I’ve considered myself a writer since I was thirteen and I wrote what I thought was the beginning of a novel called The Quest of the Golden Dragon. It was a Tolkien and Dungeons & Dragons rip-off. I managed 32 hand-written pages, and my mother was kind enough to read it and offer encouragement. I can’t imagine the experience was pleasant for her.
I started writing music when I was sixteen. I took piano lessons and was a mediocre student. After I quit, I didn’t touch the piano until one day I sat down and out poured this long, rambling, dark song I called “Bury Our Bones at Sunrise.” Once again, my mother had to listen as I cranked out song after song and recorded them my battered tape-recorder. I have those old tapes somewhere, and I wince when I listen to them.
My writing and music composition has changed over the years, and both have improved dramatically since getting sober. Both still serve as personal therapy as well as channels through which I express myself artistically, and I’m not so attached to my art that I can’t stand make and evaluate it critically and objectively. But if no one ever reads another poem or listens to another song, I’m okay with it. I average about three listens per song on my Soundcloud page. I post the songs there and forget about them. I can’t even perform the songs I’ve written; once I record and post them, they vanish. It’s good thing I have no ambitions to become a performing musician.
That’s all for now. Happy sober Monday to all.