Another writer's blog? Whatever for?

Or, How I Almost Became a Famous Singer/Songwriter

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In my mid-thirties, still reeling from a divorce that spiraled to depths of negativity I could never have imagined, I picked up the acoustic guitar I’d bought second-hand a few years previous but had left languishing in a closet, and decided to get serious about learning to play. What I learned right away was that a few chords are all you need to write a song. And that was the thing I really loved to do. To write. And here was a new way to do it. I learned a few more chords and kept writing. I wrote well over a hundred songs in a few years, most of them about relationship, money and career struggles, love and loss, the smell of coffee on a lazy Sunday morning.

At the Feed Your Love Open Mic, Orleans, MA (photo courtesy Bert Jackson)

I tried my first open mic, my hands shaking so hard I missed half the strings (I never liked playing with a pic; the results were too loud and I couldn’t seem to keep a grip on that slippery little tool, so I chose finger-style guitar instead). Oh, I’m going to be a singer-songwriter like my favorite contemporary folk artist, Bill Morrissey, I imagined. I had visions of performing on small stages all over New England, singing the words people wanted to hear, relating to their struggles and helping them to feel less alone, to enjoy a night out, to take a break from their stress-laden lives.

What I began to realize rather quickly, however, is that a few chords memorized is a long way from instrument mastery. Plus, I had a few other issues as a performer; I was fairly hard on myself when I made mistakes or if no one responded positively to my music. Mainly I wanted people to comment on the songs themselves, the lyrics, the sentiment that I was trying to convey. I wanted to be recognized as a good writer. Yes, I got lots of great feedback, but not always (coffee shops and small performance venues can be awfully noisy places, not conducive to careful listening). I could be insecure about the songs I’d worked so hard on. And I always felt like my guitar playing wasn’t good enough. Amateur. Too crude or unsophisticated. No guitar licks, no flourish, certainly not as vigorously confident as the more established singer/songwriters I enjoyed. And mostly, I was always so nervous leading up to a performance. The hand shaking issue. And that took a lot of the fun out of it.

So, I gradually let it all come to an end.

I’ve been journaling for over forty years. Keeping a journal was one of the requirements of a creative writing class I’d signed up for in high school. Funny thing is, our journals were to be read and graded by the teacher, which I resented (feared?), and so throughout the first semester I neglected to do the work, the results being my first and only F. You better believe the following semester I started that journal lickety split—and got an A!

My journaling has been sporadic over the years. I’ve noticed the times in my life that were the hardest were the times I wrote the most. I guess when things are going well there’s less to process, and that’s one of my main writing motivations: confusion, emotional angst.

Lately I’ve been writing more than ever before (ironically, things are actually going well!). I told a friend in my meditation group that since discovering mindfulness and meditation I feel like for the first time I have something that I just want to write and write and write about. Mindfulness is so simple and yet so fascinating. How could such a simple antidote to all kinds of suffering not be more widely known and practiced!

At the New England Peace Pagoda, Leverett, MA

And that brings me to the purpose of this blog.

The reason I loved songwriting so much is because you could get right to the heart of the human condition—the suffering and the joy—in a few well-chosen lines.

It’s the end of a long hard day

Of working too hard for my pay

The mortgage is due, the credit cards, too

But damn, I’m gonna find a way

Got the bills spread out on the floor

Gonna crunch these numbers just once more

The sun’s about set when I hear her light step

Outside the bedroom door...*

Songs, unlike a personal journal, are for people; their very purpose is to share. You don’t write a song to keep it to yourself. But there are so many road blocks preventing those songs from reaching their destination. Not just performance anxiety. I know some great and confident musicians who can’t book gigs, never mind sell CDs, because it’s such a tough market. Lots of musicians, lots of bands, few venues and even less money to pay them a living wage.

The other day I received an email newsletter from a local musician whose music I’ve enjoyed (

Monica Rizzio

) . She was blogging from Europe and mentioned that she was changing her emailing platform from MailChimp to something called Substack. That would seem like a minor bit of technical information, but something piqued my curiosity. Not that I’ve been thinking about blogging at all. But last week I did speak at my meditation group (I had been asked to share my experience at a recent silent meditation retreat) and at the end of my talk I read a passage out loud from my journal. It was so well received (both the talk and the reading) and a few people even asked for copies of the journal entry. I guess that was probably still floating around in my mind—the pleasure of sharing my thoughts and writing. So, I looked up this Substack thing and found that it is a writers’ blog site, a place for “thought leaders” and other creatives to share something of themselves and their work.

One thing led to another and I started an account.

Very simply, this blog will peruse themes similar to those expressed in this writing; investigating the true nature of self and reality, not in a scholarly or overly analytical way, but on a real human level. The ways life can knock us down and pick us up. How the simple act of paying close attention can help a lot. I’ll share my experiences, my findings and musings through the everyday life of a working man, through meditation and mindfulness, in relationship, in the woods, on a quiet trail.

It’s another way of sharing my writing and my heart, but without the guitar this time.

And I’ll welcome and look forward to your comments and conversation.

Thank you!

PS—If you’re curious about Bill Morrissey, the singer/songwriter I mentioned, try “Birches” or “Handsome Molly” (and while you’re at it, try “The Poet Game” by Greg Brown and “Fireflies” by Lori McKenna).

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*Lyrics from “Dance With Me Like You Used To Do,” the only song I intentionally wrote as a “country” song

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