Mean Little Monsters

Mean Little Monsters Table of Contents

I needed something unexpected. Funny. A little mischievous. A lot dramatic.

I've always wanted to have some Attention Grabber Halloween pieces, and this is the suite of three pieces I wrote to fill that niche. I've taught it to almost all of my students in the past few weeks and every one of them loved it. I have no idea what will happen on the Halloween recital. It may come to blows. Will someone try to Jinx it? Will someone use Belladonna? Will it be a Calamity?

Those, of course, are the titles of the three pieces in the Suite. 

Do you need something fresh and out-of-the-ordinary? Do you like my Attention Grabbers?

Mean Little Monsters (Studio License) is available for instant download here. Enjoy!

Watch me play the entire suite below:

How I Create my Studio Calendar

Hi Diane,
I'm a piano teacher in Orange County and have been working on building a website for my studio. I really love the calendar feature of your website because it is very clear and easy to make sure all the students receive the same number of lessons. Would you mind sharing with me which calendar you use? Thank you for your help.


I create my studio calendar using  google docs. I exported the document as a pdf and put it up on my website. (Full disclosure, I had to turn it into a jpeg to post it to my site.)

I made mine look a little fancy by using a cool site called that you might enjoy exploring. If you don't want to be this ambitious, just download your calendar as a pdf. You can print it and hand it out to your students if you don't have a website of your own. 

Here's a link to my 2017/2018 calendar. This should be an editable copy, so please feel free to use and modify as you need. Under the pull-down "File" menu, simply "Make a Copy" and you can then edit your personal copy to suit your own needs. 

Click here for a video about teaching slurs using role reversal AND some Halloween music inspiration!

First Lesson in Sight Reading

It's never too early to start being a good sight reader.

Sight reading is all about getting rid of those little voices inside your head that say, "Is this actually an F? I'm probably wrong." It's all about getting an automatic keyboard response to the visual cue of the music.

This is a short video I shot of my student, Natalie, working for the first time on my Sightreading Flashcards. This shows us working on the very first set—just reading landmark notes in quarter and half notes. It is simple, but challenging for a young student. 

Be sure to watch to the end where there's a little extra footage of a surprise at her lesson the week before. Enjoy!

Get your copy of Diane Hidy's Sight Reading Flashcards here.

too loud, too bright, too fast, too tight

Have you ever taught a kid who arrived to each lesson with an enormous, wet, wrinkly ring around the neck of his shirt because he'd chewed on it all day at school? Have you ever had a sweater that you loved but never wore because of that little scratchy place on the inside of the right sleeve? Do you always cut the tags out of clothing?

These are sensory issues. Each person on the planet falls somewhere on the continuum of sensory processing abilities and sensitivities.  You may have even said something like "I hate fingernails on a blackboard!" or "It drives me crazy to have hear someone chewing ice." 

"Water, no ice," my friend, Keith, orders in a restaurant. "I like my coffee HOT," my mother will say. We each have "our" coffee mug. You may think it's "your mug" because someone special gave it to you, but I'll bet that you also like it because of the feel of the handle, its size, shape and weight.

As adults, we think of these as preferences. Because we've gained some control of our lives, we can often avoid situations that make us uncomfortable. If we can't avoid them, we can sometimes control them because we're in charge. ("Johnny, stop it with the fingernails on the blackboard!")

Lace anklets like this drove me crazy as a child.

Lace anklets like this drove me crazy as a child.

It wasn't always that way. We weren't always the grown-ups. It was uncomfortable for some of us, for others it was agony. I lived somewhere in between. I still remember being seven years old. My mother splurged and bought me white lace anklet socks. They were wonderful. Until they slipped down under my heels into my saddle shoes. They drove me insane walking home from school that day and I never wore them again. Fifty years later I still vividly remember the sensation of walking up the front stairs of my house with the socks scrunched up under the arch of my foot.

I was at a party last night chatting with my violin teacher friend, Elise. She asked me to help her learn some basics about Occupational Therapy. She said she has students with physical challenges and wondered if I could help her learn about ways to help them. This page is for her and perhaps for you, too.

Occupational therapy sounds like something your mother thinks makes you do because you won't make it through college. "Sign up for that Occupational Therapy and maybe they'll come up with an Occupation you can do." 

