An epiphany about writing

There’s no such thing as “musician’s block.”

You sit down and you play the song. If you’re recording it, you can go back and listen where you missed the note, where you were having trouble, what have you. You can learn and try to play it better next time.

But you play the song. You don’t go slow to muddle through; if you have any facility at all with the instrument– you certainly don’t go slower if you’re just singing along, you always sing at your intended tempo, unless you’re fumbling over words in a speed rap.

You just do it. You perform.

Yes, you can go back later and tweak the hell out of it. And you probably should. But there’s nothing like just going out there and belting it out.

It may benefit you to think of writing the same way.

Try not to agonize over what the words are going to be, what you’re going to say. Just start writing, and trust in yourself to write the next word the same way that you sing the next note.

“But it’s not the same!” you cry. “In music, there’s– well, music! Sheet music that you can read!”

That’s true. But if you have some idea of what you’re doing, you don’t need the music to play, certainly not if you’re just hacking around– you know the song well enough. And if you’re familiar with the concept of a “fake book”, you don’t even have the full sheet music– you’ve got some simple chord notes and maybe a melody line.

The point is– just play. Get up and get out there and write, even if it’s just for the duration of a three minute pop song. You can do that. I’m doing that right now, and LOOK! Three hundred words, more or less effortlessly.

Yeah, maybe not my most brilliant or deathless prose. But still– it’s done. It’s here. It’s recorded. Maybe I’ll go back and rewrite, maybe I won’t. The goal is just to get out there and produce something, just get things moving. Doesn’t have to be witty, although some of your natural wit will come through, it’s your style after all that will be in evidence. But the point is that you’ll get it on the page.

And that’s really what you’re concerned about, what you want to break.

C’mon. A pop song. If you’re really in the zone as you start, you’ll get to that rock guitar solo and you’ll just keep wailing. Imagine you’re Pete Townsend on stage, just hammering through. (Or maybe someone more current.) You can do it, preferably without tossing your instrument on the ground in a fit of destruction. Most writers can’t afford to do that.

(Okay, Neil Gaiman does. But he’s gotta keep up appearances.)

Seriously. Just sit down and play. Be that rock star writer you’ve always wanted to be. Just play like you’re on stage in front of a cr– no, don’t tell me you don’t know how, I’ve seen you in the shower.

Metaphorically, I mean.

So what if the words are wrong? I’ve heard you in the shower too. “Big Old Jed had a light on?” Fix it in editing.

C’mon. Give it a shot. You’ll be surprised what you create. And with the right attitude and luck, you may never hit a writing block again.

Give him a chance…

“Give him a chance,” you say.

“Give him a chance” means forgetting every single thing he’s done up to this point– his bankruptcies, his lawsuits, his stiffing of vendors, his bamboozling of shareholders, his avoidance of taxes, his defrauding of students, his so-called charitable donations, his constant lying.

“Give him a chance” means you ignore that he owes his victory in large part to aid by a hostile foreign power and STILL couldn’t get a plurality of the votes.

“Give him a chance” means you pretend that he didn’t alert allies and enemies that America may ignore its NATO pledges.

“Give him a chance” means you forget that he remains committed to a religious test for the rights of citizenship.

“Give him a chance” means you shouldn’t mind that he’s a confessed serial sexual assailant.

“Give him a chance” means it’s no big deal that the new administration is already developing fraternal ties to fascists in Europe and America.

“Give him a chance” means that it doesn’t matter that the president-elect owes hundreds of millions to the Bank of China, along with uncounted and unknown foreign entities across the globe.

“Give him a chance” means his tax returns might be completely on the up-and-up, despite being under continuous IRS audits for decades.

“Give him a chance” means it’s cool that black, brown, & Muslim fellow citizens have been demeaned and feel terrified.

“Give him a chance” means you fail to do basic arithmetic when we look at his budget plans.

“Give him a chance” means you hope that pro-Trump trolls will cease bullying women into silencing themselves on social media.

“Give him a chance” means Israel should keep handing over intelligence to the US, because there’s no chance Trump will turn it over to the Russians, who in turn won’t give it to Israel’s enemies.

“Give him a chance” means you let him have time to figure out how to use the office of President of the United States for his personal gain, because it’s only fair to give would-be kleptocrats a head start before we act to stop them.

“Give him a chance” means you think 70-year-old narcissists often suddenly become better people when we tell them they are actually important and hold the power of life and death over every living being on the planet.

“Give him a chance” means you give cancer a chance, because we won’t have insurance for health care.

“Give him a chance” means you have time to waste.

“Give him a chance” means you don’t want to admit you already know how he’s going to be.