Let the work begin

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The calendar doesn’t lie, does it? Any way I look at it, my vacation is officially over, and that means it’s high time I got back to work. And by work, I mean working on my book. Editing.

When I finished writing my novel back in November, I followed those who know these things, their suggestion to put it aside for a while, to give me and it a rest. Six months is what “they” typically suggested. Really? What was I supposed to do for six months? Write another book? I settled on six weeks. Another broken rule to add to the pile of rules I’ve broken so far.

More than once it’s occurred to me that if I habitually ignore the rules promulgated in these “how to write a bestseller” books, one of two things is going to happen: Either my book will a) get published (despite breaking all the rules) or b) it won’t (because I broke all the rules). I suppose if it doesn’t get published, I could always write another book and follow all the rules and see if that works. But if it does get published, then it really comes down to what are rules but to be broken?

Rules or no rules, the six weeks were up last night. Today I start editing. Once again, those in the know say this is the stage where the real writing happens. I have to ask, what was it I was doing for the past seven years – fake writing? It seemed like real writing to me.

Time will tell.

Writing is fun. Editing is not. Writing is also hard work, but it’s fun. Editing is hard work and not fun. Although I’m a proofreader by trade, I am not an editor. I can do it, but it takes both sides of my brain in full gear, and that’s work. But regardless of how much I like or don’t like to edit, it’s got to be done. And quickly. I want the editing round done by the end of June, when I will be attending a historical novel conference and get to hob nob with agents and editors and fellow authors. One of the rules, and this one I do intend to follow: Don’t talk to agents unless your book is ready.

That means that while you are out solving the mysteries of the world this week, I will be hunting down all -ing verbs and –ly adverbs and trashing them all. No more “Bella looked longingly into his eyes.” No, now Bella gets to hold his gaze in hers. It’s going to be a tough week.

For your Monday morning listening pleasure, Steely Dan …

Live free or die

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Each time I return to New Hampshire, I fall in love with it all over again. Sadly, however, my time here is coming to an end for this visit. Tomorrow I fly back to Washington and return to my non-holiday life. It had to happen sometime.

In last week’s post, I was all over the natural beauty of New Hampshire. There’s no doubt about it, the place is gorgeous. And while its pretty face is its best feature, it is simply the gateway to everything else that the state has on offer. At the top of that list is freedom. The state’s motto, Live Free or Die, is as meaningful to today’s residents as it was for those who lived here when New Hampshire became a state in search of a motto.

Don’t quote me on this, but I believe I read that New Hampshire was voted the #1 state for freedom on a recent quality-of-life survey. If true, it couldn’t happen to a nicer state. In addition to the live-free-or-diers who populate New Hampshire, there’s a whole group of liberty lovers moving here, if not in hordes, in a steady stream, to be among other freedom lovers. All of that movement is thanks to the Free State Project. You can read all about when the group formed and why, but in essence, a bunch of libertarians decided that New Hampshire would be a great place to create a liberty community. I was one of those libertarians and an early mover. We were a trickle at first, but 20 years later, the trickle is now a steady stream, except in summer, when the banks threaten to overflow.

It’s been good this week to mingle among free minds and spirits, if only for a wee pick me up. Sometimes it’s just nice to talk about Ron Paul.

You might be wondering if I love New Hampshire so much, then why did I leave?

It’s the cold. The kind of cold that goes right to the bone, which I find unbearable. It drove me away. I was reminded of such a couple of days ago, when the temperature dropped below freezing and hasn’t budged since. So cold that now, on my daily walk, I can see the ponds* have frozen over, like little skating rinks. While stopped to enjoy this little piece of nature, a stiff, frigid breeze blows through my coat and down my neck and goes right to my bones. Brrr.

That’s why I left. But no matter where my physical bones lead me, my heart always remains in New Hampshire.

*In the South, we call them swamps. In New Orleans, ponds are what form in the potholes when it rains.

For your listening pleasure today, Amos Lee …

Christmas in New Hampshire

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I expect the question on your mind ever since my post last week is how did the six-person, one-bathroom thing work out?

