Oh, now, don't be thinkin' that you are gonna get some good advice on how to write, how to get a literary agent, or how to get published. Naw. That's on someone else's site who knows what they're doing.
I know why you've come here. You come to commiserate with the bottom of the literary heap, or get a confidence boost as to how far you've come in comparison. I know it, you know it. Let's just get past it, shall we?
No, Batman, I don't know what I'm doing. I see all these people on NaNoWriMo (www.nanowrimo.org) with synapses, outlines, notes, research, story boards ... and I think to myself....WHY? I mean why can't I just write and write and write for 30 days, see what I have, keep the good stuff, pitch the bad and fill in the missing pieces? But only if I wanna?
When I was a kid, I wrote and wrote and wrote everyday without NaNo! I had no idea where I was going, what I was doing. I wrote during study hall, I wrote instead of eating at lunch, I wrote when I got home. Then I got up and wrote some more. Did I write for anyone in particular? No. At the time, the only thing I wanted to write about was hockey (Anne will tell you there was a Barnabas Collins/vampire fascination, but let's not complicate my trip down memory lane, ok?) Specifically, the Chicago BlackHawks Hockey Team. ALL MEN! Phil Russell and Dale Talon and Keith Magnuson and Darcy Rota and Danny O'Shea. All I needed to do was create a couple of 20 year old women and I was off to the races. Well, a PG sort of off to the races. But it was hot to me and every 100 handwritten pages or so, I wrote something that sounded like real people having a real conversation in a real place that I created. It was heaven.
So this is how I will approach NaNo for this year. I shall not worry about tomorrow. I will just write and hope I can remember that childhood enthusiasm that sustained me day after day, week after week, month after month, now that I'm older....but perhaps not as wise.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Writing According to Lara
Friday, December 28, 2007
Happy Birthday to Me!
Well, actually, my birthday was earlier in the month, but that's not the point. The point is that my friend Anne gave me a book entitled, "Write Your Novel This Year".
Writing a novel has been on my brain since I was probably young enough to write. I have pages and pages and pages of PIECES of stories that go back to when Dinosaurs Ruled the World. I have read many books on writing, read many magazines, even threw my hat into the NaNoWriNo ring, but only have stacks of papers with words written on them. I really have nothing to show the world for all the work and energy I have put into it.
Now I'm not complaining. I wrote almost 10,000 words during the month of November for NaNo, and for a single working mom with precious time to spare, I was pretty pleased with myself. When I look at the parts of stories I have created over the years, I see interesting characters and nominally interesting plots. (I am, by far, a character driven story writer). I see stories that have been written mostly for my own pleasure. I have been to other countries, been a celebrity, married celebrities, saved lives and captained the Enterprise.
But now, I have this urge to throw my pen into the ring and see what happens. However, all the advise I have heard or read is spinning in my head. Here are a few:
1. Write everyday. No matter what and/or: don't force yourself to write. Write when you are inspired.
2. Write for yourself, not to make money and/or: write for your audience
3. Find a quiet place to devote to your writing and/or: you can write anywhere, anytime
Hmm. Push me, pull you.
This brings me to a Manilow-ism: "Ask any songwriter how he writes a song, and none of them will give you a logical, step by step answer. We have no idea how we do it." I paraphrase, but you get the idea.
So what do I need to do? Uh....don't know. But that's ok. I just figure it's a journey and maybe I'll get there and maybe I won't.
Be prepared. I'm dragging you along for the ride.
Happy 2008!
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Failure is NOT an Option
NaNoWriMo update:
Still hovering around 3,000 words. However, and this could be a ploy to avoid the actual competition of NaNo, but I've started 2 other stories. One at a respectable 3000 words and another at a measly, but nonetheless productive, 1500.
So, in my effort to keep myself bouyant, I have added all the stories together into a genre hodgepodge and came up with a total of close to 9000 words written since the beginning of November.
Not anywhere near the 20,000 I should be at, and spaced between a romance, chicklit and a fictional short story, but still. 9,000 words.
