I always find this song, “Dancing with Myself” by Billy Idol (1980) an exuberant, uplifting song. Sure, it’s a (mildly) cynical statement about being alone in a crowd and preferring your own company over your friends.
My version, of course, is “Writing for Myself”. You know, you write these novels and they go nowhere but storage media or a stack of paper. I was thinking it more in amusement than in dejection; well, there’s nothing to lose and nothing to prove when I’m writing for myself, oh, oh, a-oh.
I was picking out the clothes to wear this morning when I remembered a 1983 Jackson Browne favorite, “For A Rocker”:
“I got a shirt so unbelievably right, I’m gonna take it out and wear it tonight, for a rocker.”
Only, I sang, “For a walker,” because I was dressing to go walking, and that’s the sort of butthead things that I do. It did set me up for today’s music, an upbeat song that excellent for singing in my head as I walk.
“I’ll tell you something that I have found out, whatever you think life is about, whatever life may hold in store, things will happen that you won’t be ready for.”
Yeah, I think often about how life blindsides me — “I never saw it coming.” Not alone in that, I think. Conversations planned in my head spun away in unimagined ways. I’m trying to be ready for the weather though, checking through rain gear, sunglasses, gloves, tissues, for walking.
“Don’t have to feed them, they don’t eat, they have power supplies in the soles of their feet.”
Well, that’s not me. I eat. No power supplies in my feet, just some callouses. Still a good song.
The owner of the cafe and hotel (who is related to the manager) where Boulevard Cofffee is located just walked in and fired them (Josh and Allison). The workers are walking out in protest.
They told me, so that I’d be aware of what’d happened. I feel that I have no choice but to respect their walkout and protest. It’s deplorable that Josh and Allison are treated this way. I’ve seen how hard they work here, managing the Boulevard Coffee and the Stratford Inn, and how much energy they invest.
So, shutting down the writing for the day. Need to find a new place to write.
After awakening with busy dreams, my muses immediately pounced on me.
“Add these sentences to this, this, and this,” one was telling me.
“You need to pick up Sly’s point of view,” another was saying. “It’s ready and needs to be expanded and told. Here’s what happens.”
A third was saying, “We’re not done with Selena. There’s a lot more for Selena.”
“Okay, okay,” I was answering all of them, making mental notes about what they directed.
That didn’t mollify them. I think it even energized them. Much more was directed, becoming a tsunami of scenes when I was walking to the coffee shop where I write. “Alright, alright,” I kept saying, nodding as each muse bubbled up to add more. I was trying to keep up and trying to shut them up, but without offending them. Never want to offend the muses or piss them off, nope, nope, nope.
Got my coffee. Yeah, time to obey the muses and write like crazy, at least one more time.
I was walking toward my writing location today, a coffee shop owned by others, yes, but it’s my usual place, and thinking about what I was going to write. Boom days have continued, which is always a pleasure. So I told myself to just keep chugging along.
Then I plugged that into an old standard, “I just keep chugging along, singing my song, side by side.” Well, naturally, that prompted me to remember the song, “Side By Side” into my stream. Coming out before my Mom was born, leave off me, it’s one of those songs that’ve been part of the national consciousness for decades. There’s no doubt that I know it from my mother singing it, sometimes to me, sometimes to herself, and sometimes as it played on the record player.
The song’s real lyrics vary from cover to cover, but travel is almost always used, not chug, and not plug, but I like to plug in chug and plug instead of travel. The lyrics often go, “We’ll travel along, singing our song, side by side.” Of course, it was just me and my muses, and no one else beside me when I chug along, unless you count my shadow.
But “Me and My Shadow” is another song altogether.
Here is Patsy Cline with her cover of the 1927 song, “Side By Side”.
News stories stayed with me late yesterday as I finished walking and headed home. Too many tales about murders and suicides, impeachment and politics, wars and disease. It all felt a little heavy.
Some lyrics stole into my stream:
Been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change gonna come, oh yes it will
It’s been too hard living, but I’m afraid to die
‘Cause I don’t know what’s up there beyond the sky
I couldn’t remember more of the song, and worked on that as I reached home and made lunch. Other pieces came in but not enough for attribution. It seemed like an old song. I was finally forced to Google to find it.