Honestly, far better than I expected. At one point before post-Christmas Christmas arrived, I thought the situation might call for a chamber pot under every bed. Seriously, I did. As it turns out, we haven’t needed any, and just as well, because where in all of creation was I going to find a chamber pot or two or six on Christmas Eve?

One of the coolest things about New Hampshire is it is full to the brim with picture postcard scenes all year – but perhaps winter is best of all when a shimmering moon glistens on a blanket of newly fallen snow. Quintessential New England – my home for 25 years, eight of them in New Hampshire. But there’s no quintessential falling from the sky this week, so you will have to imagine white where it is green.

What we lose in snow we gain in not having to shovel. Which gave us plenty of time to spend on other kinds of holiday exercise, namely getting the Christmas tree to stand up, decorating it without knocking it over, wrapping presents, hunting for bedsheets, and an assortment of other housewifely duties. In a cause for great joy, it all got done in time for the arrival of our son and his family from Akita, Japan. It’s been two long years since I’ve seen them, so this time together is ever so special. Precious time.

No question, the gathering of family over the holidays is by far the best part of Christmas. Second best: the lights. All the rest – the food, the presents, the music, the snow – it’s all filler. As for the lights, I get my fill every year, randomly driving around streets in town oohing and aaahing to my heart’s content. Top of my list this year is the humungous display put on by Tulalip Casino in Washington. Acre upon acre of lights. Tons of wattage, and simply a feast for the eyes. Here in our neck of the New Hampshire woods, a little less ostentatious.

I wish you all a splendiferous new year. Keep the joy forever in your heart, and peace, and love, and all that good stuff.

And for our musical interlude this week, Lloyd George …

The joy of it all

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I am going bi this Christmas. Bi-coastal, that is. Grandma is on the move.

We celebrated our pre-Christmas Christmas yesterday with my daughter and family out here on the West Coast. As far as pre-Christmas Christmases go, this one was perfect – no calories involved, just simply the exchange of gifts – no fuss, no muss. Which isn’t my motto, but I’m working on it.

Tonight I fly off to the East Coast on the redeye, landing in Boston tomorrow morning before sunrise, then watching the sun come up on the bus trip up to New Hampshire.

It’s hit the ground running for Grandma: three days until our post-Christmas Christmas, this one with my son and his family who will arrive in very post-Christmas fashion late on the 26th, in time for post-Christmas Christmas on the 27th. And we’re all bunking in at Grandpa’s for the hols. Six people, one bathroom, how great is this going to be?

Here’s where things stand. Our production team, which consists of Grandma and Grandpa, and our collective Done list and To-Do list:

Done: 1) Turkey is thawing in the fridge. 2) Christmas tree is on the porch waiting to come inside. 3) Presents ordered from Amazon sitting there waiting for me to …

To-Do: 1) Wrap them. 2) Put up the tree and decorate it and the house. 3) Reconfigure furniture so it all fits. It can be done. 4) Make grocery shopping list for everything but the turkey. 5) Go shopping. 6) Baking – don’t even mention it. 7) See the Bob Dylan movie. 8) Sleep, preferably before or after the movie.

If I sound a bit stressed, really I’m not. I’ve got three 24-hour days to get it all done, and look at you, if your eyes are on this on Monday morning, you’ve only got two days left. I’ve got it easy.

Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah everyone!

It wouldn’t be the holidays without Darlene Love …

Confessions of a social mis-fit

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For those of you who have followed me over here from Facebook, welcome to my little corner of the internet. A few weeks ago, finally freed from the time-hog of writing a book, one of the first things I wanted to do was get social. Writing a book is a solitary endeavor, no getting around it. There is absolutely no time for socializing. Seven years, and I purposefully made no new friends. Because if you have a friend, you inevitably will spend time with that friend. And if you’re spending time with that friend, who’s writing the book?

“They,” those know-it-all “theys,” say that it’s good to take a break now and then, refresh, reinvigorate; but I write slower than molasses, and I need every minute I can get. My social life for seven years consisted of hanging out with my characters, living my life vicariously through them. So when the book was done (well, draft one, at least), it was time to broaden my horizons, at least socially. And so for the first time since joining Facebook way back when, I now read my Newsfeed. Boy, people are busy, aren’t they? I’ve posted in the past – trip to here, trip to there, grandbabies, concert this and sunset that, and that was it. I joined Facebook to be where my kids were (how socially aware is that, I ask). They have both long moved on to the next thing and then the thing after that, while I remain, taking my sunset photos.