It isn't. Occupational Therapy (OT) is an almost magical field that helps children learn better.

A good Occupational Therapist can be a godsend to kids with issues. Even a basic working knowledge of OT is helpful for anyone working with children. It's especially useful for working with kids with sensory processing issues. The autism community has done us a great service by putting information in our hands that helps all children, neurotypical kids and less typical ones. The longer I teach, the less I believe there even is such a thing as a neurotypical kid. 

Each person needs a different mix of sensory input to feel comfortable. I find eating tiny wintergreen mints helps me stay alert when I'm teaching. My daughter will chew on the inside of her cheek (just like MY mother did - wonder if that's genetic?) unless she has gum to chew instead. My son was a shirt chewer until we found him a chewable toy that he could wear around his neck. Still a little unusual, but better than a wet shirt. Now someone's designed chewable jewelry. That's one I wish I'd thought of!

If you get the mix of sensory input wrong when you're teaching, your student will persist until they get what they need. If they need to get up off the bench and move around, telling them to "Be good and really think!" will have no effect. Almost always, simply talking at a student will be ineffective. It's usually a mix of different kinds of stimulation that work the best. There's a sensory reason that using tiny Japanese Erasers works so well. It doesn't have as much to do with the fact that they're cute as the way they feel in your hands, their weight and texture. They feel calm and interesting. Small and heavy. 

In college and grad school, I spent more time learning about trill-endings than how to help a 7-year-old that won't stop kicking the front of the piano. In fact, I don't ever recall anyone ever addressing something as common as a squirmy kid. As piano teachers it's easy to concentrate on the music and forget that we're also teaching a set of physical skills. We are more like gym teachers and less like master class teachers a great deal of the time. Like it or not, we address these issues every day in our studios. Information is the key. Here are some books that can help. The "look inside" feature can give you the basic idea of many of these books without spending a penny. Buying one or two as a resource could be helpful, but even reading online and investigating for yourself will pay dividends.

Here are just a few that will help you better understand the children in your life and their needs:

too loud, too bright, too fast, too tight is a great place to start if you'd like to understand how differently people experience the same stimuli. I'm convinced that as the world becomes more technical and more tech-connected, people with sensory issues will be challenged in ways we can now only imagine.  There's a reason that it is recommended by Edward Hallowell, M.D., the author of Driven to Distraction, my favorite book about ADD  - Attention Deficit Disorder.

too loud, too bright, too fast, too tight is a great place to start if you'd like to understand how differently people experience the same stimuli. I'm convinced that as the world becomes more technical and more tech-connected, people with sensory issues will be challenged in ways we can now only imagine. 

There's a reason that it is recommended by Edward Hallowell, M.D., the author of Driven to Distraction, my favorite book about ADD  - Attention Deficit Disorder.

I like the tone and feel of The Sensory-Sensitive Child. It was written by two mothers who are child psychologists and also each have a child with sensory issues. 

I like the tone and feel of The Sensory-Sensitive Child. It was written by two mothers who are child psychologists and also each have a child with sensory issues. 

1001 Pediatric Treatment Activities: Creative Ideas for Therapy Sessions doesn't look as zippy as some of the other books, but is extremely useful. It's not easily available (or cheap) but Amazon has 50 pages of basic information in the "Look Inside" preview. It's free to peruse these pages which include a wide varieties of suggestions for activities that may help you focus and settle down a child with these issues.

1001 Pediatric Treatment Activities: Creative Ideas for Therapy Sessions doesn't look as zippy as some of the other books, but is extremely useful. It's not easily available (or cheap) but Amazon has 50 pages of basic information in the "Look Inside" preview. It's free to peruse these pages which include a wide varieties of suggestions for activities that may help you focus and settle down a child with these issues.

Beethoven and Beyonce

I got this email last month from the parent who was hoping I'd take his son as a transfer student. His son is twelve years old.

There are a couple of reasons we would like to make a change. His current teacher chooses pieces for him from the core classical repertory, and challenging ones -- not quite beyond him, but requiring months of work. Jimmy keeps at it and brings his pieces to a pretty good level, but it's not as interesting for him as it could be. I've occasionally asked his teacher for some lighter choices, to give Jimmy some easier successes and a broader musical diet. (He loves Ludovico Einaudi and Joe Hisaishi, but his teacher wouldn't want to work on that music with him.) 

