Better Late Than Never - An Introduction

I probably should have started this blog with an introduction. I should have clearly stated its purpose, topic, and explained precisely what you can expect to gain from reading it. The problem is, I’m not sure about any of that.  

The best practices gurus are adamant that in order to blog successfully, you must focus on a niche, offer clear value to the reader, and let them know where you plan to go with them. Otherwise, you risk not gaining a bazillion followers and, in turn, not generating a bazillion dollars. Apparently that’s considered the goal of a blog: numbers, most importantly those following a $.

Thankfully, that isn’t my goal. I’m just an out-of-work (for the moment) Joe-Shmoe who likes to write and make art, and who has been sitting in the spare bedroom by himself, social distancing out the wazoo, for far too long. Maybe this blog is a means of venting. Or a cry for help. Or an attempt to draw attention. Or a way to avoid finishing the jigsaw puzzle that has occupied our dining room table since early March. It could be all of that. Or none of the above.

Here’s the thing: too much predictability is no fun. We like routine, but not strict regimens. We need variety and surprises in our lives or we get bored and surly - like nearly everyone in America following too many weeks of stay-at-home.

If you’re reading a book and you can guess whodunit in the first chapter or you’re watching a TV show and already know the season finale way back in episode 2, it’s not fun. Think of an artist who gets stuck in a certain style and churns out a bunch of stuff that all looks the same. Bleh. Or a musician in a rut, releasing the same basic songs over and over. Meh.

Where are we going?

Not sure.

How will we know when we get there?

Oh, we’ll know.

What I have in mind for this blog is more along the lines of four-wheeling. Like when my wife and I jump in our Jeep and we’re toodling around on some seldom traveled backroad, bounding through the brush, and we see a trail leading up the side of the mountain. It looks steep. It looks rocky. It looks like a challenge even for our beast (lifted, roll bars, grab handles, working winch). What’s up there? Not sure. Can we make? Maybe? Wanna try? Let’s go!

So at this point, if you’re still up for the ride, I would suggest taking Dr. Ian Malcolm’s wise advice: “Hold on to something!”

I’m also leaning heavily on one of my creative muses: Miles Davis. In what I consider his prime - my favorite part of his long and varied body of work - he was very experimental and spontaneous. As the story goes, when he went into the studio in 1959 with John Coltrane, Cannonball Adderley, Bill Evans, Paul Chambers, and Jimmy Cobb, he didn’t take any music. All he brought with him was his trumpet and some musical ideas. He chose some key signatures and chord changes, then told his bandmates: Let’s see where this goes. And they took off. The result was one of the greatest jazz albums of all time: Kind of Blue.

Miles called that “sketching.” (He was also a gifted visual artist - but I’ll save that for another time.) He used his instrument like a pencil or a brush, to musically draw, paint, create, and express himself in new and inventive ways. When his sextet started sketching, they had no idea how it would go, where it would go, or even if it would go. They just went.

That’s what this blog is: a sketch in progress from a life in progress that has no certainties or guarantees, only mysteries and a willingness to explore.

Where are we going? Not sure. How will we know when we get there? Oh, we’ll know. In the meantime, hold onto something.