Ok, so the blogging thing hasn't exactly panned out as I'd hoped. Definitely not how my esteemed board of advisors had wished. But it's probably about as I'd foreseen. Habitually, I'm not one of those that when something's on my mind, my instincts lead me to the computer. It is much more likely I'm led to the wet bar currently housed in the back of a borrowed 2002 Cadillac.
I can't really call it 'eventful' but the last few months have certainly gone by in something of a blur, and only partly aided by the cut-loose at that. I turned another year older, have written some good songs that I need to memorize so I can actually play them for people, have started several recording projects that are finally starting to see the finish line in the light at the end of the tunnel, and I'm finally gonna move into a new place. Life is good.
I just need to write more prose. Plain and simple.
No sense getting down on myself, though, right? Indeed. I can start right now. I am starting right now. I still don't see the point of blogging, but I'm told it's something I need to do. I have to do. So I'll try. Again.
Why prose? I like it. That should be good enough. It's more of a challenge than writing a song or poem. Maybe not a good song or poem, but if nothing else, it's a different kind of challenge. I'm pretty sure. The satisfaction of really nailing a song is incomparable partly because the form is much more constricting than prose. This presents a challenge unique to the format and I enjoy it for exactly what it is.
And we're not even talking about performance yet.
Music is it's own thing, and I'm happy to devote part of my life to it. Of course, I'd almost certainly be more successful were I to devote all of my energies to it. Submit and thrive. But I can't. I've got this other part of me that loves stories, short and long. I'm a reader. Since my earliest childhood I've loved books. I'd be no more true to myself were I to deny this part of me at the expense of a life in music than were I to quit playing music to focus on the written word.
It's a delicate balancing act that I've nowhere near mastered yet. I'm constantly falling off the tightrope, as it were, but at least I'm still trying. Or trying to try.
Time management is not my forte. Discipline has never been my thing. It kept me from ever being much of an athlete though I had aptitude and even some skill. "If only he'd apply himself..." was and is a constant phrase on the lips of teachers, coaches, mentors, parents, peers and most any other observant persons looking at me.
I feel it. I know it. It's futile to pretend otherwise. Now you'd think that'd be motivation enough for me to do something about it. But you'd be wrong. It's far easier to pour a drink, sit back and daydream, drifting off to the magical worlds in my head where everything is as I order it and I am king and fool both. It's a helluva place, my head.
But now even that's become too confining. Or maybe just too lonely. I'm not sure. I'll have to think about it. Hoho. Not too long, though. The time for thinking has passed. The time for action is at hand. George W. Bush said that. Not really, but he should have.
Life's a quick trip on a rocket ship, you know?
I'm feeling good right now, optimistic if not about the state of the world than at least about the state of myself in the world. It's as good a place to be as I know of, this side of a nice stream full of fat fish eager to bite.
I can't really call it 'eventful' but the last few months have certainly gone by in something of a blur, and only partly aided by the cut-loose at that. I turned another year older, have written some good songs that I need to memorize so I can actually play them for people, have started several recording projects that are finally starting to see the finish line in the light at the end of the tunnel, and I'm finally gonna move into a new place. Life is good.
I just need to write more prose. Plain and simple.
No sense getting down on myself, though, right? Indeed. I can start right now. I am starting right now. I still don't see the point of blogging, but I'm told it's something I need to do. I have to do. So I'll try. Again.
Why prose? I like it. That should be good enough. It's more of a challenge than writing a song or poem. Maybe not a good song or poem, but if nothing else, it's a different kind of challenge. I'm pretty sure. The satisfaction of really nailing a song is incomparable partly because the form is much more constricting than prose. This presents a challenge unique to the format and I enjoy it for exactly what it is.
And we're not even talking about performance yet.
Music is it's own thing, and I'm happy to devote part of my life to it. Of course, I'd almost certainly be more successful were I to devote all of my energies to it. Submit and thrive. But I can't. I've got this other part of me that loves stories, short and long. I'm a reader. Since my earliest childhood I've loved books. I'd be no more true to myself were I to deny this part of me at the expense of a life in music than were I to quit playing music to focus on the written word.
It's a delicate balancing act that I've nowhere near mastered yet. I'm constantly falling off the tightrope, as it were, but at least I'm still trying. Or trying to try.
Time management is not my forte. Discipline has never been my thing. It kept me from ever being much of an athlete though I had aptitude and even some skill. "If only he'd apply himself..." was and is a constant phrase on the lips of teachers, coaches, mentors, parents, peers and most any other observant persons looking at me.
I feel it. I know it. It's futile to pretend otherwise. Now you'd think that'd be motivation enough for me to do something about it. But you'd be wrong. It's far easier to pour a drink, sit back and daydream, drifting off to the magical worlds in my head where everything is as I order it and I am king and fool both. It's a helluva place, my head.
But now even that's become too confining. Or maybe just too lonely. I'm not sure. I'll have to think about it. Hoho. Not too long, though. The time for thinking has passed. The time for action is at hand. George W. Bush said that. Not really, but he should have.
Life's a quick trip on a rocket ship, you know?
I'm feeling good right now, optimistic if not about the state of the world than at least about the state of myself in the world. It's as good a place to be as I know of, this side of a nice stream full of fat fish eager to bite.
No comments:
Post a Comment