But now, in addition to posting photos of this and that, I am very socially active and hearting this and liking that and hugging the other.

That’s all well and good, but it’s not fulfilling my social needs. I like to talk and I like to write, which is so not Facebook. But I can do that here. And while writing a blog is a lot like talking to oneself, if you, dear reader, sign up to follow me and later find a reason to comment now and again, I’ll talk to you too.

Every Monday morning, I’ll be in your inbox, being sociable. Bonus: Each blog features a song from my Top 100. This week, Joan Armatrading …

You can’t do both

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That chair I mentioned last time – the one where I sit and write – this is it. Pen and notebook at the ready, cup of tea at my side. The chair gives me a view of my roadside garden, and on the other side of the road, the neighbor’s field, where his two cows often come to ruminate and regurgitate. Above their heads, a bald eagle often hovers in the treetops. I easily get lost in the beauty of it all, sometimes for much longer than I should.

The reason I’ve planted my backside in the chair is to write, not stare at cows eating their curds and whey. This reminds me of Edna Ferber’s rule about writing. She was a well-known writer in her day, the author of “Giant” and “Cimarron” among others. She and I lived in the same town in Connecticut, albeit in different eras and, if the town had train tracks (train tracks? we didn’t even have a stop light), her place was above the tracks and mine way on the other side.

So when Edna moved to her new home, she placed her writing desk at an upstairs window overlooking the back gardens that happened to be occupied by several bronzed, bare-chested young men performing their landscaping duties. Undoubtedly, Edna found much pleasure in staring out the window, inevitably not doing a stitch of writing. That’s when she came up with her rule: If you want to be a gardener, desperate to get outside and put your hands in the dirt, go garden. But if you’re going to be a writer, then write. You can’t do both.

I say, why can’t you? It’s all about pacing. Sort of like Hemingway, who didn’t garden but did like to drink. His rule: Write in the morning and drink in the afternoon. I garden in the morning and write in the afternoon. If Hemingway could find room for both his passions, then so can I.

p.s. Be sure to sign up to follow me. You’ll get a post from me every Monday morning with my scribbles and that week’s entry in my all-time Top 100 songs.

This morning, for your listening pleasure, Aaron Neville with a couple of friends …

Breaking all the rules

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For your listening pleasure …

I am in detox. To tell you the truth, it’s not going so well.

The detox is from my book, which is what “they” say to do – they being the ones who write books that tell people like me what I should do when I write my first novel. I’ve read several of these “From Blank Page to NYT Bestseller” books. I am pretty sure they were all bestsellers.

My main takeaway from all my reading is I have been doing it all wrong. First – and this is at the blank page stage – they say, write, keep writing, don’t stop to edit, just write, write, write. Sadly, my brain doesn’t work that way. It’s in my blood to edit. So that was the first wrong thing. Far too much editing far too early in the game. The second thing they say is to keep the book to 100,000 words, definitely no more than 110,000. Mine is 221,000. Houston, we’ve got a problem.

I broke the latest rule yesterday. The pros say that once you’ve finished the first draft, put the book aside for a good chunk of time. Take a break and come back fresh. I settled on a six-week hiatus. I made it to six days. It’s like an addiction.

Or maybe a rut. The day after I finished the first draft (Day One of the six-week hiatus), I came home from my walk and looked at the chair I sit in to write and said, “Now, what do I do?”

It turns out plenty.

Not least of which was listening to more music. Just a little taste …

p.s. Be sure to sign up to follow me in order to get my weekly missives, arriving in your inbox every Monday morning.

Pinch me

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Cue Rocky Balboa at the top of the steps: Look ma, I did it. I really did it. Ma? Ma? You listening?

But I digress.

Call this my pat-on-the-back post. Be-ee-cause … drum roll …

I FINISHED WRITING MY BOOK!

Apologies for yelling, but that’s me up on the rooftop, shouting it to the world.

