I’ve been reading Turning Pro by Steven Pressfield (again), and I had this epiphany. He writes a lot about that moment when you turn pro and I was thinking of when that happened for me. It was that moment on that day on a New Year’s cruise in the middle of the Caribbean when I realized I had to find my father. That was the day I claimed my identity, that was the day I turned pro and not the day I submitted my first novel or song. That all followed in due time.
And part of me heard this speech in my head for those voices that say I’ll never be as good of a musician as my half-siblings and their offspring, those who grew up knowing my father, while I did not.
And then in true Steven Pressfield fashion, this voice in my head said, “I don’t give a sh*t” what any of those people think. After all, I came before them. The only person I respect is my older half-brother Ricky because he came before me.”
It also occurred to me how little respect we give to those older than us. But it’s an ancient practice, one that we should all pay attention to.
The point is, though, that I’m now questioning (again) if music should be the muse I follow first and foremost at this time in my life, or if it’s time to get back to writing fiction. As much as I love music, and I do, I miss writing speeches and making pronouncements in character (instead of here on my blog).
So what does 2022 look like for me? Is it time to return to writing novels? I guess the answer depends on which scares me the most moving forward, and which scares me the most if I don’t move forward at all.
Or maybe being Pro means I do both.