I will open with a stupid “duh” remark: Lots of things have changed in writing in the past fifty years. I’ve been at it that long, but the first ten I was a songwriter. That began with dreamy eyed teen minor chord ditties about things I knew nothing about and eventually devolved into writing drunken snatches of genius (i.e. drunk shite, as they say in Scotland) on anything that would take a pen (I hate pencils, they feel like dirt and their smell makes me sneeze). Then, later, when not too shitty they were matched to a number of beats and a chord pattern. I have probably written two hundred songs in my life and not one of them exists on one sheet of paper. Some were recorded on a demo that someone somewhere probably recorded over a long time ago.
Now, I’ve never quite given up songwriting; it stays with me, but now on my Chromebook there are zillions of mysterious little files like “Never too Late For Love–Hitler Got Married at 56”; “Here We Are at the End of Time and I Haven’t Done a Goddam Thing”; “Ballad of the Retail (Can only say the word if I’m Black, But it’s Fucking True)” and so on. I am a mix of Country, Punk, Glam and a touch of Lawrence Welk. I also think that the episode of Gilligan’s Island in which the castaways did a musical of Hamlet is brilliant.
Nowadays people tell me that they do it all on a board and laptop. I only say what I mean to inconsequential strangers, usually when I have a load on. When I do I tell them that music requires an instrument and if it has words, a voice to tell the tale. “What you have is shit and extra shame on your lineage for making the world smell like a fucking pencil.”
It took until I was in my early sixties to stop wanting to belong to the Successful World of Fame. There I was thinking It would be fucking cool to be beloved by strangers, even though many people known to me will tell a different tale. But when I looked at Fame I had to wonder why it can make a sensitive fella like Kurt Cobain eat a shotgun?
(I met Courtney Love once, she was making noise, even though this was before her marriage to Cobain–she was all fucked up yet amusing. I didn’t know who she was until someone told me later. Being from the Seattle area I have met plenty of goofs who became famous, some for a long time, others til the needle ate them (Layne Stayley)–trust me, anyone with a little talent can do it, it involves being in the right place at the right time. One of my closest friends was in a band with former members of Steppenwolf, the guys were old enough to be his father and yet they were cool, sixties surviviors. The same friend got into a heated argument with Dave Grohl prior to Nirvana at the old Eastside Tavern. Fortunately for Dave, people got between them. My friend is six-two, two-twenty and in shape. I could snap Grohl’s neck between my thumb and forefinger, like a Chicken.)
I got into story writing in the mid-eighties after too much exposure to rock and roll nearly killed me more than once; save for pot, which I dislike, there ain’t a happy pill or powder that I ain’t all in for like a groundling disciple–I really should be dead, and I can see that in the eyes of people I haven’t seen in a long time. It’s why I am in a methadone program at age sixty-seven. Some Dinos are just too stupid to die at a palatable age. The old gang, the ones still breathing, have all quit smoking and do shit like posting food pics on Facebook, and there I go destroying their sobriety myth lighting up a butt, and gazing at them through the blue smoke, pupils imploded to pinpricks.
Listen to me–so insolent, so immature. Fuck it. It’s all true and I am not one for hiding–though I used to be. Get this, I managed to work nearly fifty years, hardly ever missing a day yet if mandatory UA’s existed during those ages I would have been soooooo gone. Trust me, I do not recommend my lifestyle. Just an exception that does prove the rule and the Big Foot will give me a damn good stomping someday, regardless of my attitude, but really, as long as the Cats are looked after and my brother remembers that I left him a ten grand life insurance policy, it’s all good. Oh–helpful hint! If you want to get out of leaving a bill for your disposal, do what I did and leave your body to science. Anything left they can sprinkle in a tavern parking lot.