I'd like to say that these emails are rare, but they're not. I get them all the time. It seems like teachers around the world are busy teaching students things that they're "supposed to" be teaching, while neglecting to teach their students pieces they'd love to play.

Out of frustration with this sort of thinking, I made this video. I hope you enjoy it.



Profoundly Gifted

I had a mother call me once and tell me that her child was "profoundly gifted." 

I was concerned. As the mother of two reasonably bright children myself, one of whom had spoken in complete sentences at 18 months, ("Mommy, do octopuses have testicles or just tentacles?" he asked while I was changing his diaper.)

I was sure it was a bad sign. A parent who had bought into a label she thought would bring her child joy and fulfillment. 


In response to that call and interview that followed it, I made this little video. 

My Imaginary Standard

STOP!" said the voice inside my head. "You can't just cover up the notes. That's cheating. That's going to give her a bad message. You're preventing her from..."

I stopped myself.

"Hey, Amy," I said. "You aren't going to look at these notes anyway, are you?"

"Nope," she said honestly. "I'm just going to look at the colored tape."

"Cool," I said. "Let's make it WORK for you."

It was finally over. That sense that I shouldn't be making it easier for her. That by keeping things a little too hard, a tad out-of-reach, almost a bit mysterious, I was doing her a favor.

Or was I?

Amy has dyslexia - which means that her brain has difficulty recognizing and processing symbols. It's unlikely she will ever enjoy reading complex scores for pleasure. She loves to play and does it quite well, but part of my job is helping her interpret the written page. She comes to me to learn pieces that she couldn't play without me.

For reasons that elude me, I felt like I shouldn't REALLY help her. Like I should hold something back. I had some imaginary standard that prevented me from turning the written score into something she could actually use.

I take great pride in creating independent learners. I want my students to be able to pick up a piece of music and play it on their own. I want them to be able to improvise, decode a chord chart, realize a figured base. (I just threw that in to see if you were awake. I can't imagine actually spending time on figured base realization.)

Learning differences are something else entirely. When a student has a challenge, it's my job to help them meet it with every bit of skill I have. If I need to white-out bar lines or write in note names and color code the score, then I'm going to be proud of my efforts. And proud of theirs as well.

I realize I had mistakenly believed I could teach the learning difference right out of her. I knew better. Brains aren't like that. They can be challenged. They can grow and change. But to think that I shouldn't help her in the ways that she specifically needed help was ridiculous. And just plain mean.

This belief is something I picked up in the land of "serious music education" where I spent so many years. Somewhere between Counterpoint class and Chromatic Analysis in the Music of Wagner.

I desperately wish there had been a class somewhere in my education called Teaching Children with Learning Differences. It would have been a lot more practical than all that stuff about Opera Seria and Opera Buffa. (If you don't know, count your blessings.) Instead, I've had to educate myself.

After all my independent education, Amy and I are a good combination. And I intend to keep it that way. It may take a little work to keep that imaginary standard at bay.

Advice to an Aspiring Pianist


A college freshman recently wrote to me and asked if I had any advice for an aspiring young pianist. In the following advice, I'm not factoring in the "state of classical music." Music will always be a part of our lives. Some people will earn their living as musicians. I consider myself fortunate to be one of them.


Imagine yourself as a 50-year-old. I know it's hard, but try. It will happen.

And sooner than you can possibly imagine.

If you continue on your current path, where will it take you?


If you enjoy performing, do you prefer to play solo concerts? Do you enjoy the hours of solo practice and the stress of concert life? Do you hope to play concertos with orchestras? (That's a difficult way to make money - you'd better like to be on the road.)

If you're considering a career that includes large amounts of travel, I suggest repeated viewings of Planes, Trains and Automobiles. Remember, it was made in the days before hourlong screening lines at airport.


If you like to play Chamber Music, do you also have excellent social skills? How's your Emotional Intelligence? The hardest part of holding an ensemble together isn't musical. It's getting along with the same people day after day doing work that can be tedious, exhausting and often under-appreciated. Throw in some travel and you've got a recipe for disaster. Have you learned to give and receive criticism with skill and tact? Both are important. If you don't say anything of critical substance, rehearsals will be smooth and silky. Of course, your ensemble will sound atrocious, but you'll all feel great during the rehearsals.