I began writing the book seven years ago. This is not my “Astral Weeks Live” book over to the right of your screen; I’m talking about my new book that I have been slaving over for seven years. Seven years, nine months and twelve days, to be exact. But who’s counting? Seven years is a long time. When I started writing the book, gas was $1.97 a gallon. Now I’m lucky if I can get it for under $4.

The story I tell is set in 1848 Ireland. That was the year of revolutions in Europe, the peasants versus the aristocracy, the poor versus the rich. Ireland had its own group of revolutionaries, called Young Ireland, who fought for their country’s independence from England. And that is the story I tell, all 221,000 words of it. Not quite “War and Peace” but getting there.

There was a time early on when I wasn’t sure I would finish it.

I had divided the book into four parts, representing the four seasons. Part 1 is spring, and that’s where I started. Four years later, I finally finished part 1. Even I can do the math on that. Four years times four parts equals sixteen years.

Sixteen years to write a book? Not to put too fine a point on it, but I’d be lucky to be alive in 16 years. It became my overarching goal: Finish the book before I die.

Ma, I did it! And it only took me seven years.

p.s. Go ahead and sign up to receive future posts from me. Now that I am back in the land of the living, I am hoping to post at least once a week. It won’t be all book talk, but there will be plenty of that I am sure. Fortunately, I have other interests that I just love to talk about.

undеrneath the nevada desert night sky

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Van Morrison Bakkt Theater Planet Hollywood Las Vegas, NV Sept 8 and 9, 2023

I’m sitting in my seat night one and thinking, it’s been four years since I’ve seen Van in concert. Jazz Fest 2019. I really haven’t missed him in the interim (when you live in New Orleans, there is just so much good music around, your musical plate is full and overflowing). He’s been very much on the outskirts of my radar.

But here I am tonight. Here’s what I know: Van is going to open with all songs from his latest Skiffle album. I feel I have had my fill of this particular musical interlude of Van’s, but I haven’t heard it live yet, and there is nothing I like better than new. However, with all the skiffle videos I’ve been watching over the past several months, it already seems old to me.

The lights are dimming, it’s show time! I’m feeling good. Sec 104, Row K, seat 9 is looking pretty great – nobody is sitting in the seats right in front of me, or in the row before that, so my sightlines do not involve craning my neck. It’s all good.

There had been hints in Van’s live set before coming to the States for this tour, that skiffle was on the way out, highlights from his back catalogue were on the way in, mixed in with some new blues tunes from the forthcoming studio release of blues. The imagined setlist was music to the imaginations of the long-suffering among us. But at the last minute, the blues album got postponed to the new year, leaving Van to fall back on a polished skiffle set.

Van opens with “Streamline Train,” the first of 13 skiffle songs to open the night, and it pumps right along, John Platania chugging on the rhythm, keeping those wheels moving. I’m getting limbered up. Just in time for “Sail Away Ladies” – it’s such a pleasure to listen to Van take this with such gusto. And for something completely different, the song features clarinet, performed by Jeff Taylor. I would guess it’s been since Kate St John in the 90s since Van has brought in a clarinet. So here we are, two songs in and I’m loving skiffle. “In the Evening When the Sun Goes Down” is next, and that too comes off with much appreciation from the audience.

Then the musicality, for lack of a better word, drops off. There are no dynamics to lead from one song to the next – granted it’s very polished, very well rehearsed, and very smartly presented, but it’s all just one and done to my ears. Right up until the 12th song, “Cotton Fields,” which might have gone unnoticed but for the fact that “Cotton Fields” was the first 45 I ever owned. My brother gave it to me, in desperation really. Knowing my propensity to listen to a song on repeat, he wanted to get me off The Supremes and into something he could stand to hear on repeat through our shared bedroom wall. I am likely one of very few in the audience who would know this song, so I am the one singing along with Van – more mouthing it, so as not to disturb the gentle people around me. Note to Van: I have heard the place name as Texarkana. If nothing else, it rolls off the tongue easily.

All of a sudden, the show takes off. “Green Rocky Road,” next, is a lovely song, and has much more of a freewheeling sound to it, looser than the songs up to this point. It would be a treat to see this song explored further, but that may never happen, so I smile at how he delivered it tonight.