I heard a story about a women who went to medical school at 40 years of age. She was criticized for being too old and was told she couldn't keep up physically with the challenges. It took her several years and when she was 46 and a physician with her own practice they asked her how she did it.
She said, "I just figured I'd get older either way and gave 100%."
Point well taken.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Crash and Burn
Ok. According to the www.nanowrimo.org website, as of this moment I have 24 days, 1 hour and 53 minutes to write about 47,000 more words to hit the 50,000 mark. There has been approximately 171,000,000 words written so far by the entire collective.
That is one shitload of words.
I contributed about 3000 to that pile and I figure I must write 1,958 words PER DAY to reach the 50,000 goal. Yes. I know what you are thinking. Not a chance in hell.
I seem to write way too slowly and have precious little time to devote to the pursuit. However, I am not deterred. I shall march bravely on, like a little Kamikazi novelist, knowing that at the end, I will crash and burn.
My new, more realistic goal is 25,000 words by 11/30/07. Then next year, I'll start writing in August like everyone else and hit that 10,000 word mark in 3 days like all the others!! There are all these people posting that they've hit 10,000, 20,000 words since 11/1. I can't even spit out that many words talking in that time frame. And trust me, I'm an expert talker. Something tells me they were typing and formulating and plotting way before 11/1/07. I registered 10/31 and started typing 11/2/07, not knowing what the hell I was writing about.
I'm rather proud I've gotten this far! So onward I march, even sacrificing my very nice long nails for a shorter version, quicker on the keyboard.
Wish me luck. I'll need it.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
To The Left Of Normal....
I am basically a sane person. I manage to get to work daily, feed my kids, get them to the dentist twice a year, make sure the cats have water and throw bleach in the toilet every week. Yes, my laundry piles up and sometimes (alot of times) there are dishes in the sink. Regardless, Sean and Erin are fairly well adjusted, can speak in full sentences and say "excuse me" if they burp. Their knuckles do not drag on the ground when they walk, nor do they drool (while awake).
However, I am a bit "touched". I've always been "touched". I've been "touched" as far back as I can remember.
I said one time to my friend Colleen in a alcohol fueled exclusive that I frequently "talk" to myself -- I also "talk" to fictional characters, I "talk" to celebritites, I wonder what conversation I would have with Abe Lincoln or Mary Lincoln, for that matter. I know at some point I will be in the nursing home psych unit, thinking I am George Harrison's wife and waiting for my man to come home from tour.
I comfort myself by saying this is the writer in me. I make up conversations with Mr. Spock and Fox Mulder and Keith Richards and John Barrymore. In my imagination, I've been to the Academy Awards, the Emmy's, the Tony's. I've been to celebrity parties, Van Cliburn's triumphant 1958 piano concert in Moscow and walked the red carpet (about 50 pounds thinner in a lovely black dress). I've solved warp drive problems with Mr. Spock and finally found Fox Mulder's long lost sister. And I don't know HOW many times John Lennon and I sat around talking about the 60's.
But low and behold, Colleen admitted during our stationary trip to Tanked-Town that she did the same thing. She also comforted herself by saying this was the creative in her and knew that one day, sitting zoned out at the Home, she mentally would be waiting for her man, Barry Manilow, to come off the stage so she could....well, never mind. I can say no more except if Manilow knew, he'd be dating her tomorrow.
This prompted me to postulate that specifically engineered insanity is a good thing. It keeps the creative juices flowing, you can visit any place in the world or talk to anyone you wish. I'm glad I'm "touched". But I'm also glad to find that I'm not alone. Even if it's just me and Colleen, (and probably Anne...hmmm? Waiting for Sir Paul??) we'll be the happiest 3 old ladies in the psych ward they've ever seen.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Why I Hate Good Books
Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln. By Doris Kearns Goodwin. I hate this book. Truly. I picked it up at the library on the advice of my friend Anne and I wish I had never seen it.
