When I Put It Like That

This practise of writing words down each and, almost, every day.

It’s not an obligation.

It’s a practise. I’m practising.

But you could also call it playing.

Which, actually, is the same as working.

Only more fun.

At least it is When I Put It Like That.

Who Is It For?

These days, when writing alone, I make songs almost exclusively for myself to sing.

When I wrote this song though, I thought somebody else would get the job. Partly because of the style. But you know what, I’ve enjoyed singing it at home, and it really feels like my story as well. And so it’s found its way into my Fee Comes Fourth collection.

It’s always a useful question to ask when we are making something though:

Who Is It For?

Beware: I Live Here

At the end of my regular walk, I come out onto the road back into Campbeltown. The first house I pass has a sign at the front gate:

BEWARE: I LIVE HERE!

And below is a picture of a doberman with the softest, most gentle eyes you could imagine.

Now, I have heard that Doberman bark as he runs around the border sniffing me out…he sounds quite fierce to be fair…but THOSE eyes, they’d melt the coldest heart. And I’m not even a doggie fan.

That dog wouldn’t hurt a soul surely? And the “BEWARE” obviously means: don’t look into my eyes if you don’t want to be killed by kindness.

Anyway, words can mean lots of things, and I’m guessing that the owner of this house really likes visitors. I should knock on the door some time…

The Work That Exists

I’ve always thought, and still do, that I want to be creating Something until the day I’m done doing anything.

But how much is enough? And what about the creations that already seem to be complete?

I’ve decided to turn more of my energy towards editing, framing, organising and archiving The Work That Exists right now. And I’m belatedly realising that this is a huge part of the creative process. One which I’ve always tended to approach far too haphazardly. And one which scares and intimidates me to an extent.

Not that I’m done, by a long stretch, with making New Stuff, you understand. And it’s true that I’ve delved into this subject before.

But, like some weird Northern Hemisphere Bird Of Paradise, I’m beginning to start figuring out how I can build the perfect bower to show off all my existing feathery glory to its best effect.

If you’ve got it flaunt it!

The State Of Indecision

Setting a date to do This Thing.

It’s a decision that helps, because it removes all the That Things out of the equation. Millions of them.

Maybe you don’t struggle with decision making. I’m afraid I do. So much freedom (Hallelujah!) So many choices (Likewise!). But boy, oh boy. How do I use that freedom and those choices wisely? It’s a frequent dilemma.

And the truth is it’s never got any easier for me.

So I go on hunches, inclinations and a capacity to stick a pin on the calendar:

“OK, on Friday 16th December, we’ll have an open mic style Homesong at our house, for any local performers to come and play”.

There. That has ruled out millions of possibilities and choices, and obliterated The State Of Indecision off the face of the map. Such a relief.

ps. I did check with my wife first btw. I’m not THAT free.

Have A Nice Day

I’m very glad to meet you.

Because it is a kind of meeting. When you read these words a while after I wrote them, there are some branches of connection that join us together.

That’s not some weird flummery. It’s a reality. And those branches of connection are, at the end of the day connected to everything else.

It’s a shame when we get locked up in the tiniest fraction of our own minds when the whole universe is available.

So, I’m very glad to meet you. Have A Nice Day.

THIS is it.

Is this it?

Yes. THIS is it.

This valley of tears. This soft centred chocolate. This hard decision. This opinion. This angry face. This sense of guilt. This giggling grandchild. This silent walk in the woods. This interruption. This World Cup. This idle chatter. This smogasbord of experience.

This sentence.

This sound.

This song.

An Impossibility

I stare out of my window at another window in the distance.

It is below a dormer roof, square, and looks to have a white wood-framed panel. It might be plastic, but I don’t think so.

I wonder about what the room contains. For some reason I just assume it is a bedroom. Does somebody look out from there regularly? Are they clothed or naked when they do so? What are they thinking, and what is their perspective?

I can partly imagine what they see, because it’s not too far away from my house. But how does that perspective look through their eyes? What do they look at?

And is the room they occupy plush or sparsely furnished? Has anybody ever died there? Maybe it is completely empty, and has been for a long time. Maybe it isn’t a bedroom at all, but a bathroom. A loo with a view.

It looks dark from a distance, and I can see birds flying past. Can they see in? Do birds ever fly into the glass, like they sometimes do at our house.

My own window is looking out on a trillion other windows. With each possible story they could tell, just a tiny fragment of a universal whole.

