from listeners; Harry Gregson-Williams’ “The Battle” from "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" bolsters our courage and confidence; Alan Silvestri’s “Suite from Forrest Gump” leaves listeners wistfully daydreaming of sunny afternoons, unconditional friendship, and a box of chocolates. Melodies and motifs capture far more than a cinematic scene. The music extends from the screen, enveloping those watching and inexplicably relating us to the characters. No one leaves a film untouched by your music, whether he or she realizes it or not. You touch the lives of billions of people simply by creating music to fill the world of a film or show.

I am, perhaps, rather unique in the fact that I play film and TV show scores given the opportunity to choose music to play while baking, exercising, reading, studying, or eating dinner. These pieces of film score have become more than simply a dramatic moment from a favorite movie or TV show. For me, the score for the movie becomes the score for my life. Michael Giacchino's "100 Mile Dash" from "The Incredibles" motivates me while on a run, and Thomas Newman's score from "Finding Nemo" lilts through my head while I labor over homework. Just as music augments the moments captured in movies or TV shows, film scores animate my daily routine.

When all is said and done, I just want to express my gratitude for creating the timeless masterpieces that move me to tears, brightening my day with beautiful melodies and cacophonous fanfares, and contributing scores of music that become integral, priceless pieces of memory.

Because silence and brevity can be equally as powerful as crescendo and dissonance, I have but two words to close:

Thank you.