Unlike me, writing has really changed in the last forty years (minus the songwriting ones). Not the stuff you read, good is still unexplainible, shit is still easy to smell–but the prosaic act of getting it out has changed greatly. Back then it was a tremendous physical process as compared to now. In 1980-whatever, I would write it out by hand then if I wanted to have it rejected I had to type it up, make photocopies at the library (only idiots submit their only copy) then stick it and an SASE in a large manila envelope, bicker with the guy at the post office until he lets you send it as media (much cheaper), wish it well and usually never see any answer or find your shitty SASE in your mail about six months later with a shitty rejection slip in it. Along with postage, you also had to purchase reams of paper, ribbon or cartridges (the latter were a godsend when the home typewriter WP machines came out in the mid to late eighties). And there used to be The Writer’s Digest Books. They were a real money maker for the company that sold them (I imagine the fuckers are slumming it online now). They had annuals, mine cost damn near thirty dollars and the investment returned six published tales that paid in free copies (four of which I am still waiting for).
Today, anyone can create a lovely document on a machine that really doesn’t cost more than one of those old manuals (adjusted for inflation). I mean you can create real beauties, and submitting costs nothing (beware fee asker-forers). There it is. My work of genius, not strewn across blotted pages or cocktail napkins. And look at the artwork!
And yet most of it goes to hell on page one because it was too easy for a No Talent Fuck who knows nothing about the poetry in puke and speedballs and playing chicken with death, nor basic grammer, nor how to consult a rudimentary imagination. A No Talent Fuck who smells dollar signs by Parrotting the No Talent Fuck Shit they see on TV or on the Times’ Best Seller List. A person need not have dirt under their nails to be a good writer or the childhood of a twelve-year-old hooker, nor do they have to have a new Star Wars up their sleeves, but meaning it, a free thing, the desire to do it if it was a thousand times harder must be there for it to be anything worth reading. A strange little hitch in the mind, a weird little gear that moves inside.
Anyway, to those of you aiming at hitting the charts chanting slogans to a heavy four beat and I IV V minor VI logarithms, or seeking an agent to schlock your mindless pennydreadful, the best of luck to you. I hope everyone gets rich, you’re (obviously) not taking anything from me. But, please, for the love of anything you remotely hold holy do not tell me that product is art.
The Week That Was
I used to feel like a slob when I had lie for the sake of my job. But here, at LS, since it really is not a job, but a task that actually has a moral purpose (so I say) I find my talent for lying is not needed. When I say we had another fine Week That Was, it is true. It is always true. Now, some weeks are ginchier than others because that’s how the ginch bauble bounces, but every Week That Was we have presented (and will continue to present) has always contained high quality.
The good stuff opened when Stephen Silvester returned with a Sunday Whatever called No One But a Blockhead Would. It takes a fine mind and a degree of inventiveness to say anything new about the topic of writing. Stephen has both and he offers many fresh insights into this odd business/vocation/preoccupation/insanity we share.
Monday brought the second coming of Prin Sairungsri. They Say it is Wonderful is just that (it is best not to question God for giving you an easy title to bounce off) . Prin did something quite rare. He submitted two excellent stories at the same time, which doesn’t happen much (a one in, say, fifty, um, make that fifty-seven sort of thing). Prin is also seventeen, which gives us good news for the future. And, obviously he is not a One Hit Wonder, being two for two. Prin has a fresh look at things, which should be expected–but what is not expected is his ability to place complicated thoughts into ready to understand words. I foresee not only a tremendous future for Prin, but a pretty good “now “as well.
The Backwaters is the latest success by Christopher J Anaias. I like to call him CJA (effective shortenings are welcomed by arthritis curved fingers, plus it sounds cool). To write about the people, their hard lives and actions that CJA presents, requires close knowledge, a productive relationship with fear and pain, honesty and a willingness to keep going no matter how miserable the journey may be. In short, CJA earns every accolade sent his way. He has bled and he continues to survive.
Even though this tale is mystic it is real, I know someone with the same name of the MC who would so the same as the MC had planned, no problem.