It is so damn good that I stayed up 1/2 the night reading and now am totally useless at work. I just want to go home, make a cup of tea and read ALL day. THIS is why I hate good books. Like a warm comforter, I want to stay inside it all day and not move. A good book makes me forget the laundry and my job and fighting kids and a wacky ex-husband and that pesky dental bill I didn't pay. A good book sucks me right in and I find I never want to leave.
This is one of them. Love Abe or not, her writing is magnificent (perhaps this why she won the Pulitizer?) and so worth your time. The book is daunting, but you are hooked from line one.
I know once I've finished reading it, I will know Lincoln better than Abe himself did.
That's good writing.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Let's Chat About...
Writing.
I was reading someone else's blog who said that the summer had sorely compromised her goals in the weight, exercise, writing and reading departments. I have to agree with her. I haven't lost a pound or exercised since April. Part of this is because April - July is our busiest time at the office and I frequently miss lunch hours, which is when I usually exercise.
This is how it filters down.
1. Busy at the office, no lunch hour.
2. No lunch hour means no exercise.
3. No lunch hour means I sit at my desk and overeat.
4. No lunch hour and no exercise plus eating at my desk = weight gain.
5. Weight gain causes fatigue.
6. Fatigue means that I get home and eat more because I'm too tired to think about it.
7. Fatigue means that I go to bed earlier.
8. Going to bed earlier means that I don't write.
9. Not writing makes me very cranky, because I have so many ideas and am too tired to write them down.
10. Being cranky means I beat myself up even more because I'm not exercising nor eating right.
11. Not eating right or exercising or being creative causes me to get insomnia, so while I'm so tired I can't do anything physical, I can still keep myself busy by emotionally flogging myself.....all fricking night long.
12. Not sleeping gets me over anxious and panicky and I start to worry about shit I almost never worry about otherwise.
13. Then I'm a gonzo mess, near psychological breakdown.
However, my busy season is over. The kids start back to school next week. I went to the health club 3 times this week. And I've yanked out my story and have begun to work on it again.
ahhh.....I love to see September 15 days in front of me.
Monday, June 18, 2007
A New Point Of View Is Beginning...
I feel compelled and must, MUST continue to tell you the story of my book writing odyssey. Only unlike Hubbell from "The Way We Were", who was beautiful beyond beautiful, smart beyond smart and talented beyond talented, my journey was born out of depression and a need to focus on anything besides my horrid marriage, even more horrid divorce and the looming title of “Single Full-Time Working Mom”. Besides, I promised “redcat” I’d finish the story. And really, wouldn’t Barry Manilow like to know?
No. I didn’t think so either. And actually, right or wrong, poor Mr. Manilow had nothing to do with any of this, other than having the tenacity and talent to hang around from 1974 through to the new millennium.
So to summarize, we left Lara post Manilow google, doing some serious contemplating and welcoming in of January, 2006.
The remaining notes I took during my journey were in diary form.
January, 2006
Knowing I’m going to hit 50 this year, I’ve decided I’m going to take a trip to Vegas, perhaps by myself and see Barry. I haven’t seen him since 1979 – in the old Chicago Stadium. I found the program from that concert the other day and really cracked up. Lots of jumpsuits and rhinestones! I also found my calendar from 1976 when I saw Barry for the first time in concert – Ravinia in Highland Park. I suspect his Vegas show is nothing like Ravinia, which featured 3 backup singers, a small band, him and his piano. Oh and the palm tree. Loved the palm tree and his frenetic pace back and forth on the stage.
When I told Anne of my plans, she heard the words “Vegas” and “birthday” and said, “I’m so there.” Manilow is merely a side attraction. She is checking on hotels and flights. I’m in charge of Barry tickets.
We have hotel, flight and tickets for October, 2006. I have put my confirmation up on my bulletin board at work. My co-workers, while admiring by Beatles calendar and Captain James T. Kirk action figure (along with pictures of my kids – I’m not that crazy) are puzzled by this Manilow addition.