If you hope to teach are you taking full advantage of every opportunity to learn to be the best teacher you can? Take that pedagogy class seriously. It may be the only genuinely practical class you take in college. Being able to recite and discuss the Beethoven Sonatas by Opus number and nickname may seem crucial at the moment, but you may wish you'd listened when your pedagogy teacher was discussing the differences between the piano methods of Faber and Piano Town by Diane Hidy & Keith Snell. You'll wish you knew names like Frances ClarkJames and Jane Bastien, and William Gillock. Not to mention Robert Vandall and Elissa Milne.


What kind of music do you like to write? Can you find a way to market that music? With the internet available now, the opportunities for self-marketing are endless as long as you're willing to do them. Finding a publisher and persuading them to hire you is no longer the only way to market yourself. 


Are you someone who likes to be alone or do you like more social situations? Do you want to live in a big city or somewhere more rural? Is that location important to you? Do you want a relationship and/or a family? I gave up on the idea of a university teaching job because I was unwilling to live anywhere but San Francisco. Even for a year or two. That limited my options. I have colleagues, however, who are extremely happy in places I would never want to live. I'm thinking of Michael GurtSandra Shapiro, Boris Slutsky andThomas Hecht,  to name only a few. These are all brilliant musicians who live places I would not. (Baton Rouge Louisiana, Cleveland Ohio, Baltimore Maryland and Singapore respectively.) One of my favorite people in the world, Frederic Chiu, lives with his wife, Jeanine, at Beechwood Arts in Connecticut. I could live there, but I'll have to settle for visiting.

Think about what you LOVE to do. What feeds your soul and makes you thrive? I love being around people. I have developed a community of families with whom I have long-term, close relationships. That's the main reason why I stopped pursuing a concert career and focused on a locally-centered life. (That, and I really like plants. Seriously.)

I earned money the summer before I went to Juilliard as a singer/dancer at an amusement park. The performing experience was invaluable, and it gave me great appreciation for tap dancers.I'm fourth from the right. Yeah. Really. It was a very long time ago.

I earned money the summer before I went to Juilliard as a singer/dancer at an amusement park. The performing experience was invaluable, and it gave me great appreciation for tap dancers.I'm fourth from the right. Yeah. Really. It was a very long time ago.

I played a lot of concerts after I won the American Pianist Association fellowship. After while I didn't like being on the road. I wanted to have a family. I loved teaching. Each person is different. I have made a career by recording, teaching, playing concerts and writing teaching materials for pianists. Sometimes I also play for theater and do improv with an amazing group of improvisers. When I was at Juilliard I tried to hide things like my hidden talent for playing by ear and not really liking Liszt. Now I just laugh and say, "Hey, you know what? The best Liszt is any Liszt played by someone else!"

Wink Martin, the host of Tic-Tac-Dough. I won $14,000 in cash and prizes in the fall before I entered the Van Cliburn Competition.

Wink Martin, the host of Tic-Tac-Dough. I won $14,000 in cash and prizes in the fall before I entered the Van Cliburn Competition.


I've also worked as an accompanist, paid vocal soloist, a side-kick on a live radio show (I did this for 10 years and I met my husband there!) and on-stage in a theater production with Bebe Neuwirth. I even earned the money to prepare for the Van Cliburn competition by going on a game show. There is no "right" way. There is only "your" way - which will only work for YOU!


What it's Like to Compete in the Van Cliburn Competition

I was one of 35 competitors in the Seventh Van Cliburn International Competition held in 1985. Though some things have changed since then, the basic experience is still the same.

I’ll start from the beginning of my journey.

The application form is intimidating. Planning the repertoire I would play was complicated. Included in the application was not only the repertoire for the multiple rounds of the competition, but also a list of my complete solo and concerto repertoire. The application has always been designed to eliminate anyone not ready to play a professional concert schedule.

Many people are cut without even being heard. If one makes it past the application process itself, there are screening auditions where preliminary judges listen to more than a hundred pianists around the world. They choose fewer than 40 to compete every four years in person in Fort Worth.

