Questions (#Lyric #Poem)

If I asked mere questions, it wasn’t to gossip
But to fill in the air that poetry leaves
Like whispering trees or a dripping faucet
Rushing Hardy Falls where I once grieved

How can you know the buttons and the brass
Internally observed when cutting teeth
Sitting in Mr. Clukas’ poetry class
Deprived of your presence like the air that I breathe

If I seemed to you rude when I inquired within
It wasn’t to make a judgment of some mortal sin
I came to you with nothing but a clean, blank slate
Looking for you to fill it like your favorite plate

Breaking Out of “Cave Syndrome” with the Help of Tommy Bahama

After over a year of isolation, writing and producing music in my home studio, I had a feeling I would find it difficult to get back to “normal” life. I’d remembered how during a time in the Bay Area in-between jobs, I found it difficult to leave Fremont to commute to San Jose. And after this past year when my world shrank even more, I would not be surprised if I struggled to go out for fun.

We’d gone to SoCal a few times for special events at Knott’s Berry Farm and Disneyland, but I kept finding reasons not to go out to a restaurant here in Las Vegas. Rich kept making reservations at Tommy Bahama, but I talked him into ordering in from various places instead.

But when I found myself sitting in the garage Friday afternoon waiting for Rich to finish his work day in his upstairs office, reading about “Cave Syndrome,” I knew it was time to take steps.

Rich made another reservation at Tommy’s and we actually went. But walking to the restaurant from the parking garage, passing strangers wearing the usual masks, I wondered if I was truly ready. Had this thing changed me forever, leaving me in a mental haze where all of life seems a bit dim?

But as soon as we were seated, we noticed that unlike Disney, we were not required to sit there wearing masks until our food arrived, and, unlike Disney, our server was mask free (allowed if vaccinated), my heart leapt with joy! Suddenly, life was feeling a lot rosier, the fog began to lift. And by the time my Blood Orange Margarita and Rich’s Key Lime Martini arrived, I was downright ecstatic!

I began to feel hopeful that there is, indeed, life after Covid, that I can do the WDW trip, and that maybe even our November cruise is possible! It was quite a watershed moment.

Round Goes the Night (#poem)

The spinning of the fan in the ceiling goes round
Fills the room with cinema and sound
The cat tree in the corner spirals in place
The whirling of the dancing cone cools my face

Thoughts in my head twist and turn
Lessons in Push will I ever learn
Poems and lyrics, simple that I write
Bring peace and rest until daylight

The cat is sleeping, quiet as a mouse
Do I risk breaking the stillness of the house
Will he awaken demanding his time
Warming up his vocals in rhythm and rhyme

Four hours til dawn too early to tell
Snoozing on my lap or sounding a yell
Too soon for coffee way before first light
Sleeping with one eye open round goes the night

For the Love of Music (Production)

I suppose I could have gone back to school to complete a degree but I had gotten so far without it. Perhaps if I’d wanted to change careers, it might have been worth it. But to go through all that time, effort, and money to continue doing what I was doing already didn’t seem worth it. Just to make other people happy and to avoid those awkward interview questions, certainly not.

For one thing, the only thing I really wanted to do was to make music and through targeting specific classes, training, and certificate programs, I’ve been able to learn what I need to know. That’s how I got as far as I did in Silicon Valley in the first place. Truth be told, I loved my work more when I was in book production – so much more creative than technical writing.

And so music production is where I’ve landed in the music world. And I absolutely love it.