Then to the surprise of all of us come two blues songs, “Travellin Blues” and “Laughin and Clownin,” which if you’re keeping your eyes and ears open, surely you’re thinking they’re from the upcoming album, ya figure? If so, the future, live-wise, holds great promise, especially for those long-suffering ones referenced above. I’ll definitely be watching the setlists of the upcoming shows to see if he adds any other tasty treats from his trove of blues classics.

“In the Afternoon” is delicious. I lean back in my seat and close my eyes, following Van’s song of love, and it’s all quite lovely, and it hits me right between the ears that it’s the dynamics, they’ve kicked in. And indeed, on through the rest of Van’s songs, we get that dramatic ebb and flow of a Van singing full force – “Into the Mystic” and “Help Me” follow, with Van in full throttle on the latter. The band does it justice, best version I’ve heard in years, a return to form. And “Gloria” – unbelievably great, and the huge energy had even jaded me up on my feet.

As Van says, Satisfied.

three days later …

It’s been two days since the show the following night, Van’s last show in Vegas. That final show, at least its first 13 songs, was a carbon copy of the previous night. If there were any nuanced differences, they escaped me. The difference was in the shakeup in the songs to close the show. Last night’s “Afternoon” workshop is replaced by Whenever God Shines His Light, Dweller on the Threshold, and Precious Time, then memory says Enlightenment next, then an absolutely stunning version of “Into the Mystic.” That’s the one that took me away, something I didn’t think was in Van’s method these days. I could do that one again! Tonight’s show ends with “In the Garden,” and I’m sitting wondering when was the last time I heard this. And the audience gobbles it up, me up at the trough with the rest of them.

My afterthoughts, which are not many, include, first of all, how Van has perfected his voice in his established range – one could truly be in awe of a man who at 78 can perform a brilliantly explosive “Into the Mystic” with the strength of a 25-year-old. That he can, and seeing the direction he’s going with the setlist, the future looks deliciously good.

golden anniversary

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Tonight – February 22, 2021 – marks the 50th anniversary of my first time. My first Van Morrison concert, on a frigid cold winter night in Montreal.

That first Van concert was quite the escapade, complete with sneaking out of boarding school and hightailing it into Montreal and back and hoping not to get caught in the process. I won’t give away the ending, but you can read about it in my Van Chronicles. I daresay Van wasn’t at his performing best that night, but it being my first time, it was all I could ask for, and more. I was committed for life.

A very popular game among Van fans is creating one’s dream setlist. I always planned to do this, and never did of course, but here we are, fifty years later, and now seems like a good time to check this off the to-do list. A big shout-out to vanomatic, whose site is a wealth of information on all things live Van, and continues to fill in the blanks for all of us.

Here, then, is my dream setlist, composed of live versions of some of Van’s best songs, performed at some of the best shows I ever attended. There are plenty of very worthwhile candidates that didn’t make the list, and all I can say is, Van couldn’t conceivably play that long of a set. So only the creme de la creme this time.