Wednesday brought back another writer on a hot streak. The Attic Room by Cris Aboobaker. It Is a fine character examination that turns toward action and further development in the realm of spirituality. He got a lot done in under three-thousand words, yet not a single passage in this harrowing tale feels connived, it flows and does so evenly.
Insert Coin by Ari Derin was the penultimate story of The Week That Was. Another scene from another Hellword. But it is a damn good scene and one that sticks with you long after you can leave the booth. The mind in the booth was far more a person than the idiotic “help bots” that claim to think yet merely search key words written by people. Thieves, really. Someday, something like this will happen. No doubt; the seeds have long been sown, I only hope there’s enough humanity around at the time to understand it.
And we hit the wrap yesterday with Kicking It by James Blindell. I don’t know if there is a conflict in the world that has more emotion in it than sports involving kids being watched by their parents. The net is loaded with clips of parents embarrassing themselves, often leading to jail time for assaulting the refs and umpires. That angers me because I know what it is like to volunteer your time and get spit on like you are some sort of servant. Here, James takes it deeper with the conflict involving father and son. He did it very well and it makes me surprised that we do not see something similar among those YouTube clips because the fuel for the explosion is already there.
There we are! Another Week in which the Wheel of Justice turned the right way for six writers. I part with you this week with advice often extended by my mother to me on my way out the door. “Don’t do anything bad enough to involve me.”
Mom was a realist.
Odds and Ends
Word of the Bi-Week: Minacious (adj): Of a menacing nature.
A Real Word That Really Does Not Need to Exist: Dryasdust (n): it means (surprise) boring (personally speaking I feel boring, dull and the rest of the drag gang are still doing solid work and require no further aid.)
Word to Unmisspell of the Bi-Week: Occasion. Often I have produced “ocassion” and “occassion” but seldom the right “sion.”
Random Odd Thought of the Bi-Week: Only the extraordinarily well sighted or holy can tell between the shape of a regular period and an italicized one. How about you?: “.” and “.” Which is which?
Another word that needs to stop being used (it’s been around at least fifty years): “Yellow?” instead of “Hello?” when answering a phone. This, for me, started up in the 70’s. A friend of mine had a wonderful set of parents but whenever I called, Mr. McConnaughey would answer and say “Yell-ow?” He was an awesome human being, and an immense one, Ox-ish–six-ten and probably three-hundred and fifty pounds. I’m guessing Peter had to dig up extra strength Angel wings when Mr. Mac got there. A freaking Saint, but we all have faults.
Bonus Bi-Word That Needs to Go: “Freaking” and “Frigging” instead of Fucking, in real life talk. I understand that you can show someone getting the hell kicked out of him on the same channels in which you cannot say “fuck.” The same channels that replace “Fuck you!” with “Forget you!” One of the American cable stations has Joe Pesi saying that at least ten times in Casino (they left in the parts involving beat downs with hammers and baseball bats). It is a stupid thing, but I understand it. But in real life I see no purpose in saying “It’s freaking hot out there” as though you can use the phrase in front of Granny.
My List of the Bi-Week: Ten Favorite Country Songs From My Childhood
Like most children of my time, whatever our parents’ music was, it was our music too. Even though I turned toward rock, wave, punk and “alt” I have never forgotten these songs from my years of yore. There must be fifty fit for the list, but I still like the list anyway. Additions are always welcomed.
- Jackson-Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash
- Rose Garden-Lynn Anderson
- D.I.V.O.R.C.E.-Tammy Wynette
- Folsom Prison Blues-Johnny Cash
- Mama Tried-Merle Haggard
- Harper Valley PTA-Jeanne C. Riley
- God Didn’t Make Honky Tonk Angels-Kitty Wells
- Kaw Liga! Hank Williams (sorry pee-cees–by the way, since I got you here–Get a fucking life!)
- Galveston-Glen Campbell
- The Circle Won’t Be Broken-Carter Family
Leila
This song came into my life just as I opened to Rock music. Gram Parsons was a genius, except he decided to drink liquid morphine one night. Geniuses do the dumbest shit. But we are lucky enough to have Emmylou Harris who gets prettier every year.