My journey started with a videotape made at the Los Angeles Cliburn screening location. I had an hour to make a 20-minute video of three pieces. These preliminary auditions are no longer done by videotape. The 2013 prospective competitors performed recitals in front of a live audience and a panel of judges. 

When I got to Fort Worth, Lisa, a pretty girl about my age met me at the airport. She had knee-high walking casts on both her feet. She was recovering from bunion surgery. Bunion surgery wasn’t the first thing I would have dreamed I’d be discussing at the Cliburn, but it filled ten of the twenty-five minute drive from the airport to Fort Worth.

Our first stop was at the Hospitality Suite at the Americana Hotel. We were greeted by numerous well-dressed middle-aged women wearing Ferragamo shoes, sporting BIG hair and charming southern drawls. One of them handed me a giant packet of information.

“Die-yAnn,” as I was called for the following weeks, “Could you please tell us who wrote the cadenza you’ll be playing in your Mot-zart concerto?” asked one woman. “Die-yAnn, do you have any special dietary needs that you may have forgotten to tell us about?” asked another. “Die-yAnn do you have any questions about scheduling or your host family?”

As I left, another enthusiastic volunteer presented me with a large, potted, yellow chrysanthemum. So far the Cliburn competition felt like a meeting of the Garden Club.

Every occasion at the Cliburn is a social occasion. The first event was the picking of the numbers. This was held on the formal lawn of a patron’s estate and was called The Drawing Party.

I had a hard time deciding what to wear because I was keenly aware that the competition was being made into a documentary. I settled on a red sweater and a denim skirt but still looked like a minister’s daughter. (I am a minister’s daughter, which might explain the resemblance.) My host mother, Beth, whipped out a bright red straw hat. Presto! I looked almost artistic.

As each competitor draws and announces their number, the crowd says, “Oooooooh, aaahhhhhhhh! Oh goodness, number 18!” There’s a tradition that number one is bad, so everyone is trying to avoid it.

I walked nervously up to the oversized brandy snifter that held the numbers. I covered my face with my hand as I pulled out my number. “Number 19,” said Susan Tilley, one of the competition officials. I guess the hat was a success because I found a picture of myself in full color the next morning on the front page of the Dallas Morning News.

The Cliburn competition is more humane that others because it gives competitors two chances to play before the jury makes the first cuts.

Number 19 had pros and cons. My 1st round was scheduled for 8 pm. Prime time. The time most concerts are played. Unfortunately, my 2nd round time was at 9 am. Early morning is a dreadful time to play. There are the fewest people in the audience and it means getting up ridiculously early to have a chance to warm up. In 2013 the earliest performance time was 11 am. 

To give some perspective on the amount of repertoire required, this was my program:


  • Bach English Suite in A minor (25 mins)
  • Beethoven Sonata in C Major, Op. 2 #3 (25 mins)
  • Chopin Scherzo in C sharp Minor, Op. 39 (9 mins)
  • Etude in G flat Major, Op. 10 #5 (3 mins)
  • Scriabin Etude in C sharp Minor, Op. 42 No. 5 (4 mins)


  • Mozart Sonata in D Major, K. 576 (20 mins)
  • Beethoven Sonata in A Major, Op. 101 (25 mins)
  • Chopin Ballade in F Minor, Op. 52 (9 mins)
  • Ravel Gaspard de la nuit (20 mins)


  • Brahms Piano Quintet in F minor, Op. 34 ( 40 mins)


  • Ravel Gaspard de la nuit  (20 mins) One repetition from another round was allowed that year
  • Corigliano Fantasia on an Ostinato (8 mins) (the required commissioned work which we received four weeks before the competition began
  • Schumann Symphonic Etudes Op. 13 (23 mins)


  • Mozart Concerto No. 25 in C Major, K. 503 (30 mins)
  • Brahms Concerto No. 1 in D Minor, Op. 15 (40 mins)

This totals 4 hours and 32 minutes of music when played straight through from beginning to end. It’s easy to see why managing so much music requires a plan.

John Perry had explained to me how to maintain such a large amount of repertoire. I was to practice one or two rounds ahead of the round I was about to perform. In other words, I was to practice the semifinal material while I was still in the Preliminary Stages. In competitions which I entered after the Cliburn I did a much better job of this rotation practicing. At the Cliburn I had a hard time with it.