I realize I am awash in a sea of….Manilow-who-cares? You know, they wondered if he was even still alive. I march boldly on, used to the chuckles and snickers. As Barry said years ago, “You take a lot of shit for being a Manilow fan.” Fine.
There is some recognition that he is indeed still alive as his 50’s CD debuts at Number 1 on the charts. Sorry, Barry, but I just can’t make the purchase. That picture on the cover frightens me. A part of me realized you just might need me to set you straight on what is “cover-worthy”.
February, 2006
I decide that I need to touch base with other Manilow fans, as I realize there are none within a 200 mile radius of where I live.
I’ve hit paydirt. On-line fan clubs! Now this is what the internet was designed for! The BMIFC/Barrynet thing is fine, but I’m beginning to realize that his fans are like the population in general. You’ve got Right Wingers, Middle of the Roaders and Left Wingers. The extremists scare me, but I’m a big girl and have been taught not to give out my home address and social security number, even if they ask.
I have written a reminder on my computer at home limiting myself to 45 minutes of Barry Manilow a day. Any more than that, and I may have to check myself into rehab.
Anne, Vegas companion and friend since kindergarten, tells me that my Manilow fixation comes out of left field to her. She hasn’t remembered the name Barry coming up in any of our conversations since Barry Newman. Or Barry VanDyke. I tell her it’s hormones and to just play along. I know all her secrets.
March, 2006
Not only are there on-line fan clubs (Barry’s Retro Fans Unlimited, Manilow’s Midnight Dreams, Manimodems, Barry Manilow, All4Barry Manilow, Melting for Manilow to name only a very few) but there are bloggers. Lots and lots of bloggers. Anne tells me to check out one she found on line. I do so and start corresponding to one in particular, using an alias of course. See? I know how to feed my fixation and remain anonymous.
I painfully realize that while I am well versed in Manilow trivia from 1974-1990, I am sorely ignorant of his tours, travels, loves and fax paus from 1991-2001. Oh, I have all the mainstream albums and CD’s, but have not ventured into the purchasing of CD’s that have all the songs from say, Barry Manilow II, along with a bonus track, necessitating the need to dish out $11.99 for one song. I remind Anne that I have scoured racks of CD’s during our 25 year annual pilgrimage to the Fest for Beatles’ Fans looking for a particular McCartney compilage, which has everything from “Ram” on it, except in a different order. She accepts my Manilow fascination as a fact of life.
I yank out my old VHS copy of “Copacabana” taped off the television in 1987 and notice it’s disintegrating before my eyes, plus irritating me with commercial interruption. How can I get a new one? Oh, look here. Barry Manilow merchandise on-line! Imagine that! Starz.bz. Perhaps along with replacing my worn copy of “Copacabana”, I can get a tee-shirt that actually fits. I could finally put that medium sized “I Love Beagles” shirt to rest, where it really has been since I was last able to wear it in 1980.
April, 2006
It’s spring and I’m busy. I do keep up with the on-line fan clubs and notice there is lots and lots of information out there on poor Barry Manilow. Part of me starts to feel sorry for him. Thirty years of having the press up your ass at every turn must be very wearing, especially when they usually rip you a new one every time. There’s lots of press because of the 50’s CD and his Music and Passion show.
I realize, via Barry, that he likes his fans and could give a good shit about what the press and reviewers have to say about him. He laughs his ass off all the way to the bank. I finally get a good night’s sleep. I hear that he’s planning a 60’s CD as a follow up to the 50’s CD and I wonder if I can get a note to him quickly enough, offering my suggestions for the cover. I lose sleep once again.
I have been getting to know one of the Barry bloggers fairly well. Her blogs are a riot...she comes up with very humorous stuff. We “converse” via blog, which is an interesting way to talk to anyone. You are having a conversation with someone solely via the written word. It’s like the 1800’s again, only you can’t give out your real names or where you really live.
I’m still contemplating how I can meld my future writing career and Barry.