Fight for Me: A Victory Song (#poem #conversationswithmyself)

Version 2 (Orig. Fight for Me)

Give me honor, not pity
Give me justice, not excuses
Fight for me, don’t feel sorry for me
Stand up for me, don’t watch me fall
Assuming I won’t get up, that I can’t fight for myself
That I won’t be victorious
And know this
That everything I’ve done has been out of strength, not weakness
Don’t assume
That I can’t stand tall
Or respect myself, most of all
Anything less and you would be wrong
This, most of all, is my victory song

Fight for Me (#poem #conversationswithmyself #wip)

This is version 1, a work in progress

Give me honor, not pity
Give me justice, not excuses
Fight for me, don’t feel sorry for me
Stand up for me, don’t watch me fall
Assuming I won’t get up, that I can’t fight for myself
That I won’t claim the victory
And know this
That everything I’ve done has been out of strength, not weakness
Don’t assume
That I can’t stand tall
Or respect myself, most of all

“Everybody Lies,” a Short Story Peek Free Promo on Kindle

“Everybody Lies,” a short story peek is free on Kindle for the next 3 days.

EVERYBODY LIES

Forty-year-old Sherry Boyd has never really grown up. She’s living life in a fantasy, in a world where life is played out in a Hollywood musical. The stories she heard about the father she has never met, how her parents met when her mother worked as an usher at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, and of her charismatic father performing on stage have fed her own dreams to follow in her fantasy father’s footsteps.

Trouble is, Sherry is dreaming her life away instead of following her passion. When she finds herself floundering in Florida after following her latest lover, Matt, from San Francisco to Key West, she knows that something has to change. Not knowing how to dig herself out of her latest mess, she continues to repeat her mistakes of singing in jazz joints and hanging out with musicians until she finally realizes she has to confront the lies from the past to face the future.

Download link.

Guest Appearances:

Monterey Jack from the Real Women Wear Red and Real Women Sing the Blues

Babs from Letters on Balboa Island

“Uncle Frankie” from Letters on Balboa Island

EVERYBODY LIES Now Available as a Short Story peek for your Kindle.

Words to Live By

I’m often torn between focusing on writing novels and producing music. As if I must make a choice. And even though I know I don’t have to choose, not choosing does present a challenge of focus. Sometimes it’s difficult to be good at anything if you’re not focused on one thing.

However, my husband reminded me of this Erma Bombeck quote:


These are definitely words I want to live by.

“Real Women Wear Red” Excerpt Podcast

Real Women Wear Red
Chapter One
Cyn

“Dear Abby, I’m over 40 and my life sucks.”

I sipped my Hazelnut Roast in the break room of TGI Graphics, placed my cup on the table, and continued reading from the Los Angeles Times to my co-worker Maggie.

“Dear Abby, I’ve been divorced for five years, and I still haven’t found my second chance.”

“Dear Abby, I’m over 40, divorced, and don’t know how to compete in a young world.”

“Say what?” Maggie interrupted.

“No, wait, there’s one more—it’s the real clincher.”

“Dear Abby, I’m over 40, and I’m dating a much younger man who wants to have kids. Am I too old to start a family?”

“BS. Why should life be any different after 40 than before 40?”

Never mind the obvious reason—I wanted to believe Maggie. But underneath it all, I felt the same way as the letter writer. It had been five years since my divorce and my “second chance” still hadn’t materialized. I got the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach something was wrong whenever I thought about it. I tried to dismiss it, but then sleep became harder and harder to sustain throughout the night. I tossed and turned, woke up, and stared at the ceiling, searching my mind for answers that never came. If I dared mention it, people snickered and suggested something about “hot flashes” and “that age.”

“Well, I’ll tell you I wasn’t going through that.” Not yet. But I was at an age when I came to the depressing realization my life wasn’t working. It wasn’t so much I was unhappy. It was the uneasy feeling my life wasn’t moving forward.

“You’re not going through what, Cyn? Are you still moaning about being over 40? You’re still young yet.”

“So, how come my second chance hasn’t arrived?”

“Okay, listen to Mother Maggie cuz I’m gonna tell you what you should do. Book a Caribbean cruise, dye your hair blonde, and paint your toes pink. People will think you’re a young girl of 30.”

That was easy for Maggie to say. She was still in her thirties and never married, so how did she know what it was like to feel over the hill at 40-something? Maggie did seem to have her finger on the pulse of the singles’ world. But did I want to be a “girl?” And what was up with the color pink? Guess it went along with being a “girl.