  1. Ballerina – July 10, 2008 – Tower Theater, Upper Darby: Night one of a two-parter that featured a tantalizing preview of what was to come a few months down the road at the Hollywood Bowl.
  2. Vanlose Stairway – July 6, 1986 – Kingswood Theatre, Toronto: Open-air venue, not great acoustics, but the band worked hard up there. This was part of the No Guru tour. What a killer tour that was.
  3. Tupelo Honey > Why Must I Always Explain? – April 29, 1996 – Supper Club, NYC: I don’t know … The Drunken Soldiers tour? TH is forever on my Top 10 list, and WMIAE is Van’s best, of far too many complaint songs. Two for the price of one.
  4. Into the Mystic – March 19, 2005 – Orpheum Theater, Boston: I don’t think there was a person among us who didn’t think this was the best show they had ever been to. We have pretty long memories, too.
  5. Fairplay – August 4, 2009 – Wang Theater, Boston: The addition of FP to the setlist in the second half of the Astral Weeks Live year was so sweet. I heard it here in Boston for the first time. I remember the goosebumps.
  6. Little Village – February 3, 2012 – Odyssey, Belfast: I was in the right place at the right time this night. Bridget and I had just spent two weeks traveling around Ireland, and this song was wee Celtic Van at his best. He had me quite believing he was talking to me personally. Celtic Van will do that to you sometimes.
  7. Cleaning Windows – October 26, 2003 – Le Carre, Amsterdam: I don’t know where to start. R&B just the way you want it. Please don’t touch! Ouch.
  8. Fast Train – February 26, 2000 – Barbican, York – We didn’t know it at the time, but these were the waning days of the Johnny Scott band, Van was moving on. “Fast Train” was the last song of the night, recorded two nights earlier. Lucky us to get the premiere. And as the last song I heard live from this band, I’m happy.
  9. What Would I Do? – May 15, 1985 – Massey Hall, Toronto: This Ray Charles gem is putty in Van’s hands. He never played it enough to my way of thinking, and this is the only time I heard the complete version. Sometimes he’ll sneak in a few lines as a bridge, and while those are fun (and rare), you really want to hear the whole thing.
  10. Saint Dominic’s Preview – November 8, 2008 – Hollywood Bowl, L.A.: A classic, and this one came with snipers on the rooftop.
  11. Raincheck > River of Time – July 5, 2007 – Hummingbird Theatre, Toronto: I’ve had some intense moments when Van’s head and heart and mouth take off as one, and all I can do is hang on tight. He was relentless on this one.
  12. Summertime in England – September 21, 1998 – Metro Centre, Halifax: It’s kind of hard to pick just one version, but this stands out as the last time I heard it live, and it was the highlight of the night, for sure.
  13. All in the Game – October 26, 2003 – Le Carre, Amsterdam: Same for this song – there are any number of versions that could be slotted in here, but he outdid himself this night, taking it out crying waaan, waaan, waaan. Tear your heart apart, or what. European audiences are an even-tempered bunch; there’s no yelling and screaming and acting American – except tonight. Le Carre was on its collective feet.
  14. Burning Ground – June 14, 1997 – Fleadh, Randall’s Island: There are plenty of versions of this song to choose from, but none better than this, my first time. Van as performance artist – dumping the jute with mic as prop. Something else.
  15. Help Me – June 14, 1999 – Jones Beach, NY: I love this song – Van changes it up every time, plus I give it a 98, it’s got a good beat and I can dance to it. The JS band’s treatment made me sit up and pay attention.
  16. On Hyndford Street – October 1, 2009 – Salle Wilfred Pelletier, Montreal: Ethereal bliss.
  17. It’s a Man’s, Man’s, Man’s World > Don’t Let Me Break Down – April 28, 1996 – Supper Club, NYC: Van has had some spectacular moments in his career. I think these 48 minutes are at the pinnacle. One for the ages.
  18. In the Afternoon – July 11, 2008 – Tower Theater, Upper Darby: Part 2 of the gnomes on the ancient highway. Diamonds in the night.
  19. Cyprus Avenue – January 16, 1998 – Theater at MSG, NYC: He was hot on this one tonight – reminding us “if this is pop music, what the fuck are we doing here?” Big hand for the band!
  20. Madame George – November 7, 2008 – Hollywood Bowl, L.A.: Get on the train! I don’t know how you ever beat this.
  21. And the Healing Has Begun – October 25, 2009 – Theater at MSG, NYC: I couldn’t exactly say which show of the ones I’ve seen that’s my favorite; but if I could exactly say, then I’d say this one. It helps to have a seat six feet from Van at the piano to get you in the mood. But it wasn’t just that – we all got that squealin feeling.
  22. Caravan – October 26, 1978 – O’Keefe Center, Toronto: I’m exhausted just thinking back on this one.

Van walks offstage, hunkered over his mic, it’s too late to stop now. The band plays on, and back on comes Van for two songs to close out the night, and here I have roamed from the wealth of live shows to choose two songs I’ve never heard live. But never say never; who knows what the next 50 years will bring.

23. Autumn Song

24. Shenandoah

Great show, Van! I gotta tell you, I am amazed that you could keep going after “Man’s World,” so thanks for that.