I get my answer at 2am during a very impressive panic attack. The fans. The fans share stories, their pictures. There’s the Manilow Fund for Health and Hope. Why not create a book of fan stories/pics and donate the proceeds to his charity?
I decide to think about that some more.
To be continued...
Friday, June 15, 2007
"But You MUST!"
“The Way We Were”, Redford and Streisand: If Chick Flicks had an Academy Award, this would be the winner...or at least in the Top 5.
And while I could go and on about movies...and in particular Redford...I’m not.
I wish to draw your attention to a conversation between Katie and Hubbell. Katie has read Hubbell’s novel and is amazed. Hubbell is non-plussed. She goes over the parts in his novel that could use a little work, which he takes fairly good-naturedly, and Katie finishes off with this confidence booster: “Your next novel will be better.” Hubbell is stunned by this comment and inquires why she thinks he should write another one.
“Because you MUST! You are too good a writer not to,” she blurts out, just as confident that he must write as she was that E=mc2...or that Roosevelt was a great president.
(thanks to Anne’s miraculous brain capacity to easily recall things that I simply can not.)
I find that I must write also. Not, I guarantee you, as well as Hubbell who managed to get published, but nonetheless must take pen to paper. I must type out little blurbs of stories that I'll never finish, write down notes of ideas that maybe someday I'll work on.
Sometimes I think of these little reminders as failures. Failure to struggle through the words, the ideas and finish it. Other times, I feel these are little reminders that I'm always thinking, always getting creative ideas that I could mess with....or not. It can be a real confidence booster to realize your well rarely runs dry.
I've written mostly with "the door closed", as Stephen King would say. Written solely for my own entertainment or edification. The trick is then to take that story and rewrite it with the "door open" -- ie, writing for other's to enjoy. And as I mentioned in previous posts, I'm not prepared for the rejection.
I've shown some of my work to friends, and being friends, they are very tender, encouraging and guiding....and therefore, probably lying through their kind, loyal teeth. If something I wrote sucked, I know they'd never tell me. And I'm not sure I'd want them to ??
However, I've spent the last month or so reading books and magazines about writing. The ideas given by other published writers (Stephen King, Sol Stein, Anne Lamott) have truly been helpful. I recommend reading about writing. It will help you be your own critic and view your story from a different perspective.
And so what if you just write for you? If it makes you happy, do it. And someday you just might feel like spreading your wings a bit....and maybe try blogging for example! The point is to do what you love, no matter what other people say. There is a wonderful saying: it's better to do badly at something you love than to succeed at something you hate.
So write your stories, type your blurbs, think about your Great American Novel. And remember to never give up on your dreams.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Open Letter to My Son’s High School English Teacher (and Stephen King)
There’s a rant in here so beware. The rant will be directed at My Son’s High School English Teacher. I have no plan to rant about or at Stephen King, but I gotta tell him something.
So first:
Dear Mr. King,
I read your book, “On Writing” and I loved it. I never realized the pain you went through even before you were blind-sided by a van on that country road. I do, however, have one comment, and seeing as you have sold 10 billion books and I haven’t completed a single manuscript, take it as you will.
You had some wonderful advice – written in that great style that is yours. I don’t think there is anyone more devoted or enthusiastic about the English language.
In your book, pointed out something very important: “To be a good writer, you need to do 2 things: read a lot and write a lot (and kill those adverbs).”
However, I’ve not gotten to blogging at 50 without one other piece of the puzzle, which I feel is equally as important: You need to listen and observe A LOT. For obvious reasons. Without getting out into the world, talking and observing, one’s output could possibly rival the Bronte Sisters. But if you want to be Hemingway, or Crichton or Grisham for that matter, you need to get out into the world, get busted up and back, from here to Sunday and READ A LOT and WRITE A LOT.
Sincerely,
Lara Angelina Harrison
(never published, but observant as hell)
Now, onto my rant, which I’m sure you will enjoy for its sheer poetry.
“Dear Sean’s High School English Teacher:
I’m just a mom. I work, do laundry, cook and clean. I have full time job. I run my kids around until I’m exhausted and my brain is ready to implode. However, even in my most pathetic, depressed, exhausted, horrid frame of mind, I could make English more exciting than you.