Maggie had an answer for that too. “L.A. men are fake. Isn’t that why it all went wrong with your ex?”

Actually, my ex and I were both from the Midwest—Ohio, to be exact. But knowing that didn’t phase her—Maggie was on a roll.

“Besides, on a cruise, you’re bound to meet men from other parts of the country. In civilized areas such as the East Coast.”

She might have a point about men from outside of L.A. Maggie was from New England and she swore the men were different there—nice without being boring. If only it weren’t so darn cold, we’d probably both go back there to find one. Maggie said a cruise would be a way to meet a guy from colder climes without enduring the cold. Would they relocate to L.A.? Hmmm. Wasn’t so sure about this plan, but it was worth a shot.

“If I book a cruise, will you come with me?”

“No, Cyn. Women in groups scare men. You’re much more approachable by yourself. You must go alone. Leave it to me—I’ll book just the right cruise for you.”

Two days later I was face down on Maggie’s bed in her apartment, L’Oreal (“because I’m worth it”) Preference for Blondes, #9½-NB for Natural Blonde piled on my head with my nose stuck in a Cosmo—the magazine, not the drink. A vodka martini, straight up, was my drink. None of these silly, girly drinks for a woman like me, although Maggie insisted I was going to attract an old geezer if I kept drinking martinis.

“Get with it—you gotta drink a colored ’tini. There’s Appletini, Baby Blue Martini, Berry Berry Martini, Bacardi Limon Martini, Key Lime Martini, Chocolate Martini, and the Ultimate Cosmopolitan just for starters,” she said the last time we were enjoying “Ladies Night” at the downtown Embassy Suites bar just two blocks from the office.

I flipped through the magazine, back to front, in my usual fashion. “Older Women and Young Men—How to Snag a Boy Toy” caught my attention. Hmmm… a younger man? There it was again. First Dear Abby and now Cosmo. Boy toys, pink, and girls.

Not sure if I could start drinking pink drinks and call myself a girl, but if that’s what you had to do these days to get a boy, I would consider it.

But did I really want a boy? That sounded like a plaything. I was looking for something more serious. But how did I really feel about having kids? Women my age who found younger men were pressured into having a family. On the other hand, women my age who had met older men were stuck with grown children. They were the second wife and the kids didn’t always accept them. So which way did I want to go?

“Here, stick out your toes,” Maggie commanded, holding a giant bottle of hot pink polish.

“No pink,” I protested.

“Oh, yes, Cyn, you must do pink.”

Maggie had started calling me Cincy, or Cyn for short, because I was originally from Cincinnati, but my real name was Kate, or rather Katherine. I’ve now changed my name, my hair color, and even got a pair of special prescription contact lenses—for those with “eyes over 40.” Who would recognize me now? Taking on a new identity was one thing but wearing pink was another.

I handed Maggie the bottle of “New York Red.”

“No, that’s where I draw the line. I may dye my hair blonde, I may drink pink drinks, but I am not doing pink toe polish. Red, that’s my color. After all, real women wear red.”

***

Thanks for listening. To check out book 1 and book 2 of this series, go to kathyholmes.net/novels. Let me know in the comments if you’d be interested in book 3.

Scooter’s Big Adventure, a Picture Book Podcast

Funny, I’ve been dreaming about making an audio version of this picture book I wrote a few years back, inspired by Skipper, our Burmilla cat (sometimes called “Scooter.”) At 18, he joined his sweetheart, Lovey, on the Rainbow Bridge just a little over 2 years ago. I miss him every day.

Now that WordPress has this podcast feature where you can convert your blog post into a podcast, well, this is the time to do it. I tried the podcast feature out yesterday and now I’m giving this story a try (see illustrated pdf download).Stay tuned for the link to Spotify.

Mrs. Johnson went to the pet store and saw a white kitty wearing a red kerchief. She said, “I want that one.”

