I am a songwriter with a blog. There is a blinking cursor in front of me – like you see in so many television shows when you are supposed to be working but you are not because the stakes are high and you’d rather crawl back into bed and eat a Three Musketeers bar.
I have a live journal, but it is private. I am always thinking of perfection when I write … should I post an official link to the Three Musketeers website? – so that my readers can link up to the history of these musketeers ..? then they can learn the history of both the candy bar, and the musketeers themselves … da, da, da.
Part of the problem, the reason that I don’t get any “work” done – is that I have a confession to make. It is why I have been hiding under my little rock for so long.
I am afraid of the internet. I have a phobia of large, uncontrolled spaces. I am afraid of what a lack of discretion might do to me. I’m afraid of all that time. I’m afraid of what a perfectionist might do in such a space, with all those tools.
Of course, if I actually sit in my own studio for any length of time, it takes me forever to get anything done. I’m actually having a huge problem with that, because I can’t work. I use EQ to apologize for my room, reverb to cover up crap. I’m pretty good at it – but I think in the back of my mind, isn’t there something better than this???
I’m inside a room that is on the major bird highway. And lately, by the time it’s the middle of the night (i.e. better for recording) – I’m in this dead-tired place. And we’ve gotten night birds in on the action now, anyway – like they know that there’s soundproof-free recording going on, because our psychopath raccoons have sent out a bulletin so I can have more Animal Kingdom interference in my life.
I feel as though I complain a lot.
Also, I am defining “work” inappropriately. Just to give myself some credit. I am an extremely prolific songwriter. I feel guilty saying this; as if I am not allowed to compliment myself. This seems to be one of those “things” in the music business that I’m not navigating well. You naturally want people to think you’re a bad-ass, but if I actually walk into a room and tell people “I wrote 37 songs last year and I’m actively in the middle of 54 more; I have learned to play the piano while blindfolded; listen to me play these things really, really fast (not that this matters in my specific field – if I was a concert piano player … I would not be cutting the mustard); da, da, da” … well if I tell people all this I sound like what they call in Australia a “show pony.”
I tell people that I can play many instruments, that if someone wanted a specific part done on a drumset I could do that too – and that I can also play a marimba with four mallets. People talk in the humidor that we hang out in (my husband and I) and I’m always thinking done it, done it, done it … This is of course, when I’m not thinking … [HUGE EDIT DONE LATER 1/21/2010]
My stories are all very weird, and kind of tend to quiet rooms – stop all conversation. “It was all going very well, until all communication was cut off / they died / my toenail was ripped off / etc.”
It’s hard to acquire gigs now based on such dubious connections/occurances.
But I have several of these. I’m high on technique and output … low on the people side of things – which actually includes recording and working with other musicians. The list of places I’ve played is actually pretty hefty – but would probably be met with a “nuh-uh … when did you play there???” Never mind, never mind … I’d say, I’m not allowed to talk about it, because [BIG EDIT SAME DATE]
This also includes the fact that sex and alcohol (which I also enjoy – but in a boring way, being a happily married lightweight … although I’m not judging); these things make these other musicians cooler and smoother than me. So I end up fading into the back of many of these social scenes.
I’m an extremely talented young lady with a severe networking handicap.
Chris Wall, who would probably not recognize me even if we were trapped together in a very small elevator … (and resultingly would not be reading this and would probably not mind being in my silly little blog); once borrowed my guitar from someone else who was also borrowing it. He looked down at it hopelessly and coined it “Satan’s Guitar.” It is rather … difficult … But I am not Satan. Heh, heh, heh …
Have a nice day
FINIS
**********************
TTD: -Go to a nice cafe. WHILE THERE: Get some of that nice Hibiscus Mint tea – which is one of the top 5 reasons to live in South Austin. Revel in the absence of Satan-by-South-Washingmachine. Refine massive “list of things to do” (a work of things in progress)
- BEFORE LEAVING: Do “morning pages” (more on those later). When done, practice for 30 MINUTES [note to moi: NOT SIX HOURS]. While out, stick on earphones and go through songfiles from minirecorder and keep good stuff to work on (so I can finally finish ‘Charlatan.’)
-Come home. Finish Charlatan. this could be after martial arts (more on martial arts and charlatan later). Write about both things in blog.
Let this develop, mellow. See how it goes.
Stop freaking out.
Scoreza!!!
I have an Armand Assante bathroom. I’ve been visiting it a lot this morning, because last night, the beer and cigar fairies came and danced in my forest (no, not in my gutter – so remove your mind from it … even though there is no “you,” because this is my second “blog” and I don’t actually believe anyone is reading this so I can actually go relatively unobserved). Let me tell you, it’s pretty liberating to have Mr. Assante looking down at you (from a large poster on the back of the door) while you do your business; as if to say “you really aren’t living right.” He’s doing it with a kindly attitude, as if he cares about your body, your life, your career. He’s got a cigar in his hand – so he knows how it is. He’s being very zen about the whole thing. He just wishes you’d get some exercise … or go to the doctor more often … but whaddayagonnadoaboutit?