Sean was to read “A Raisin in the Sun” and “The Great Gatsby” this year. Both incredibly magnificent reads. Rich, full---positively amazing! I read “Gatsby” in high school 30 years ago and still remember being taken back in time with the story of Daisy and Jay, the eyeglasses, the gas station, Daisy’ relationship with her cousin; with the mystery of Gatsby himself. “A Raisin in the Sun”, so moving – the characters just draw you into their lives, into their problems, into their private pain. It takes some mighty fine writing to do that.
Now how could this be an absolute nightmare of a chore to read either one of these? Especially for a kid like Sean, who actually goes to the library on his own to find things to read?
Answer: crappy teaching. My friend Anne’s grandpa said once “it’s Anne’s job to show up at school and the teacher’s job to make her enjoy learning” Or something like that. More beautiful words were never spoken.
When I spoke to this teacher, I was stunned she was an English teacher. Dull, flat, hates her job, hates the kids. Not one ounce of enthusiasm in her entire molecular structure. So here’s some advice to spice things up in the classroom for next year:
Get rid of the monotone when discussing books. Books are like living creatures – they breathe, they give meaning, they have an energy all their own. Once you’ve read a GOOD book, you never forget it. Synapses in your brain store the words, the imagery, the feelings given off things we’ve read. That’s some pretty powerful stuff, Ms. Unhappy High School English Teacher.
Not only that, but how introducing authors’ backgrounds? Stories of Fitzgerald’s life interspersed with Gatsby…how about that? F. Scott’s wife Zelda was a story in her own right, his failure in Hollywood, his drinking, their daughter Scotty. Please. Authors’ life stories (see King, Stephen above) are so pivotal to what they write. You can’t separate the two.
Also, this is the 21st century. Offer the kids the opportunity to download the books onto their iPods. Make a deal with Amazon for a group download or something. Rent the damn movies – Sidney Poitier won an Oscar for “A Raisin in the Son”. Dear God, Woman, Wake Up.
And yes, Ms. Unhappy, you can tell me the kids don’t care, don’t pay attention, and blah, blah, blah. They are TEENAGERS. It’s their job to be aloof – it’s your job to keep them motivated and watch for that glimmer in their eyes when you’ve gotten them hooked.
Look, the great authors, and the not so great authors ALL had English teachers. I had great teachers. My eighth grade English teacher showed me the beauty of books, of words, of writing. Maybe I’m the only one…..but she got through to me and I hope to high heavens you can get through to someone. You never reached Sean, who is pretty damn accessible when it comes to reading.
I was going to wish you good luck, but I think it might be more appropriate to say good luck to the kids in your future classes.
Sean’s mom”
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Come Monday....
my life starts again.
I've thought about that since I've reached a certain age --- you know, if I'd want to go back and be a kid again. I see what my children (a teenage boy and pre-teen girl) go through and I most emphatically say "NO!" It's not only that, but I'd have to go through all the things I've prayed to God to just get through the first time. Highschool, parents dying, abusive 15 year marriage, divorce, entering the dating world again with offspring for chaparones. Dear Holy Lord. No thank you.
The only advantage would be watching all the body parts that have started a downward descent begin to head north, the fading of wrinkles, the ability to sneeze without worrying if you are wearing a pantyliner and, once again, to jump out of bed on a dime without worrying about throwing your back out. This is just the tip of the iceberg -- and I'm not THAT old. Let's just say I watched the Beatles on Ed Sullivan and fell in love with George Harrison on the spot. (There has been some discussion between myself and my friend Anne that I fell in love with George because she had immediate dibs on Paul, but we can discuss that later.)
For now, let's discuss blogging. I've heard it's a good creative outlet for those of us wanna-be writers who are intimidated by the actual writing/publishing game. Yes, I write all the time. No, I've never been published. Yes, I'm too afraid to submit anything. I hate the thought of going through everything to just get rejected -- I can just stay home with my kids and get that.