The owner said, “Okay, but you must promise to never let him go outside with his little red scooter.”

“Scooter?” she said.

“Yes, he scoots around on it. You’ll see.”

Mrs. Johnson did see and so she named him Scooter, named after his favorite toy. Scooter loved to help Mrs. Johnson in the kitchen where he added his own ingredients to the pot.

Every morning Mrs. Johnson and Scooter baked sweet treats and watched the children board the yellow school bus.

One blustery day, Mrs. Johnson went outside to get the morning paper. “Good morning, Mrs. Johnson,” the kids, waiting for the school bus, said.

She smiled and waved back. “If only my Scooter were a real boy.”

When Mrs. Johnson went inside, a gust of wind blew her door open. “Oh dear,” she said, “I must not have closed the door tight.”

As she reached to close the door, she heard the rumble of the red scooter fly past her.

“Oh, no,” she said. “Come back, Scooter.”

But the scooter picked up such speed that when she’d almost caught him, he scooted along even farther.

“The school kids will bring him back.”

When the school bus arrived and all of the kids got onboard, the bus drove away. Mrs. Johnson noticed one boy staring at her from the school bus window. She looked and looked and blinked her eyes. Surely, she must be dreaming.

She looked around but she didn’t see a kitty or a scooter anywhere. And that little boy on the bus was wearing the same little red kerchief that her Scooter wore.

Once she got over her amazement, she smiled because she realized he looked just like she had imagined he would look if he were a real a boy. He had blonde hair, blue eyes, a big, round smiling face, and a smattering of freckles across his nose.

Scooter watched the look of horror on his mother’s face become a smiling face as the school bus drove away. He knew she would be okay. Today was his day to have a big adventure with the other kids.

But he was sad about missing making lunch with his mother and his very own scooter that didn’t come with him as he jumped up the steps onto the bus. He hoped that when the bus brought him back home his scooter would be waiting for him.

He also hoped that his mother would be smiling and waiting for him like all the other mothers did every day.

A big kid, much bigger than Scooter, sat down next to him on the seat. But he bounced more than he sat and bumped into Scooter hard. Scooter smiled at him, hoping he wanted to be friends, but the boy jammed himself against Scooter again.

Scooter started to say, “Hey, watch it,” but his voice sounded more like a high-pitched meow. The boy rammed against him again and it was starting to not feel good so Scooter took his hand, shaped like a claw, and began scratching the kid.

The other kids noticed and started chanting, “Baby, baby, he claws like a baby.”

Scooter felt his ears draw back as he wondered what he had done wrong. The other kids seemed like they were making fun of him. He shrugged his shoulders and stared out the window again, but this time he didn’t recognize any of the houses in his neighborhood. His excitement over a new adventure was turning into fear.

But just as he started to worry about what he had done, the bus pulled up in front of a pretty little school, just like he had seen from watching TV.

The kids filed out of the bus and headed for the classroom. Some kids hung up their coats in the back of the room while others sat down at small tables.

“Desk,” he corrected himself. He knew from watching TV that it was called a desk. And, sure enough, just like on TV, there was the teacher sitting at a desk in front of the class.

Scooter sat down at one desk after another but a kid would kick him out each time saying, “Hey, that is my desk” or “Are you a new kid in the class?” Finally the teacher looked at Scooter and asked him, “Do you have your enrollment papers?”

Scooter began to get frightened. When the teacher asked him again and started to walk toward him, he ran out of the classroom and he heard the kids laughing. This going to school thing was tougher than he thought it would be.

He roamed around the building and peeked his head into one classroom after another but somebody always asked him if he was new in school. He just wanted to hang out and see what was going on. He didn’t actually want to enroll in anything. The word enroll just made him hungry, thinking of the sweet cinnamon rolls his mother would sometimes make just before lunch.

Just then, like magic, his nose got a whiff of something good-smelling–something that smelled like it was coming from a kitchen–something that smelled like pizza.

