Metallic Randiacs Write Themselves

Now that that’s out of my system, time to change the subject. A lot. And frequently.

Slow Hand

Haven’t mentioned the guitar in a while, but there’s been progress. On the acoustic, I’m starting to manage picking songs like Simon & Garfunkel’s “Bookends,” I’m even slowly writing a song that is called, so far, “Variations in C” because it mostly depends on my not having to move my hand from the basic C-chord position. But I’m also starting to hit barre chords with some consistency, which feels like a major hurdle. And on the bass, I’m doing a reasonable job on songs like Elvis Costello’s “Pump it Up,” which is fast and moves a lot. And I have to say that of all songs, who’d have thought I would find Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots Are Made For Walking” to be so much damn fun?

Last night, though, it’s like it all went away. Both hands felt like lead. The left just seemed to lag as I tried the run at the beginning of the Nancy Sinatra song, I was just kinda staring at it and thinking “What the hell’s wrong with you?” And the right hand was similarly clumsy--the fingernails, which are not all that long, kept hitting the strings when I didn’t want them to, imparting a heavy metallic clanging sound that was just plain ugly.

Two explanations present themselves: (1) it was just one of those nights, it happens; and (2) in fact I’ve always been that bad, or worse, but at last I’ve developed my awareness enough to realize it.

I leave it to you to speculate which of those is true.

Ou est le Randiacs?

Come on, people! In previous blog entries where I barely mentioned Ayn Rand, her supporters would pop up almost instantly, telling me how intellectually jejeune I was, how I didn’t know what I was talking about and really should just shut up please. So okay, I took that as a welcome challenge and responded. Worked hard, wrote an essay I’m proud of, and with the exception of a comment from a friend of mine who already agreed with me, there’s been no response--particularly, none from the Objectivist crowd.

Can it be? Have I so completely proven my point that they’ve all just given up and given in? Fabulous! I expect to see a plunge in sales of Atlas Shrugged any day now...

Writing the Boards Again

The other day I was describing myself to someone, somewhere, and for the umpteenth time said I was “a person of the theatre.” It takes umpteen times for me to notice things, but I finally stopped and said “You know, that’s really kinda true.” A couple days later, I took a project I’ve been planning to write as a movie, and instead began writing a new play. First time I’ve done any playwriting in just about ten years.

It feels amazingly good. So much fun to stretch that particular set of writing muscles again, and to remind myself of how a stage play works, and why.

And so far? This thing is writing itself. The first thirty pages have been just about effortless, and I’m loving what has emerged to date. Even had that loveliest of moments, early on, when I put two characters on stage together, thinking I was going to write the scene one way--but as soon as they were together, they took over and the scene became a whole different thing that instantly deepened and enriched the play.

As with Thereby, I feel like I’m not the captain, I’m just a passenger on this ride. That makes me one seriously happy writer.