I have a notebook stuffed full of over a hundred original songs in various stages of dress and undress. There are thousands of us bedroom and back-porch guitar players just winging it all over the world. We noodle around until something starts getting mysterious, traveling from our fingers through our ears to our brains. A new song begins to drip in and out of all our senses at once, moving back to our fingers or maybe issuing into the world from our throats.
At times that expressive drive feels like it's coming from Somewhere Else, like you're a vessel. Other times it feels like Somewhere Else is watching and listening to what you're creating out of nothing (more or less), egging you on, patting you on the back, nodding in time with you (occasionally being critical and even disgusted, or laughing its ass off).
No matter what, we create what we create with the intention of sharing. I don't think a single one of my songs stuffed into that notebook is bad per se. I definitely know what bad is. I can make "bad" up just by looking at my unshod feet. But the songs in that notebook? Those songs in everyone's notebooks, all the bedroom and back-porch players? Most of the time, those songs just aren't quite there yet. Maybe they never will be. But if you listen when you hear that guitar and that voice out back or up on the third floor, you might catch a moment where things are coming together just right.
Remember, though, to those of us doing the creating, the idea of listeners, and readers, and viewers, and audiences, is scary, enticing, and humbling. We want to share our songs, but we can only let them go when they're ready. The same is true of stories and books, and movies and plays and dance and paintings and sculptures and standup jokes. None of us know where any of that work comes from, but we know where we want it to go. Sometimes it just takes a while.
I have a song called "Dinner with You in the Air" that is almost ready. I've been working on it since August of 2025. The idea for my novel Sound Effect Infinity came to me more than 50 years ago. It was finally published in the spring of this year. I say buy as many copies as you can just to blow the magic dust that comes with that kind of Somewhere Else all over your kitchen and backyard. If I can get it together to finish up "Dinner with You in the Air," I promise I will post it as a dispatch. Always keep your eyes and ears peeled for my dispatches from Deep-Fried America.
Thanks for reading.