“The cafeteria,” he said. He ran over to the building marked “cafeteria” and noticed other moms in there preparing food–just like his mom did at home.

A smiling mom with gray hair greeted him with open arms. She said, “There you are–our volunteer. We thought you weren’t coming today.”

She tied an apron around his waist, placed a white chef’s hat on his head and clapped her hands.

“I’m ready to taste the food,” he said. The mom with the gray hair laughed.

“Here, take these napkins and put them in the holders on every table. Then put this stack of clean forks and knives into the containers. When you’re finished with that, fill the bins with straws. By then it should be time for the rest of the children to come in for lunch and I’ll need your help with the milk cartons.”

When he saw the big trays filled with pizzas sitting on the counter, his mouth began to water and his tummy began to grumble. The pizza began to talk to him. “Eat me,” it said.

When the white-haired mom went to the freezer in the other room, Scooter grabbed a slice of cheese pizza. “Surely, she won’t miss this slice,” he said and began eating. And that was so good, he grabbed another, only this time he added some sausage and a dash of basil he saw sitting on the counter. He knew his spices from watching his mom in the kitchen.

“What this pizza needs is some anchovies,” he said and grabbed some sitting next to the bowl of spaghetti sauce and tossed them on each slice.

“More cheese would be even better,” he thought and grabbed a handful of grated cheese from the other side of the bowl of spaghetti sauce and sprinkled it throughout.

When Scooter looked up, he saw the gray-haired mom walk back to the table, but instead of her smiling face, she had a stern look on her face. But instead of the pretend mad look like his mom wore when she scolded him not to lick the butter cream frosting knife, this mom’s face looked really mad.

Scooter jumped down and ran out of the cafeteria and down the street. He ran and ran and ran as fast as he could, not even thinking about where he was going.

“Scooter, come back,” he heard her say.

He looked over his shoulder to see if she still looked mad, but he only saw a bunch of mean-looking kids running after him and dogs barking at him.

“Oh, no, not dogs,” he said.

He ran and he ran as fast and as far as he could. And just as the kids and the dogs started to catch up with him and grab the kerchief around his neck, he saw his little red scooter hiding in the gutter right in front of his house.

He jumped on the scooter and he turned the scooter toward the front door. The scooter took off, and just as he was about to crash into the front door, a big gust of wind opened it, and he slid right in like he was sliding into home plate.

He didn’t see Mrs. Johnson anywhere and remembered it was shopping day. By the time she got home with a big bag of groceries, he was fast asleep in Mr. Johnson’s chair. Mrs. Johnson scratched behind his ear and said, “Oh, Scooter, you won’t believe what I thought happened today. And here you were here all along fast asleep.”

By the time Mr. Johnson came home, Scooter could smell the scent of Mrs. Johnson’s cinnamon-spice cookies wafting in the kitchen, along with the flavors of pot roast, carrots, onions and potatoes.

Mr. Johnson grabbed his evening paper, squeezed in next to Scooter in the chair and said, “What a lucky kitty, sleeping and dreaming about wishes all day in my chair.”

And then Mr. Johnson picked Scooter up and squeezed him tight. And Scooter thought, “Never again would he wish he was somebody he was not.”

My First Podcast: Cruise Ship Night Life

Missing cruise ship night life? Okay, so maybe you’re missing night life of any kind. But cruise ship nightlife is pretty much all the night life I do. Or did. So I created a dance track using a few of the new tracks I created during FAWM, and upload it to YouTube. It was so much fun making – both the DJ track and the YouTube video. Hope you enjoy!

You can find it on YouTube by searching for Screamie Birds Studios or by clicking the link below:

To cruise virtually, check out my two novels set on cruise ships:

Real Women Wear Red and Real Women Sing the Blues.

Thanks for listening to my first podcast from my WordPress blog at kathyholmes.net.

