Another Monday

As you probably have noticed, these posts are getting kind of sporadic. I've started a new project and am putting most of my energy there. My goal is to have a finished MS off to a publisher in less than seven months. I've got a lot of responsibilities right now but still feel that I'll never transition to full-time unless I can get two novels done in a year.

Wish me luck.

In the meantime, I was driving down a moonlit highway the other day and my iPod decided "Ghostriders in the Sky" would be apropos. I always loved that song as a kid. When I learned to play the saxophone, I dug out a piano book shortly after and belted it out whenever I got the chance.

Of course, it's most potent when it's sung. The melody is great but the lyrics are downright awesome. The more I write, the more I find myself paying attention to lyrics and these are great lyrics. Songs are like haikus in that you must choose what absolutely matters instead of just cluttering up your art with everything that fits. You can see this in "Ghostriders"--they don't mention the usual cowboy getup or anything, but instead mention the sweat which makes their shirts stick to their backs, underscoring how this is difficult work.

I could go on, but it would be awful to spend more time talking about a song than it is long.

They've got a bunch of versions on Youtube. Go check some out.

Johnny Rode Shotgun

I had to do a bit of driving this weekend, some it through areas with less-than-ideal radio stations to listen to. I won't call out any counties by name--I'm sure they're lovely places off the interstate--but let's just say the sermons were heavier than the metal.

This time, though, I came prepared. With a CD. A Johnny Cash CD. I grew up hearing 'Ring of Fire.' And my older brother made me sit through a few of his ballads, like a 'Boy Named Sue' (which, if you didn't know, was written by Shel Silverstein). I liked everything I'd from him so far and it was time to expand my musical repertoire a little.

Turns out, Johnny Cash is great road trip material. As I drove alone down that dark highway, the trip came alive with ballads about miners, auto workers, murderers and yes, unfortunate men named Sue. It was less like listening to a CD and more like getting tall tales from a friendly passenger trying hard to keep me from falling asleep.

It worked. It's easy to stay awake when you're laughing or cringing or wondering what on Earth is going to happen next. That's the beauty of a good ballad--it's more than just a catchy tune, it tells a story. And as you can imagine, I love stories.

The only problem now, of course, is that I know all the endings. I guess I may just have to go out and find other albums I haven't heard yet...

More Vacant Graves News

Got to see the cover art this week for Vacant Graves (February 2013 for those who forgot). I think it's finalized but I need to make sure before I post it here. It's the right mix of creepy and awesome while still being true to the story (though the guy on the cover has a top hat again. I just keep telling myself that it must be someone else because Donovan has a bowler goddamit).

I've also got a new video hint for you about Vacant Graves. Ambiguous, I know. Hopefully that excites you. Does it excite you? It excites me.

Rather than worry about copyright issues I decided to link someone who recorded their music specifically for YouTube. There's a lot of great voices out there. It's one of the things I love about YouTube.

I had a real blog for you but it's 800 words and I haven't trimmed it down yet. If you look at the time stamp, you will see that I'm having one of those days. Or you could say 'one of those nights' and it would be just as true.

Your First Serving of Word-Mousse

Have you seen Lindsey Stirling? If you answered in the negative, you should. Now.

Or maybe you shouldn’t. I have a strong suspicion she’s not human. She’s probably some kind of changling-pixie that slipped over to our world so we foolish mortals could amuse her. Don’t believe me? Look at her in elf ears.

Case closed.

For those of you who aren’t familiar, she dances around exotic places on YouTube while sawing away on a violin. She works out harder playing music than I do when I’m actually working out.

There’s something wonderful about fiddling and dancing. I felt the same way when I first saw Vanessa Mae. You’d think I’d be inured by now. But I’m not. It’s bizarre because when pop divas dance around, it irritates me. I guess that’s because anyone can run around and yell something—toddlers do it all the time. But run around and play a violin? That takes skill. The only way Stirling could top herself is if she juggled citrus with her feet while playing “Flight of the Bumblebee.” (For those of you that didn’t know, “Flight of the Bumblebee” is capital H, capital C, Hard Core.)

Her violin does more than just impress musically, though. It somehow makes the videos more sensuous. When I watch them I feel like I should keep one eye on the door and my mouse-icon over the Close Window option. Her movies are one of the most sensuous things on the internet, in spite of or perhaps because she keeps her clothes on.

Yes, we’re talking about the same internet.

I know a tiny bit about instruments. I give my saxophone mouth-to-mouth from time to time and I’m even able, on occasion, to revive it. I've always felt there’s something intimate about them. It’s easy to forget this with concert music, but it’s glaringly obvious when you see the blues. Those guys aren’t just sweating because of the stage-lights, my friend.

The reason I said you probably shouldn’t see her is because these fairy-musician incidents never end well. We mortals inevitably come out looking like idiots. I keep expecting to wake up one morning and discover that the pixie-fiddler has absconded with our nation’s children—all forty million of them—à la the Pied Piper. Let’s be honest: if that woman played the Come Hither, could you say no?

I sure as hell wouldn’t. I mean couldn’t. I meant to say couldn’t.

It’s the pixie-glamour talking, I swear.

Jesus, I hope my wife doesn’t read this one.

Next Week: I may go back to musings on dark stuff, which seems to happen anyway. I realize now that my "pixie-child-abduction-conspiracy" piece may not be so light after all.