So Real

I found some old lyrics I had written in a lifetime long, long, ago and .....well you know. I was a love sick pup most of my younger days and spent considerable time writing about the love interests in my life. I also kept journals and wrote a lot of short stories. I almost never wrote when I was happy. This (I assume) is why my quill dried out in the last couple of decades. There have been no creative writing classes, no bands to bring songs to, and in the current trend of stability (in the relationship department) no lovelorn heart to mend. There was nobody to read the stories, and without melody most lyrics fail to stand on their own, so...why write...right?

I have been in some pretty bad bands in my day, some good ones too. Even in the bad bands, we managed to write a good song or two. I don't think anything is quite as rewarding as having an idea about a phrase or a melody and then hearing it played well. As you get used to songs and the shine wears off a little you figure out which ones hold water and which are hollow. The really good songs change as they age, while retaining the essence of the original idea. It is funny how I can look back and remember how I felt about those songs and those subjects, some three decades on. I am always surprised about how vivid those faces and times are when I hear the old tapes, or flip those spiral notebooks.

Fourteen years ago (DEAR GOD!) I took some classes when my first son was born. One of them was a writing class. It was great to know that someone would hear your story, even if you suffered a thousand deaths during the critique. Writing fell to the wayside, as diapers had to be changed, I had two jobs and two sons, a year apart. For the next three years, I never lifted my head from the grindstone, trying to keep the bill collectors at bay. Later, I did a lot of recording for local artists and managed a band. Then, like a summer squall, it all just settled. I was left without any crusades to fight so I threw down my sword, and went home.

This blog has rekindled some of the old feelings. I feel like a writer again and now I think of ways I can smash my days into the blog and tie them to bicycle. A couple of the crew guys (at our Thursday lunch) asked what was up, and why I hadn't posted anything. It made me realize this little blog is worth writing.

I'll wait over there for the "a thousand deaths" part now.

W.B.Z.N.