 

Kathy Holmes or Screamie Birds? Challenges of an Indie Author/Artist

I’ve written a bit about how I’m trying to juggle being both an Indie Author and an Indie Artist, writing novels and producing EDM (Electronic Dance Music). But it seems the world wants to know exactly who and what you are and trying to juggle both isn’t really following the rules of creating a brand. It’s fine to break the rules if the rules don’t make sense. But the truth is, you don’t want to confuse people. You only have a second, it seems, to catch somebody’s attention. You need to be clear about who you are.

I’ve used “Screamie Birds Studios” to represent both, as in, my writing and music studio. Still, people don’t know what a screamie bird is. If you google it, you’ll find all kinds of links to “screaming birds.” Screamie Birds even sounds like screaming birds. I tried recording an intro to a DJ track I’d made, welcoming people to “Screamie Birds Studios” and it sounded like I was saying “Screaming Birds.” If I tried to be more clear, I sounded like an idiot.

So here I am trying to make the most of this new WordPress “Podcast” feature where you can convert your blog post into a podcast. I don’t know who to be – “Screamie Birds” or “Kathy Holmes.”

I used to be just Kathy Holmes but then Katie Holmes came on the scene and it seems no matter what variation you do of “Kathy” all searches go to Katie.

So then when I started focusing more on my music, I thought it would be fun to be “Screamie Birds” – the name my childhood friend and I used when we wrote our first song and wrote to Ed Sullivan to be on his show. Nothing like dating myself. But the Beatles were big then and “Screamie” meant “Singer” and “Birds” meant “girl” so we were the “Screamie Birds.” Ha!

I’m started to feel like a screaming bird just writing this post. I’m definitely having an identity crisis. So maybe this will be my introduction to my first podcast. Screamie Bird or Kathy Holmes? What do you think?

Writing Fiction: To Covid or Not to Covid

I’ve written several times here about my struggle to juggle writing music and writing fiction. My brain works differently for each art but what excerbates the whole situation is well, Covid. I had finished the first draft of “She’s Not That Good” (posted exerpts of the first couple of chapters on this blog), when it started but haven’t been able to continue working on it.

Do I continue writing it with no mention of Covid as if it never existed? Do I rewrite it to include Covid? Do I purposely set the date pre-Covid? Do I write it as if Covid is over? Do I change the time and place? All questions writers are asking themselves these days. But one complication is that it’s set on a cruise ship. I couldn’t even mention cruising on Twitter (regarding my 2 other novels set on cruise ships), without people going all crazy on me.

I’ve had my head so immersed in writing music lately that I totally missed the conversations writers were having, if only in their heads, but I find this helpful article To Covid or Not to Covid: The Challenge of Writing Fiction During a Pandemic, just what I needed to read and think about now.

The Last of Social Media

Several years ago I finally empowered myself to finally completely sever my relationship with Facebook and have never been happier making that decision. Instagram was easier to walk away from. Twitter has been more difficult. I deactivate/activate my account several times a month these days. In December, I almost made it through the month, going from deactivate to delete. At the last minute, I logged back in to keep the account. Maybe because I’ve had it since 2005.

YouTube is another problem I’m having (especially during this time of isolation). To be specific, I’m having difficulty unsubscribing from all of those travel vlogs like Disney and cruising. I unsubscribe and then resubscribe, “needing” to peek in to see what they’re up to now and then. On a daily basis. Especially when there are Disney or Knotts events coming up. But really? I’m not sure I can stand that level of stupidity and self-absorption any more.

One vlogger said recently that they were in no hurry to upload their Knotts Boysenberry Festival because most of the other West Coast vloggers were in Disney World. Okay, so you’re only in this to be first I guess. Not to provide content your viewers are interested in. Vloggers just care about getting hits associated with being first out there in some grand competition (to, hopefully, make money).

