I'll try not to be a raging downer today.

It's 6am and I'm up.

This is not unusual. I've been falling asleep in unusual positions, then waking up around 6am, then falling asleep again around 7am. I thought I might actually try to get a few words down before conking out again.

Today is my last Fiction I class. I have issues with endings, but I'm not going to put too much emphasis on it.

I have been thinking about my two stories. They're there, in desperate need of revision. I'm going to have to take up that task soon. The first story involves two young girls walking through an overimposing, unfamiliar neighborhood; I know I'm going to have to focus on setting in a way that didn't happen in the first draft.

There's a song still due on Friday, although I did warn Mr. Producer that it might not happen. I've been data-mining for lyrics lately, but not feeling super inspired. The piano is calling me. But I can't think why. I get so extraordinarily moved to go sit down at it. But then I plonk at the keys without much truth or beauty emerging at all.

I'm reading a collection of short stories called Points of View. The stories inside are...wait for it...organized by points of view. But it's fascinating to see them all grouped together like that, to notice the similarities and differences between them, to see how each different author accomplishes his or her aims.

I've been discovering a whole crop of short story authors I dig: George Saunders, AM Homes. There is a dark thread running through their work, a deep groove of twisted sensuality, very stark. Very adult, I think.

It's something I'd like to incorporate into my songwriting.

j.

Push. Pull.

I've been geeking on a singer-songwriter who's been around for a while, in a band, and now she's out on her own. I bought the songbooks for her band's first two releases, and was flipping through them and suddenly saw a picture of the band performing in a familiar setting. I read a bit of the text around the photo, and realized that the engineer that helped the band with their first album was actually one of the engineers I used on my second album.

We only did two sessions at this engineer's studio, and weren't able to do more for reasons that I don't fully understand. We did those two sessions, and then the engineer suddenly "didn't have any time available" for the rest of the summer. It was sudden and unpleasant, we had planned to finish the recording there, and the engineer telling us we couldn't come back was him pulling the rug out from under my producer and me. It was stunning, and hurtful.

I even forgot to credit the guy in my liner notes, I had put the incident so much out of my mind. It was just startling to know that he had done so many benevolent things for an artist I admire. She even called him a saint.

Things just seem determined to sting these days. Especially when I'm hoping to feel happy, or at least, stable, about things.

There's another little project, a non-musical one, that has been peeking in at the edges of my consciousness. Against my will. Let's just say, there's another person involved. Who doesn't seem to want to play the way I want, let's just say. This project was not even an idea that occurred to me, until it hit me that it might be a good one. But after hours of trying to interface today, I'm starting to realize "no dice".

I've been reading Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers. In the book he asserts that all the smarts in the world don't mean anything without a measure of practical intelligence, the ability to talk your way into things, convince people to help, or at least feel sympathetic to your cause. I am one of those people who never learned much practical intelligence. Not that I have a a lot of smarts either...

Things just feel a bit grim today. Maybe nothing specific is wrong.

Right now I am recording Spats from the BBC. I am going to do that, and then I'm going to shut my computer down, read for half an hour, and then go to bed.

j.

Confessions.

It's 12:34 where I am, and I'm suddenly feeling like it's confession time.

I was *very* passive-aggressive in fiction class this week. Truthfully, I was still feeling the sting from my misunderstood red-headed stepchild of a story two weeks ago. There was one guy's story that I was VERY scathing about, albeit in a passive aggressive manner. There was one girl that everyone was complimenting in their reviews, and it really made me uncomfortable.

My teacher even complimented my new hair. I couldn't even look at her.

Fiction class is over next week, and it's sad. Endings make me sad. There are connections I wanted to form and didn't, and it makes me sad.

There are new beginnings to begin, but it's all up to me.

There's a lot of work to be done.

There's *always* a lot of work to be done.

*sigh*

I wish work was parmesan-reggiano cheese. The kind they sell in chunky wedges at the Whole Foods. I bought a wedge of this cheese once, sliced off a little sliver, and ate it. It was tasty. Nutty. I sliced another. And, at some point, I started to bite off the wedge, chewing on chunks of cheese. And more, and more. I would take huge, large mouthfuls of parmesan-reggiano, and as soon as the taste was gone from my mouth, I wanted more.

And at some point, the wedge was gone. I was shocked and felt that it had disappeared magically, only a gnawed rind left. If my teethprints weren't in it, I would have looked around for the guilty party.

I wish work was like that, effortlessly delicious. I wish I could devour all the work I have to do without even noticing. I always feel like I'm staring at the mountain of work in front of me. The more I do, the more work I realize I have to do. It's daunting and makes me ill.