And I must add this one, which was inspired by Hugh. I am at war with my bathroom scale, and this one bothers me not, though I know people who hate it.
Leila
Another brilliant memoir essay/chapter from you!
Your writing is always FUN to read and that means you “make it look easy” even though such writing as this is actually anything but easy to accomplish, at least in the big picture.
Your descriptions of your songwriting and story-writing back in the past made me think about how much of what we do in the past turns us into who we are now, even though we don’t know it at the time!
Those who spend their time “individuating” and being creative (alongside making a living and staying alive) usually see worthwhile results, both at the time, and later. Those who ONLY spend their time making a living and staying alive ALWAYS come up empty later. Maybe with a full bank account, but everything else is empty (including their eyes).
The push for “Fame” is the spur that will drive all good writers on: for a while, and usually for a long while.
Once one no longer cares about things like that, however, true freedom sets in. The greatest artists (on one level anyway) no longer care about art because they can see straight through it all. No longer care about it, AND would never abandon it for anything!
Dale
LikeLike
Hello Dale
Thank you, thank you!
There’s something to be said for goingcthrough life, paying attention yet with a puzzled expression on your face.
One thing I have going for me (which must be classified as a God Gift) is an especially keen memory, but mainly for liile oddities like how the stairway smelled in West Bldg. at my high school, and the view of the Sound through classroom windows and that some bored kid fashioned the draw strings for the shades into hangman nooses. Fifty years, yet still clear.
Thanks sgain!
Leila
LikeLike
Leila
A memory like that explains many of the things you can do now!
Dale
LikeLike
The same intensity that fueled Gram’s genius made him drink that liquid morphine! No one knows why the Lord chooses to keep some of us here longer and bring others of us home sooner.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Hi Dale
I hadn’t heard of Gram until long after his death. His work with Emmylou was fantastic. I do not think he was even old enough for the stupid 27 club. They did a powerful duet of Love Hurts.
Thank you at always!
Leila
LikeLike
Emmylou and Gram had a truly beautiful platonic relationship, proving once again that platonic relationships are more artistic, just like Plato (and Freud) said they are.
They say she realized she was in love with him and was about to tell him right before he never came back.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi Dale
Willie Nelson said there are two types of men-“Those who are in love with Emmylou Harris” and “Those who will be once they meet her.”
LikeLike
Hi, Leila. I think you once said the Sid Vicious version of My Way was one of your favorites, and I can appreciate that even more now. Someone said a life well-lived is one you don’t regret. Couldn’t agree more. Many years ago, I had an idea for a country western song, but could never get past the title — The Sad Part About The Bad Part— so I abandoned it. The music world should be thankful.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Hi David
Aw, man, that’s a great title. C&W loves the contradiction almost as much as stuff like I Don’t Know Whether to Kill Myself or Go Bowling.
Thank you as always!
Leila
LikeLiked by 1 person
Leila,
A touching and a fun post.
My favorite words to hate are all pretentious. They usually fade away after 20 or so years.
“Detritus” only a couple of folks can’t pronounce it and they continue to burry us under the word.
“Paradigm” this goes without saying, until a new one comes along.
“Process” one works until “Processes” takes over. How many is that?
“Ennui” is another, except it can’t be spelled, either.
Never use something that be “Utilized.” There is no end to these suckers. — Gerry
LikeLiked by 2 people
Hi Gerry
You nailed those words! And I will add that each one has its place in a specific cliche. Politicians just adore “process” and “utilize.”
Thank you for the additions!
Leila
LikeLike
Hi Leila
Great look into your writing and living journey. Seattle, for me, is such a novel, mysterious place. Amazing to be in proximity to Grunge and see people for who they are. Sometimes, I think Fame in the next life might not mean much when people are back to being people or spirits–side by side.
Thanks for the shout out!
