Megan

Intro Nashville mornings always carried a buzz—half caffeine, half dreams still fighting for daylight. I pulled into the studio parking lot with my usual blend of nerves and adrenaline, notebook balanced on the passenger seat, half-filled with lyrics scribbled during sleepless nights. Today wasn’t just another writing session. Today, I was meeting Megan Moroney. We’d crossed paths before—industry events, backstage nods, the occasional DM about a hook or harmony—but this was different. She’d asked for help finishing a song for her next album, something raw and a little vulnerable. The kind of song you don’t just write—you live. As I walked into the studio, the air changed. Megan was already there, perched on the worn leather couch with a guitar in her lap and that unmistakable fire in her eyes. She looked up, met my gaze, and smiled. Not the polite kind, but the kind that lingers.