I considered retiring last night. From problems with the kids, to the heat, and of course that little wake up call from that woman who shall remain nameless, I seriously thought about going back to Death Valley and drinking a beer. Writers do this. The reward for writing simply has to be inner satisfaction because there sure ain't no money in it. Still, it's gratifying to see the numbers climb, at least knowing that someone out there knows you're alive.
Writing articles is far better than writing music. I did that in Nashville. Everything you ever heard about Nashville is a lie! It's worse! The music business is a little like playing roulette. One winner, and nine suckers, and the suckers hang on hoping lady luck will smile on them. While the ones who had a “hit” parade around Music Square, the rest hope to get a gig at a bar for the weekend. Then, of course, there's the writing part. In Austin I thought I could pen a pretty good song. In Nashville I heard a better song from the waitress pouring my coffee. That's called a “Reality Check.”
After I pawned my underwear (yes, you can do that in Nashville) I returned to Texas and went into real estate. Did I tell you that you have to be crazy to be a writer? Well, that's what makes you indulge in something with absolutely no hope of any return, while you make millions at a legitimate vocation. Sell real estate all day, and write all night. I ground out three books. I'd given up on music and turned to prose, but I'd brought something with me. Even though I'd never written a hit, I'd learned the mechanics of composition, and that translated into literature quite well. When a normal person tries to write you usually get a “bumpity bump” result. You've seen it. A friend gives you a story that they've written, and you have to read it because they're watching you. Well, song writing is short, sweet, and goes in circles. The circles cement the main idea.
Years later I discovered blogging. You think you can't make money at music? Try blogging! But, at least it doesn't cost anything. So I blogged, and blogged, and eventually accrued a fair number of these things with people reading and commenting. For a writer, that's the hook. Someone who was overwhelmed by two drunks in a bar applauding will swoon at one hundred comments on a blog. At first I didn't really have anything to blog about so I wrote about music. Then, I discovered politics.
If there is anything stupider than a song writer, it's a politician. See, people need to understand that. It is the same mentality that makes someone load up their pickup with amps, and drive eight hundred miles that will make a plumber put on a suit and drive to the state Capitol. If you are writing about these people the material is endless. To quote Will Rodgers, you don't have to joke, just read the papers, and report the facts. I elevated from blogging to writing “articles.” This is along the line of difference between the girl standing under a street lamp to the one who has a regular room. But, and this is the hook, I began to get a substantial amount of reads, and after about three years I actually knew what I was talking about! Political satire was my skill. Reporting on this flock of liars was wonderful. Still, no money, but the gratification was fantastic.
. I actually did retire three years ago, so I now had the time, and money to write all I wanted. This became a job, with structure, hours, rules, and ways to see just how far this was going. Now, bear in mind I don't have a life. I'm divorced, childless, old, and have a dog. It took about three years for me to wake up to this. Then I developed loneliness. Now loneliness for me is an oxymoron, because I enjoy solitude, and am actually put off by interruptions in my routine. Coffee, same time every morning, cigarette, read my reviews, and then write, publish, check response, go to the store, retire to the porch around dusk, cocktails! If someone calls me during this routine I become irritated. But, somehow, I was lonely.
So, last night I decided to “retire!” I had visions of free days, no stress, not having to think, or be clever, but suddenly it hit me! We’re all alone. Even in a crowded room we are ourselves. I can be at a party and can't get a word in edgewise because I'm basically boring, but when I write? It dawned on me, writing is my life, and the money doesn't matter. By golly, I'm gonna LEAVE something! I woke up this morning, and where when I went to bed last night I was determined to never pick up this iPad again, I did pick it up and wrote, “I considered retiring last night . . .”
Writing articles is far better than writing music. I did that in Nashville. Everything you ever heard about Nashville is a lie! It's worse! The music business is a little like playing roulette. One winner, and nine suckers, and the suckers hang on hoping lady luck will smile on them. While the ones who had a “hit” parade around Music Square, the rest hope to get a gig at a bar for the weekend. Then, of course, there's the writing part. In Austin I thought I could pen a pretty good song. In Nashville I heard a better song from the waitress pouring my coffee. That's called a “Reality Check.”
After I pawned my underwear (yes, you can do that in Nashville) I returned to Texas and went into real estate. Did I tell you that you have to be crazy to be a writer? Well, that's what makes you indulge in something with absolutely no hope of any return, while you make millions at a legitimate vocation. Sell real estate all day, and write all night. I ground out three books. I'd given up on music and turned to prose, but I'd brought something with me. Even though I'd never written a hit, I'd learned the mechanics of composition, and that translated into literature quite well. When a normal person tries to write you usually get a “bumpity bump” result. You've seen it. A friend gives you a story that they've written, and you have to read it because they're watching you. Well, song writing is short, sweet, and goes in circles. The circles cement the main idea.
Years later I discovered blogging. You think you can't make money at music? Try blogging! But, at least it doesn't cost anything. So I blogged, and blogged, and eventually accrued a fair number of these things with people reading and commenting. For a writer, that's the hook. Someone who was overwhelmed by two drunks in a bar applauding will swoon at one hundred comments on a blog. At first I didn't really have anything to blog about so I wrote about music. Then, I discovered politics.
If there is anything stupider than a song writer, it's a politician. See, people need to understand that. It is the same mentality that makes someone load up their pickup with amps, and drive eight hundred miles that will make a plumber put on a suit and drive to the state Capitol. If you are writing about these people the material is endless. To quote Will Rodgers, you don't have to joke, just read the papers, and report the facts. I elevated from blogging to writing “articles.” This is along the line of difference between the girl standing under a street lamp to the one who has a regular room. But, and this is the hook, I began to get a substantial amount of reads, and after about three years I actually knew what I was talking about! Political satire was my skill. Reporting on this flock of liars was wonderful. Still, no money, but the gratification was fantastic.
. I actually did retire three years ago, so I now had the time, and money to write all I wanted. This became a job, with structure, hours, rules, and ways to see just how far this was going. Now, bear in mind I don't have a life. I'm divorced, childless, old, and have a dog. It took about three years for me to wake up to this. Then I developed loneliness. Now loneliness for me is an oxymoron, because I enjoy solitude, and am actually put off by interruptions in my routine. Coffee, same time every morning, cigarette, read my reviews, and then write, publish, check response, go to the store, retire to the porch around dusk, cocktails! If someone calls me during this routine I become irritated. But, somehow, I was lonely.
So, last night I decided to “retire!” I had visions of free days, no stress, not having to think, or be clever, but suddenly it hit me! We’re all alone. Even in a crowded room we are ourselves. I can be at a party and can't get a word in edgewise because I'm basically boring, but when I write? It dawned on me, writing is my life, and the money doesn't matter. By golly, I'm gonna LEAVE something! I woke up this morning, and where when I went to bed last night I was determined to never pick up this iPad again, I did pick it up and wrote, “I considered retiring last night . . .”
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