CJA
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi CJA
Seattle is hell dangerous for people who have any kind of substance abuse problems. Most cities are, but being a port city any kind of drug you are looking for is there. Then there’s all the gray and the moodiness. Even after a lifetime of exposure I note it sometimes and I can imagine the effects it has on people new to the area. Today, out the window is a perfect example, rain, a touch of wind and a general anxiety that lays beyond the reach of pumpkin spice to improve.
That is also an evil stage for fame. But, still, it is an interesting place that has a genuine soul, if you can scrape away all the new money vistas.
Thanks again and you deserve all the plaudits you get and far more!
Leila
LikeLiked by 1 person
There’s no justice in this world. If there were, ‘Never too late for love, Hitler got married at 56′ would be the sure-fire winner of a Golden Something-Or-Other. No-one of my acquaintance hit the artistic big-time. I did meet a guy who’d won a place at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art. But, after graduating, the only part he got was in a Christmas Panto, playing a Red Indian Chief who came on stage a couple of times, raised hand, and said, How.’
Two great clips, neither of which I’d heard before. Never heard much country music as a kid. The only one I can recall that I still enjoy was ‘Hang Down Your Head, Tom Dooley.’ I think the UK version was by The Kingston Trio, but they were probably copying a US original. Great post,
mick
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi Mick
Thank you! Yes the Kingston Trio were a big thing. Somehow the folkies got separated from the C&W crowd, which I never understood. Thank you for the vote for Hitler song–I recall one person asking me if I meant it. So stupid. Everything is literal for some goofballs. I guess there is a standard of intellect required to grasp irony.
It is amazing how many very talented people, like your acquaintance, do not “make it.” I figure it really is the right place at the right time. Fewer No Talents get over–some will for a bit, then people catch on pretty quick.
Thanks again!
Leila
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi Leila,
I like pencils and charcoals! I’d love to be able to draw replicas of black and white photos! But alas, my skill falls way short!!
Your remarks about the successful world of fame reminded me of an episode of’Only Fools’ – Del stated that he didn’t want money, he wanted fame and power. His brother asked him what he’d do with the fame and power and he said ‘I’d spend it!’
One of my favourite Glam Rock songs is ‘Alexander Graham Bell’ by The Sweet. I think Mr Bell didn’t want to answer with a ‘Hello’ he contemplated, ‘Ahoy!’ I reckon it could work!!
Ahh auld nazi boy hitler – Married at fifty six, blew his brains out not much older!!! (Allegedly!!)
I am with you and have never understood replacement swear words. Connolly said, ‘There are simply times in life when only a FUCK!!!! will do!
My old aunt and uncle used to say ‘Bucking’ but to be fair, they lived close to Edinburgh. (Blackburn)
There are some cracking tunes there. I’d add in Roger Miller, ‘King Of The Road’ and Jace Everett with ‘Bad Things’. And probably a lot of ‘The Eagles’!
Excellent and thought provoking as always!!
Hugh
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi Hugh
Oh yes, Roger Miller all the way “Dang me, dang me, oughta get a rope and hang me”! I just can’t handle pencils–a weirdness I know. I would sharpen them so often in order to “clean” them that my teachers wondered if I was up to something.
It’s really cool when someone can swear skillfully, like Billy Connolly and Richard Pryor. You have to be natural, never sounding like you just left home last week!
Thanks again!
Leila
LikeLike
Such an entertaining and deeply reflective piece! It is always a joy reading your weekly round-ups and your unfiltered thoughts on what makes truly good writing stand out.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hello Outrageous Monk
Thank you!
Leila
LikeLiked by 1 person
Nice about the writing, the desire to write. I love WordPress. I’ve posted just about every word I’ve written on here over the past few years. Before that it was mostly complaining about agents and submitting. I meant all the words, and they’re still coming out. I think I used frigging in a sentence yesterday but my characters don’t always behave the way I think they should.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi Ted
Thank you! I think frigging is all right in certain areas, probably limited to dialogue, to a person trying not to go all the way.
Thank you!