I thought I would just make your day by relating my little trip into the realm of creating a book for publication. It brought out the best in me creatively and ignited my worst fears of failure. It got me in touch with a new dear friend and opened my eyes to some wonderful possibilities. It confirmed that I have friends in my corner that will always hope for my success, no matter what idiot moves I make. It also proved to me that when things look the bleakest, I'll find some way to survive, someway to keep myself occupied.
Hang onto your hats as we take a trip down the path of my convoluted thinking processes trying to write a book about.....Barry Manilow.
No. I'm not kidding.
And I know what you are thinking: Barry Manilow? Damn, she is crazy. But just hang in there. I can explain. Eventually.
Scene: I was extremely out of sorts, to put it mildly, following a divorce from a guy who wasn't really nice to me for most of the 15 years we were married (she said, being PC). It was the first weekend my children, then 4 and 10, were with their father. I was pretty lost, alone, confused and had shut down emotionally from the stress. There isn't much I remember about that time. However, as I did subscribe to the benefits of "retail therapy", I took a trip to a local super-store that had everything from lettuce to 50-inch television sets. Sure, I looked and felt like I had been emotionally tackled by the defense team of the 1985 Chicago Bears, but at least I was moving. I think I had even managed to take a shower and brush my teeth, so I was actually way ahead of some of my other days.
So I wandered around the store. Not looking at anything -- just wandering. The music department called my name and off I went. I spotted a new CD on a front rack. "Here At The Mayflower". I picked it up, curious, as I couldn't decipher the cover art. It was Barry Manilow. Of course. Barry Manilow! He'd been kicked around like a piece of talentless shit for years...but there he was. New CD and all. Well, ok. Ok...the world still worked on some level, I told myself. Barry Manilow was still standing and surviving. Fine. So could I.
I picked up the CD, left my empty cart in the aisle, paid for it and left the store. I went home and looked at it. I placed it unopened by my stereo. It remained there, wrapped in its original cellophane, for a long, long time.
I don't know why I didn't open it. I didn't open that CD for years -- until my life was better, until I was able to function like a normal human being again. Why? I don't know. Another mystery that is me.
After a couple of years of once a week couch time and whining endlessly to my dear, patient girlfriends, I got ME back and the only thing that I wanted to do was write. The only thing I could think of to write about was Barry Manilow. Once again, I don't know why. My psychologist doesn't know why. Manilow was my life raft and there you go. "Mayflower" made me realize once again that Barry Manilow was very talented and I fell in love with him all over again...just like when I was 19 and saw him for the very first time in 1976.
Anyway, I contemplated poor Mr. Manilow for a long time. Not contemplated like in "stalked", or contemplated like in "losing touch with reality", but just as in hey, maybe I could write something about Barry. He wouldn't care. At least I'd be nice, which was a big foot up from most of the crap that has been written about him.
So in July, 2005, I googled Barry Manilow for the first time (and I hope he enjoyed it). I started squirreling and sifting my way through mountains of internet information. I looked to see if other books had been written about him during the years I lost my Manilow-focus and didn’t find much. Mostly just the usual lambasting of his work, looks, fans, tours and personal life in magazine articles and reviews. SOS, different years.
I began contemplating digging up my own information and maybe...you know maybe...seeing if...sort of...I could...maybe...write something about him. I had some serious self confidence issues at the time, which, you'll be happy to know, I've overcome. Mostly. So from August to December, 2005 I thought lots and lots more about writing about Barry Manilow (which to you new writers is called the “exceedingly long contemplation phase”). I think, therefore I am --- but that's it. Nothing gets down on paper. Thinking will only get you to ... thinking some more, unless you take pen to paper and plop some of those thoughts down.
However, I was keeping myself busy. Which, viewing the whole thing in my rear view mirror, was probably the point. I could have taken up needlepoint or yoga or painting or yodeling, but it was Barry Manilow.
And my story isn't done yet.