But, there's nothing else I have to do on earth, but my work.

So let's get on with it, then.

I'm sorry, guy, for snarking at your story. I'm sorry, class, for being pissy and withdrawn. I'll probably be pissy and withdrawn next week too, and then I'll never see any of you again.

In a bid to grasp at something positive: I now own my piano! Made my last payment on it two weeks ago, and now it's all mine. Lovely.

I should go play it?

j.

You're reading this bloggy-wog.

I found out that one or two of you are actually READING this bloggy-wog. Now I feel pressure to produce. It's a good pressure, though.

Interesting day today: I met up with a producer on the Lower East Side, and we talked about doing some work together.

I've been trying to get over the tired, sick space that recording my second album put me in. FAWM helped me just about kick it, and meeting with this producer/drummer today and talking about music really got me excited to record again.

After an extended chat, and two different kinds of hummus, I accompanied the producer to a show that a friend of his was playing a couple of doors down.

It's been ages since I saw a show, and I forgot that shows, no matter how good they are or how good they're not, always inspire me to play. We're getting to that point, folks. I may have to book a show.

But.

In the meantime, I promised Mr. Producer to have a song for him by next Friday. I am really not sure how I'm going to pull that off. It's a different challenge from FAWM, needing to finish a song in so short a time span, and actually needing it to be GOOD.

Hm.

And those couple of kind souls reading should feel free to heckle me, comments-wise. On anything I've said here or anywhere else. It would make me feel less lonely and, perhaps, less deluded?

Perhaps?

j.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

I finished my second story. No one got it. It was a weird experience, sitting in class having person after person (and the teacher) tell me they didn’t get it, didn’t get at all that this young person’s anxiety, shyness and inability to connect was related to a trauma that had happened to him, something you don’t find out about until close to the end. It was weird. I was caught off guard; I’d had a pre-reading critique by someone who is experienced at these matters. He said there could have been a bit more foreshadowing, but in the end he got what I was trying to do.

Hm.

I haven’t made any music since February, but I have thought about music a lot. It’s time to get back on the horse – I am ready to start working on another album. I’m scribbling notes here and there, setting up parameters, jotting down key adjectives, coming up with a list of touchstone songs that might help me guide the process a bit. I’d also like to incorporate visuals somehow. Which visuals? Dunno yet.

What else?

There’s a ton of stuff due (TAXES!), but I’m feeling great about everything. Which is odd. Tomorrow night there’s a hang with the girls that I’m very much looking forward to.

Got a new hairdo; still getting used to it, but it looks good. I think.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day.
j.

Story?

Okay, it's taken me a bit to get the motor running again post-FAWM.

I missed my writing class deadline for my booth story, which was yesterday. Bad form. Ultra, mega bad form. Now I'm going to have to email my classmates a story and have them print it out. Which is not really part of the rules of engagement.

Sorry classmates.

The good news is, I finally have a story to send them. Or, the inklings of a story. I am another couple of hours away from a first draft. I have 3200 words of one, with a few holes to be filled in. Thank god for FAWM, because I stole the plot from a guy's FAWM song. Or, I started with that, at least.

The story is not extra good. I hope, at least, it's interesting. There's a lot of revision to do before it's readable, but, I'm ready to print this sucker out and get to revising.

I have spent all day at the computer. I have been listening to some of my favorite authors talk about their work, George Saunders (who is a badass), and my beloved, deceased David Foster Wallace. I hope his soul is at peace now, as corny as that sounds. I'm listening to him being interviewed, talking about how much the world hurts him. God, it makes me hurt. I am not a maternal soul, but if I could could cradle a soul like that, for just a few minutes....I don't know.

I just...respond to someone in that kind of pain. I know what that pain is about.

Anyhow.

I finally hooked up the printer I had sitting in a box for, oh, a year. So, I can print out my story and start revising. Yay!

Let's do that now.

j.

Marching on.

I am so far beyond tired, it's amazing that I can hold my head up right now.

I FAWMed out last night, struggling through some late nite vocals to complete my last song. The demo sounds like I was tired. I had all these production ideas that just disappeared in my need to finish and sleep. I feel asleep in the chat room last night, and then woke up this morning to find...March.

Now they're talking about 10 to 14 inches of snow. There are so many other pieces of life I have to pick up now. I'm a little overwhelmed.

I know one thing: I'm not going to listen to myself sing ONE NOTE for at least four days. I am sick of the sound of my own voice.

So, so many loose ends....so, so many.

j.