Leila
LikeLiked by 1 person
Funny. It was in conversation. And it was definitely a person trying not to go all the way (he was talking to his youngish daughter) . . . but he eventually does something way worse than say ‘fuck.’ Maybe that was my point, but writing is weird, you know? Subliminal stuff comes out. That’s what makes it the medium it is.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Another wonderfully honest and interesting post, Thank you . Fame is a very cleft stick, it seems to me. I find it hard to think of someone who could possibly be enjoying the actual ‘fame part’ and yet the money must be useful. As you know, I don’t use really strong swear words even in the books (one example of Fuck in all thrity odd of them) but when it’s necessary then it should have its place. If you don’t want to use it write around it. As for in speech I don’t, mainly because of the very reason you stated, I would sound ridiculous. As for words that should be gone I think mainly it’s not the poor little words themselves but the absolute delight of the people who leap on them and use them ad-nauseum. right now though it is the ubiquitous presence of ‘atop’ in just about every soddin’ thing. It makes me cringe. Why? suddenly is nothing ‘on top of’ or ‘above’. Your list of songs is absolutely spot on. Love all of them. Also, Angela’s Eyes, Rings of Grass and Another Few Years by Doctor Hook. Not exactly from my childhood (I’ve picked up a couple more years on you of course) but from a happy time, and I do think that makes a difference. Thank you again for another super Saturday round up. ddx
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you Diane!
I think it is perfectly acceptable not to use profanity. I only object when someone tries to soften what is really meant by using a softball word. I wish I could be much cleaner. A lot of the time swearing is cheating and often something will not stand out much without the cuss word.
Angela’s Eyes is a great tune! Perfect for your family, now that I think about it. Dr. Hook was really a gentle group of guys despite their somewhat sinister look.
Thanks as always!
Leila
LikeLike
Thank you Leila for sharing a personal post and your reflections on how writing has changed so much, unlike your legendary self.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hello Paul
And thank you for your comments and for dropping by! There are two times in life: When telling the truth is not always to your advantage and when you realize the advantage you sought to protect was a small part of a bigger lie.
Thanks again!
Leila
LikeLike
I was intrigued by your visceral relationship with pencils. I didn’t quite get your first ‘they feel like dirt,’ but was totally knocked back by ‘making the world smell like a fucking pencil,’ so I tried a little experiment, giving the handiest victim a couple of turns in the sharpener. Imagine my surprise when I then sniffed and, instead of the reassuring and wholesome fragrance of fresh wood shavings I’d expected, detected nothing (I don’t know if graphite is supposed to smell of anything). I was disappointed, of course, but I can’t give pencils my undivided loathing; this is reserved for wire coat hangers, the seeds in bell peppers, runny yolk next to fried tomatoes …It’s nice to learn that Hugh likes pencils (and charcoal), which restores some equilibrium. They’re probably better for drawing than for writing. I still like them a bit, probably just the sharpening bit, but nothing lighter than a 2B, and I won’t use one for setting down the real stuff, because such manuscripts go smudgy and then illegible They’re fine for shopping lists and for the emergency jot of the solution to something that pops into your head in the middle of the night or the occasional burst of ‘drunk shite’ that you can’t understand the next day.‘Necessary’ is my own peculiar spelling stumble. For some reason saying ‘neckessary’ helps; the unwanted k probably reminds me that I don’t want a second c, either. As for the end of the word, I just think of an emissary with a pessary. If ‘occasion’ ever creeps back to vex you, it may occur to you to consult an occultist rather than an oculist, who would just confuse you; and remember, a little gentle persuasion can be more effective than an invasion of passion.Your evaluation of this blockhead nearly made him blush (in a manly way, of course). But thank you.
LikeLike
Hi Stephen
That is as eloquent and intellectual defense for the pencil I have ever come across.
I am in the minority as are all pencil haters; most people would support you, but I am afraid that I will still be doing crossword puzzles in ink.
Thank you and also thanks again for your work, essay included!
Leila
LikeLiked by 1 person