Boredom has become An Impossibility.

A Good Idea?

I signed up for promoting the idea of Homesong gigs. Small original music gigs in people’s homes.

Like anybody with what appears to be a good idea, I thought that the world would welcome it, and give it a home. Without much effort on my part.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that it doesn’t work like that. But I’m slow, like everybody else, to realise that I’m not like everybody else. We can’t avoid the reality that we, in our lives, and with the ideas that we put Out There, are in competition with a multitude of other lives, and an even bigger multitude of ideas.

The idea hasn’t withered though, and in fact it’s out there with or without me. And I’m still here.

But I’m really not the one who gets to decide if it really is A Good Idea.

Ginger: Part Two

So, peeling that piece of Ginger was doing my head in, because I wasn’t really looking. I was somewhere in the future.

But I could have been right there, enjoying what I was supposed to be doing. And I could have followed the trail of the moment in at least some of the directions in which it could take me.

And I might have realised, as I focussed on the job in hand, that Ginger had an ancient relative, who at some point had been “discovered” by an ancient relative of mine. My relative at one time had tasted a piece of it, accidentally or on purpose, for the first time, and found out that it didn’t kill them. And, then, that it tasted better without the skin. Perhaps, later, that it combined well with other foods. And that it could help to relieve an unsettled stomach.

And all that led to it becoming a part of the diet in parts of Asia.

Later it became discovered again by my more immediate ethnic ancestors, who were off seeking far off places, in search of wealth and power, and using their existing wealth and power over the people they met. And Ginger became a part of their lives and their business plans, and found its way to this part of the world, and a part of our diets. And eventually a part of my diet.

Now, somewhere out there, somebody is earning a living, hopefully not a subsistence living, by growing Ginger.

And somebody else is earning a living by transporting it across the seas in huge ships that would have blown the mind of my ancient ancestor. And then further on by a lorry driver. And the warehouse assistant. And the till operator. And so on.

And that’s just one trail, with a multitude of other paths that shot off along the way. I might have been entertained by the stories that piece of ginger could have told.

Or I could have simply enjoyed the sensations and concerns of peeling it. The awkwardness of finding a way round its strange, knobby shape. The unique tangy fragrance reaching the nostrils. Making sure the peel fell in the bin and not on the floor, saving time later. Noticing the furry texture at the ends…not quite flesh, not quite skin. Anticipating its part in the taste of the curry I was preparing.

But I was rushing to the next thing, and I didn’t have time for any of that.

Ginger: Part One

I was rushing. I still often slip back into that tendency.

In this case I was rushing to try and peel a piece of Ginger, so that I could quickly get to the next stage of making the curry, so that I could soon reach the next stage after that, so that I could do whatever was supposed to come next….

….Etcetera, Etcetera.

I was living in an imagined future without getting any pleasure from it - strangely, that piece of ginger didn’t want to get peeled when I didn’t want to be there peeling it - because the only experience was: Hurry.

Of trying to be somewhere else.

As I keep discovering though, when I choose to go slow, life is full of excitement and wonder. Right now.

What a story that piece of ginger could tell me if I was only listening.

And that’s not even the half of it.

Every Corner Of My Mind

I asked T’Internet to search for the best new songs of 2022 and this song, Left And Right, by Charlie Puth, was at the top of the list when I went to the suggestion at the top of the list that I was presented with by Uncle Search Engine. And I carried out that search because of a sequence of thoughts that emerged as I sat here wondering what to write about in today’s blog.

Unlike Charlie, there is a multitude of thoughts and subjects that emerge, moment by moment, in Every Corner Of My Mind.

In fact, I’m sure the same thing is true for him too. But his is a love song, and Love songs are usually expected to express themselves in hyperbole.

We can’t often tell what will happen when we focus on, or follow, one thought rather than another.

But I suspect that that choice is quite an important one anyway.

Sense Of Other

Where do we go if we ain’t got religion but we think the Universe is a wonderful, terrible, awe inspiring place and we are, at least sometimes, so damn grateful to have the privilege of being a part of the whole caboodle.

Truth is we don’t have to go anywhere. We’re already there pal.

On the other hand, it’s great to share that experience with others.

And we do that whenever we laugh or cry together, or share a meal, or play a game, or build a bridge, or do anything that involves that bit more than Only Me.