There it was, Sam Cooke, “A Change Is Gonna Come”, from 1964. It’s dismaying to think of that song being written in the early sixties because of what he endured in Shrevesport, LA, one night. How humans treat others because of their differences remains a sad situation. We’ve made some progress on this, but we’ve also slid backwards. At times like these, I fall back on Parker’s quote, “The arc of the moral universe is long but bends toward justice.” Parker was a clergyman in the 1800s. I always thought the quote belonged to Martin Luther King, Jr., but I found in reading that he was quoting another.
No matter who first said it, it endures. As Sam Cooke wrote and sang,
It’s been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change gon’ come, oh yes it will
I’m indebted to Metrolyrics.com, Songfacts.com, and Wikipedia.org for refreshing my memory.
I was doing my pre-writing walk through Ashland this morning, shuffling through golden leaves that’d lived their last, pushing against a nippy chill and leaning toward thin morning sunshine whenever it was found, when songs streamed in from the ethos. First up was the Beach Boys’ “Good Vibrations” but “Get It On (Back A Gong)” by T. Rex replaced it after a few blocks.
I decided the latter would be a good theme song this morning, but I wanted to go with the cover. Who the hell did the cover?
Well, my mind quickly abandoned that question, returning to writing — that’s what the walk is all about — but as I entered the coffee shop at the end of the two miles, my brain said, The Power Station, 1985.
I love starting a new project. I love the energy that comes with a new writing project. Energizing and freeing, it’s like I’m taking on a new life.
Nothing — I mean, writing projects — ever really starts easily for me, but then, if I can find and dislodge the right piece of idea, it all starts crashing down in an avalanche of story and characters. This is my third day of working on my new novel, working title, It Begins. The first two days were sputtering efforts. I’m a pantser, so I’d muddled some concepts, characters, and settings together. I managed about a thousand words on each day, but they were gritty writing sessions, real plodders. In today’s session, I managed to dislodge the right little piece, and the rest crashed in. All I could do was hang on and type fast. After an hour of that, I’d added over fourteen pages and thirty-three hundred words. Then I stopped and created the book’s bible so that I could keep track of everything.
Now, I’m depleted and hungry. Half a cup of cold coffee remains. As usual, writer ass afflicts me, and both buns feel like they’ve gone to sleep. Time to walk, wind down, think about the next piece of story, and find food.
I was walking and thinking yesterday (amazing that I didn’t hurt myself), pursuing a flotilla of random thoughts when a scene between a traveler and a Tesla driver caught my eye. Traveler is the name given to homeless around here. Homeless is an easy term for a complex situation. Local agencies have interviewed a number of homeless and discovered that some are homeless by choice and enjoy traveling from area to area along the I-5 corridor. Ashland doesn’t welcome travelers but the community strives to enjoy everyone has a few meals a week and shelter during cold weather.
I don’t know what the conversation was about between the Tesla driver and the traveler. I knew the man was a traveler because I’ve seen him before and had bought him food a few times. I hadn’t seen him for a while, and thought he’d moved on. Maybe he did, and came back.
Watching the exchange, though, lyrics from the 1968 Sly and the Family Stone song, “Everyday People” came to mind. I feel fortunate that Sly and the Family Stone was making music then, as they released several terrific albums. This song is just one that I remember and enjoy.
The song’s sentiment is timeless.
Sometimes I’m right and I can be wrong
My own beliefs are in my song
The butcher, the banker, the drummer and then
Makes no difference what group I’m in
I am everyday people, yeah, yeah
There is a blue one
Who can’t accept the green one
For living with a fat one
Trying to be a skinny one
Different strokes
For different folks
And so on and so on
And scooby dooby dooby
Oh sha sha
We got to live together
I am no better and neither are you
We are the same, whatever we do
You love me, you hate me, you know me and then
You can’t figure out the bag I’m in
I am everyday people, yeah yeah
There is a long hair
That doesn’t like the short hair
For being such a rich one
That will not help the poor one
Different strokes
For different folks
Michael Seidel, writer 