Unsubscribe…

Okay, so the next test will be if I can delete my YouTube channel. It’s a mishmash of Disney, cruising, travel, book trailers, and music. I’ve been trying to focus more on music but I have a feeling the subscribers I do have are there for Disney and cruising and not my books and music. But right before the pandemic, one of my cruise videos went viral (for me) and got 87K views in practically no time. Hard to delete it now…

But, perhaps, if I finally take that final step, deleting Twitter and YouTube, I’ll actually be able to juggle writing books and music instead of feeling like I must choose one because I don’t have the bandwidth to do both. Maybe I do have the bandwidth if I don’t waste it on meaningless unsocial social media.

But what if I need Twitter to promote my next book… I read that, and I know this to be true, you don’t really sell books on Twitter or any social media. Social media is really just a lie.

Exotic Dance Ritual (FAWM 2021 Song #11)

SoundCloud says this song violates copyright but I purchased these samples from the Latina House Sample Pack from Black Octupus Sound via Sonic Academy, which gives me permission. I have disputed their claim. Besides, I’m only using it for the purpose of participating in FAWM 2021. So I will post here instead, just for the duration of FAWM.

Update: SoundCloud has agreed that I have the right to use the samples and has reinstated my song on their site.

Ableton Live 11 vs Logic Pro 10.6 vs Writing vs 2021 (#NewYearGoals)

This is what I’m faced with as we head toward 2021, not coming quite fast enough it seems. The holidays seem to drag on, this year more than usual, and we all so want life to return to normal. Enough already!

I’m still trying to figure out how to juggle giving enough attention to my writing career and my songwriting/music producer career, still in its infant days of launching.

Ableton Live 11 is reported to be coming out in early 2021, whatever that means. I’m still trying to learn all the Logic 10.5/10.6 features.

This has been the common theme over the past year or two: how to write marketable novels and music in a way that honors both. The “kick as” writing books act as if all you’re doing is writing and the to-do list is enormous. So how do you do both? One must be the frontrunner.

So do I decide that first? Which is the frontrunner: “writing” or “songwriting.” Music or books. EDM or fiction. It probably doesn’t seem that important to worry about Ableton vs Logic if I’m putting writing in the foreground. Or does it?

I’m on the list for the Ableton 11 upgrade, which comes with a discount if I pre-order. But does it make sense to spend that money if I’m going to focus more on writing fiction? Shouldn’t I invest that money in the marketing of my books? Besides, I’m kinda loving Logic Pro 10.5/6.

To be honest, I see more of a fruitful career path in writing fiction, although I’ve been neglecting it in a big way lately to focus on music. Do I keep pushing, going all-in with music (I have tons of tutorials I need to get to) or pick up the pieces of my latest wip and kickstart my life as an author?

Yep, this is what I’m dealing with. This is how my mind has been rambling and why I haven’t been posting here as often as I used to. Any advice? Did you say, “Pick one and move on already?” or maybe it was “Sit butt in chair and just do both!” lol!

Write Naked

It’s Christmas Eve day here in Las Vegas and I’m already enjoying one of my Christmas gifts – a new Kindle reader. I’d lost my previous one in Newport Beach on a trip to California when we were living in Florida.

One of the books I’m enjoying reading on my brand new Kindle is called Write Naked by Jennifer Probst. It’s got me fired up to get back to writing in 2021. For the past few years, I’m been mostly focusing on writing and producing music. I’ve played at juggling both but for this upcoming year, I’m making a promise to myself to really do both.

The thing that stands out to me in Write Naked is the importance of putting your heart out there and on writing great characters. This excites me because I’ve received some great feedback on my characters. Cyn, in Real Women Wear Red (book 1 of the “Real Women” cruise series), was called “fabulous” by one agent and another agent offered me representation. If you like fun, strong women and/or a cruise fan, you might like this one (I’m so missing cruising!).

But that’s not all. Book 1 is followed by book 2 (now called) Chasing Moondoggie, and I’m determined to finally finishing book 3 in the series. I try to reveal my heart in my characters but is it too subtle? I’ll be taking a closer look at this third book to make sure I’m doing exactly that.