But my favourite thing for capturing that elusive Sense Of Other is quite simply the sharing of a song. Singing it to others, or with others, or being sung to by others.

The magic of music and words, especially in company, can capture that elusive experience of being human, in this vast but tiny sphere of space and time.

It’s a little bit spiritual.

Meditations

I’ve recently begun meditating with the help of an app produced by neuroscientist and philosopher Sam Harris (along with a lot of other people too).

I think it’s going to be a game-changer for me. I’ve no idea how exactly that will pan out, but I have to say that it’s blowing my mind in a very good way.

I’m only a short way into the practise, and the thinking that surrounds it, but I’m already recommending the app to friends and family … anybody who is trying to get a handle on life and how to live it better…on our own, and together.

So, no strings attached, here’s a link to a free trial, leading to the introductory course, which I’m still doing. In fact Sam offers the app completely free to anybody who can’t afford it. Otherwise it costs about £86 pound for a year, and I already consider it incredible value for money. There is so much valuable material there, but just for the short daily Meditations it’s worth its weight in gold.

Nothing directly to do with Homesong, or music of course. But still very appropriate as far as I’m concerned.

Sunday Doubting

I’m experiencing a little bit of Sunday Doubting.

And like all doubters who really want to believe the thing they are doubting, I often look for reassurances. Something to bolster my belief.

At this particular moment I’m doubting (not for the first time) that there is path to follow, or a role I am capable of playing, in regards to being a part of more Homesongs happening in homes.

Do I need to tell you this, considering the fact that I’m theoretically talking to people who I’m trying to encourage to be part of making the Homesong idea come to life.

Well, yes I do. I come from a religious background and, in retrospect, the most dangerous part of my experience was the kind of infallible, super-christian status given to the “leader of the flock”, or whatever they might be termed. And in fact the leaders I actually respected the most during those times, were the ones who managed to come out a little from behind that mirage.

So, yes, I would rather this blog came from an honest place.

And I’m not unhappy. Quite the opposite really. But I’m still trying to work out each “next step” as I go.

I’m trying to keep the faith, without hiding from the truth.

Ultimately I don’t believe it is possible to build anything worthwhile without that kind of honesty.

Still On The Path

The bad news is - we’re a long way off the path.

The good news is - we’re Still On The Path.

Because this is the path we’re on.

Where to now?

(nb. This particular blog comes to you courtesy of the fact that I’ve currently become worse than before at something I was trying to get better at.)

Ten Minutes

Just Ten Minutes. That’s all I’ve got before I have to stop. It can make time feel very short.

Happens to us all.

But ten minutes can seem an awful long time when you’re waiting for something.

And both those things occurs because it’s so hard to live without referencing the past or the future. So we get confused about where we are on The Timeline.

Either rushing to get it done, or fidgeting impatiently until it happens.

Anyway, I’m done.

Now I’ve got to wait for the knock on the door I’m expecting, because the ten minutes I had happened to be more than enough.

Weird, ain’t it.

Right Here, Right Now

Writers block is imaginary. It’s almost impossible for words and sentences about SOMETHING to formulate in your head. Try to NOT think about anything.

Those words, or the sounds and pictures that appear, without any effort on our part, are the starting point for creativity.

We take what we find, and we make something from it. That’s the definition of creativity. And it means, happily, that we have all got the ability to be creative.

But more importantly, we have all got the opportunity to be creative Right here, Right Now.

Co-Writing

I still find Co-writing songs quite difficult, even though I’ve done a fair amount of it over the years. There is a comfort zone to writing alone that is, well, comforting, and helpful too, when it comes to developing a personal style.

But it is really worth trying to write with other people, at least sometimes. When you push through the vulnerability, the potentially awkward personality dynamics, the different writing methods, and sometimes even the bad behaviour (your own or that of your fellow writers!) you may well find yourself being involved with a song that you would never have written yourself in a month of lonely Sundays. It’s very rewarding.

So I would undoubtedly recommend, especially if you’re the lonesome troubadour sort like me, that you give it a go.

Troubled Waters

Here’s a tip.

Why not write it down or keep a record whenever somebody says or writes something nice to you. It could be about anything. But I do this with emails or comments that people send me, or say to me, about my songs.

It can be really helpful to look back on them sometimes…

Whenever you’re down in the dumps or feeling that your efforts are a waste of time.

“When you’re weary, feeling small
When tears are in your eyes…”