We thought we was pretty good
We talked about keeping the band together
And we figured that we should
Cause about this time we was getting the eye
From the girls in the neighborhood
They’d all come over and dance around like
Stomp, clap, stomp, clap-clap
Stomp, clap, stomp, clap-clap
So we picked out a stupid name
Had some cards printed up for a couple of bucks
And we was on our way to fame
Got matching suits and Beatle Boots
And a sign on the back of the car
And we was ready to work in a GO-GO Bar
One, two, three, four
Let’s see if you’ve got some more
People seemed to like our songs
They got up and danced and made a lotta noise
And it wasn’t before very long
A guy from a company we can’t name
Said we oughta take his pen
And sign on the line for a real good time
But he didn’t tell us when
These good times would be something
That was really happening
So the band broke up
And it looks like
We will never play again...
My brother—ten years older than me—lived through that whole 1960s/garage band/bar band/music business thing when he was young. A few days ago I was continuing my effort to clean out my house—
(Yesterday I met with my real estate agent. She spent fifteen minutes telling me how awful the current real estate market is for selling homes. However when we reviewed the specifics of my house, she seemed oddly optimistic. Maybe it really is location, location, location. The last thing she said to me yesterday was, “Get busy and get rid of everything you don’t want because you are going to be moving soon!”)
—I was cleaning out my house and I found one of my brother’s old band cards:
My brother played guitar and trumpet. (That was in the days of Three Dog Night and Blood, Sweat and Tears, when pop songs had trumpet parts.)
Unlike Joe and Mary in Frank Zappa’s rock opera “Joe’s Garage,” my brother and his wife have lived reasonably happy ever after because, I suspect, my brother got out of the music business when he was very young. He gave up the music life, got a corporate job, got lots of on-the-job training and now, today, he and his wife are enjoying a two week vacation in Hawaii. (He’s still an extraordinary guitarist, but he only plays for fun and to entertain friends.)
As a writer I’ve always made the opposite kind of decisions from those my brother made.
I’ve always wanted to be a writer and I’ve always been very nervous about the corporate world. Every time I’ve begun to feel comfortable in the corporate world, I’ve given notice and spent time living on savings and writing manuscripts. Then I’ve re-entered the corporate world to top off my savings and get ready to work on another novel manuscript. So, I’ve avoided getting ‘seduced’ by the money and distractions of corporate life and I’ve produced more than a half dozen novels. (All sadly damn it still unpublished.)
But while ‘re-entering’ the corporate world for some reason came easily to me when I was young, now that I’m an old guy I’m finding it almost impossible.
I’m very proud and happy that I’ve got a lot of manuscripts. But at the same time I’m frustrated and depressed that I’ve never gotten published for money and I’ve never made a career of writing. And I’m worried, now, that getting back into the corporate world is proving so hard.
As sad and frustrated and worried as I get, however, I don’t look back with regrets. Even when I get into a Biblical frame of mind, my sadness only goes so deep:
So I became sad about all the hard work I had done here on earth. People can work hard using all their wisdom, knowledge, and skill, but they will die, and other people will get the things for which they worked. They did not do the work, but they will get everything. This is also unfair and useless. What do people get for all their work and struggling here on earth? All of their lives their work is full of pain and sorrow, and even at night their minds don't rest. This is also useless. The best that people can do is eat, drink, and enjoy their work. I saw that even this comes from God . . .Ecclesiastes 2:20-24, New Century Version
(What is the New Century translation?)
I don’t look back with regrets, ultimately, because I’ve always been able to eat, drink and enjoy my work. I gave writing my best shot. I worked hard and enjoyed everything I created. I’m sad and frustrated I never got published, never made a career out of it, but I tried. I lost fair and square, but ultimately I’m just very, very grateful that I had the opportunity to give writing my best shot.
*
On the topic of writing, a few days ago I was looking around the ’net for information about how Amazon’s electronic book reader the Kindle uses its WhisperNet. In the course of looking around, I Googled up a Steve Jobs interview from a few months ago. One of the things Jobs said has been haunting me ever since I read his words. He didn’t dismiss the Kindle because it’s badly designed or badly built or badly marketed. Jobs dismissed the Kindle because he views it as badly conceived:
“It doesn’t matter how good or bad the product is, the fact is that people don’t read anymore,” [Jobs] said. “Forty percent of the people in the U.S. read one book or less last year. The whole conception is flawed at the top because people don’t read anymore.”
Yeah, well, I guess this is true.
Writing—in the sense of short stories and novels—in pretty much a thing of the past. It still exists in the modern world, but I feel that I need to face the facts and deal with the reality that, as a profession, writing is now something like, well, lion taming: People do it, but it’s not exactly a dynamic aspect of the modern world that in any way shapes or even impacts our culture.
I think the future of writing is in the fragmented forms: Scripts. Speeches. Essays. Corporate product.
I’m very glad I learned to draw a little. I suspect I have a much brighter future writing captions for cartoons than I do writing short stories or novels.
*
All that stuff being said, for the rest of this week—Ha! It's my blog and I’ll do what I want!—I’m going to be talking about old time writing!
Friday I am going to put up what I think is the longest short story I’ve ever posted. Tomorrow I’m going to introduce the story, talk more about writing and touch on one of the reasons I started this blog.
*
It’s a hurried up life
But it’s the life I choose
No use in asking me to slow down
Cause I got nothing to lose
Time and tide is all I’ve got
You know I born standing up
With a guitar in my hand
I’m not trying to come on like Hollywood
But Hollywood is what I am
When we come into a new town
Everybody’s there
When we play our music
Hands are in the air
When the music’s over
You wonder where we are
Out standing in the silence
With my old guitar
Rock is my life
This is my song
It’s a crying shame
But some of us have not survived
No use in asking how it happened
But very few are left alive
I just want to keep on making music
We’ve got to keep on keeping on
You’re only as good as your last record
I know that someday we’ll be gone, gone
When we come into a new town
Everybody’s there
When we play our music
Hands are in the air
When the music’s over
You wonder where we are
Out standing in the silence
With my old guitar
Rock is my life
This is my song
When we come into a new town
Everybody’s there
When we play our music
Candles light the air
When the music’s over, over
You wonder where we are
Out standing in the silence
With my old guitar
My only friend . . .
Rock is my life
This is my song
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