I have this blues riff running through my brain....
I ain't got no agent
I ain't got no deal
Am I really a writer?
Am I even real?
I got the blues...
I got the writer blues....
I got the no good, low down, bustin' my ass and still no book deal blues.....
A bunch of my friends gathered with me to celebrate my birthday recently. Bunch of creative, brilliant, amazing super-wonderful people whom I am so honored to call my friends. Celebrating me.
Sometimes we can be humbled by things we least expect to be humbled by -- and I am humbled by this amazing group and the esteem they seem to hold me in.
And that kind of sparked my blues -- for whatever reason, I AM held in high esteem by this group, and I'm feeling a bit unworthy of it all.
But, with Pikes Peak Writers Conference just around the corner, I have an opportunity to maybe feel a bit more worthy. Because I HAVE been working my ass off...writing, editing, shaping my pitches (yes pitches, plural). And I am going in with everything I have.
And that will be for me, not for my pals, because they apparently don't need or want me to be anyone or any way other than who I am right now.
Still, opportunity is on the horizon.
And really, it's self indulgent (if slightly cool) to have the blues. I remind myself that I am in charge of my future, I own my destiny, and it is up to me to make things happen, in my life and in my writing career.
So, even though I really like singing the blues, I don't much like having them. And as a writer, I can rewrite the blues into something more uptempo, rock-opera, synth-success, just by sheer force of will and some hard work.
Go write your own songs, folks.
And if they come out rather more bluesy and sad than you like, re-write at will. It's what we do.
The Final Snippet: Nothing mixes quite like absinthe and kids (overheard at my party).
Deb Answers: To Miller in SD: This is not the job you seek.