If you celebrate Christmas, I hope that you have a wonderful one. And if you don’t celebrate Christmas, I hope it’s your idea not to. Christmas is always hard for me because I grew up not celebrating it (not my choice), and it’s sometimes hard to make up for lost time. But that’s getting my writing wheels in motion, thinking about some future stories.

So please stick around – another promise I’m making for 2021 is to update this blog a little more often.

Most of all, here’s to all of us having an awesome 2021!

Music Production, Writing, Reading… Running Out of Coping Mechanisms

Watching videos of people enjoying the Christmas festivities at Disney World, well, I can’t help but feel a little jealous. With California’s strict reopening guidelines and Disneyland’s reluctance to open up any of the parks (i.e., Knott’s Berry Farm) until now, and the cruising industry’s slow road to recovery, Nevada getting close to lockdown again, well, I’m going a little crazy. I mean, who isn’t, right?

I’ve spent these last 8 months at home working on music, switching back and forth between Ableton Live and Logic Pro, the latter due to the 10.5 updates. And now with news of Ableton Live 11 coming out soon, well, there’s even more for me to dive into. But there’s also a lot of stress with all of that learning and it wears me out. So I’ve taken time to read and even work on a couple of manuscripts I’ve started writing. But nothing, really, after all these months, is really working toward peace of mind. Prayers and positivity help, of course, but when there’s an underlying or maybe not so underlying crisis happening, it’s really hard to escape.

I think many of us felt a bit of relief when Biden won, even if we weren’t big Biden supporters, if only because, in my case, I did not want to sit back and watch the lunatic, aka the Narcissist for another 4 years. His behavior since the election validates everything I know about Narcissists. And once you’ve had an experience up close with one, you don’t need a psychology degree to get it. Maybe you get it even more than somebody who has just studied it. Experience is a great teacher.

So with heavy handed governors issuing mandates (sometimes necessary, but, perhaps, not done in the best way) and a lunatic for a president, it’s like reliving a dysfunctional childhood all over again. The artist’s spiritual life and food and drink and rearranging the furniture a zillion times helps for a while, but I’m running out of coping mechanisms.

Today’s joy, though, was picking up my latest copy of Electronic Musician. Just reading the masthead made me smile, reminding me of my early days in San Francisco working in production on Mac User magazine. So cool to see my name listed as Production Manager. That took me to McGraw-Hill Publishing in Berkeley, but the most fascinating part of that was sharing the building with a music studio and seeing a glimpse of artists like MC Hammer getting out of the limo. The MC Hammer dancers lived in an apartment complex down the street from mine.

And so, when all is said and done and things are back to normal and I can cruise the high seas and relive my childhood at Disneyland, well, in the end, it’s all about the art, the music, and the spiritual journey I am on.

It’s 12:44 (#poem #songwriting #lyrics #howto #amwriting)

You know those moments when you can’t sleep? Well, that’s when I grab my phone and start writing down words, some rhymes, allowing the rhymes and the ideas to flow and see where the song goes. And the next thing I know I have some material for the beginning of a song. It may need a lot of work but at least I have something to work with later on.

Here’s what came to me the other night – starting with the time – 12:44. I hear a melody and need to sit down and work it out on on my keyboard.

It’s 12:44 and I’m lying here awake
Mouth is dry from the vodka, the desert, and the feelings I can no longer fake
Why do I do the things that seem are not good for me

That keep me running
Keep me gunning
They keep on coming
Turning me into a wreck

No words comfort me
No fools to love on me
Where does this all lead me
Nothing but a dead end

Keep on praying
Hearts bleed in stating
Silent screams saying

Keep on trying
Keep on crying
Can’t stop hiding
Memories are killing me

There’ll be no healing
The words I’m feeling
Thousands I’ve written down
Until I actually speak of them

Out loud
Out of my mouth
Not on the page
All that rage

It’s time to go for broke
Until I choke
That thing that nudged me until I awoke
at 12:44