In my competition year, the preliminary round performances were shorter. We had to prepare the about the same amount of music as today, but the judges got to pick and choose from our offerings. 

The first round went well. The repertoire that the judges picked felt wonderful: The Prelude to the Bach A Minor English Suite, the Chopin C Sharp Minor Scherzo, and the first movement of Beethoven Sonata Op. 2 #3. The time of day was favorable, the hall was full and the audience enthusiastic. 

I hadn’t quite adjusted to the two hour time difference when the next round came around. The 9 am time still felt like 7 am to me. I hadn’t slept well, and I wasn’t feeling particularly well at all.

The judges sent their requests from my second round program to me backstage moments before I played. It was all the movements I’d just as soon not have played. Everything I hoped they’d ask for, Ravel’s Ondine for instance, was glaringly absent. Instead, they asked for the first movement of the Mozart Sonata, K. 576, the LAST two movements of the Beethoven Sonata Op. 101, and....Scarbo. I firmly believe that this final movement from Gaspard de la nuit should only be played in the wee hours of the morning in a hallucinogenic state derived from mushrooms, LSD or great sex. It is also the piece about which I’d had my worst anxiety dreams. 

I was terrified that the judges has chosen Scarbo, but I had no choice. I took a deep breath and walked on stage.

There were a few people scattered in the front row flipping their programs around. The light reflecting off them looked as if they were trying to send me a message via Morse code. It was so distracting that I left the stage after the first piece.

The Cliburn competition provides something no other competition does: a “Backstage Mother.” This woman, hand-picked for her motherly nature and unflappable demeanor, stays just off stage throughout the competition. She lovingly hands out Bandaids, glasses of orange juice and water, hugs and reassuring words. She stocks fingernail clippers, Kleenex, aspirin and Neosporin.

I ran offstage and up to the Backstage Mother. “Please,” I begged, “Get those people in the front row to move!”

“OK, honey. Just a minute and I’ll take care of it.” The Backstage Mother was the most humane fixture I ever came across in the world of international piano competitions. 

She got the culprits moved and I walked back onstage to finish my program. From there on it was a blur.

I walked offstage, sure I’d played miserably. The camera crews were waiting for me and caught every moment as I burst into tears. What I didn’t realize was that I’d played quite well and was missing my opportunities for curtain calls by standing backstage crying. Only when I watched the documentary later did I realized what had happened. The producers were quick to use the footage of me crying. At the time I was embarrassed, but now I see it as exploitive. TV producers love footage of people crying, and I had inadvertently supplied them with exactly that. It was a dose of reality television before knew what that was.

I forced myself to practice even though I knew I was doomed to be cue. The following night we all went down to the hall for the judging decision. We waited for what seemed like hours, but was probably only 45 minutes. The Director announced the names of the semi-finalists in alphabetical order. My name was not called.

The worst part of being eliminated from the competition was calling my parents. It felt like my parents’ disappointment was greater than my own. I think the Cliburn should provide someone to call your parents for you. If they are kind enough to provide a “Backstage Mother,” couldn’t they splurge and have someone called, “Surrogate Bad News Giver?” Today this would be irrelevant because the entire competition is broadcast live on the web. But in the old days we had to make those painful phone calls.

When I talked to my Dad he wanted to know if he could turn in the tickets he’d already purchased for the finals. He wanted his money back. I’m sure it seemed logical to him at the time, but it felt to me like going to a funeral and asking if someone had gotten a good deal on the coffin. 

After I got over the shock of not making the cut, I started enjoying myself. If they’d given a “Miss Congeniality” prize I would have won it. I went to all the semifinal and final performances. I made friends with the film crew and administration of the competition. I did press interviews. One thing the Cliburn can do is throw a party. It was delightful to attend them without having to worry about performing the next day.

Since that time the Cliburn has continued to influence my life in ways I could never have imagined. I’ve returned to Fort Worth many times to play outreach concerts and educational programs. I judged the Amateur Competition in 2002 and loved being on the other side of that equation.

When I watched the competition today, I knew exactly how those people felt not hearing their names. I wonder where these amazing performers will end up. I identify with them. I worry about them. I hope for the best. 

My fingers are crossed, hoping that the judges will pick the greatest artist, the most imaginative pianist, the person with the most to say.