I’m surely, if very slowly, wrapping my head around an album project I’m working on. The more I sit down and write the more I get a feel for what it is I want to accomplish. This is probably a good thing, as many of my 40×40 items are horrendously under-defined. Every time I write, I feel slightly more confident about it. I’ve nearly filled a steno notepad of semi-focused writing around this project, so eventually I may be secure enough to talk about it.

Now it’s time to look back and see the small feats I have conquered and where things can be improved. The biggest thing I can see needs improvement is devoting more time putting pen to paper.

Thinking is not writing.

I don’t exactly recall where I read this, but I know it was recently. And I know what it means. There was many a time that I was thinking about this project, but not actually writing it. In retrospect, this does not really count as time spent on the project. Some of it may have been necessary thinking, or reading, or processing time, but most of it should have been converted to writing time.

Another wonderful side effect of putting pen to paper is not get addicted to brain crack.

Starting With Sound

I basically know the feel I want for this project, so I bought a nylon string acoustic. I would have also nabbed an upright fretless bass, but I don’t have the cash to buy it, a place to store it, or the knowledge of how to play it.

Amazingly enough, a coworker owns a fretless bass and let me borrow it. I dig it. And coworkers can be useful.

Coming back to the “thinking is not writing” idea, I signed up for a little diversion called The Masters of Song Fu. It’s a song writing competition of sorts that I thought I could attempt. Not that I have any idea what the hell I’m doing, mind you. It is good to be writing something and putting it out there, even if it is only a poorly produced demo.

The concept is simple enough: the organizer gives you a songwriting challenge and you have a week to write and record a song. It’s quirky and scary and forces me way outside of my comfort zone. I’m enjoying it.

I ended up having to skip the second round of Song Fu (and a couple days of work and stuffing myself on Thanksgiving) due to illness, but for the first round I wrote a song about a moleman. You see, that was the challenge. You were supposed to write a song about one of John Hodgeman’s molemen characters. I chose Mr. Deadend. I told you it was a song writing competition of sorts.

On a related note, I’ve been trying to come up with a name for my new guitar, but nothing seemed to fit. Turns out it was because I was trying to think of a girls name and this guitar is clearly a guy. So his name is now Mr. Deadend, after the moleman/song. It seemed fitting enough.

Prior to Mr. Deadend—the song, not the guitar—I don’t think I had written anything in about 10 years. I could be wrong though. My memory isn’t the best. That’s because I’m old.

Too old for this shit, some might say.

I’m writing an album. There, I said it. Well, technically I wrote it. Not the album, just that I wrote I am writing one. Perhaps more precisely, I typed that I’m writing it. This is something I’ve been dreaming about doing for quite some time. It’s difficult. And I’m incredibly scared.

Writing an album is a concept that’s been floating around in my head and on various to-do lists for a decade or more, but I had yet to really start it. Fear is a big scary thing. I had this desire that I mentally pushed away, storing it in a tote somewhere in the garage, on half-finished lines folded away and hidden in a book, or completely drowned out with a wall of noise. But it sat there on my mental shelf, a bad film just wanting to be watched by someone.

I only wish I knew what I was doing. But let’s suppose that’s some of the fun of it.

A Little History

Music has always been a thing for me, not so much creation, but consumption. I remember hiding under my bed in 2^nd grade, listening to Thriller on an old cassette recorder, while taping the liner to the underside of the old wooden frame. I was introduced to Run DMC in 3^rd grade and stayed up entirely too late many nights of 4^th grade devouring Appetite for Destruction and …And Justice for All while simultaneously playing what are now considered classic NES games.

It wasn’t until I was seventeen that I asked for a guitar for my birthday. My parents frighteningly agreed—reluctant, if not for the standard reasons for buying a teenager an electric guitar—and my dad found an ad in The Trader for a guitar and practice amp for $100. It was horribly wonderful.

I played and played.

I didn’t write a song until I was nineteen. To date, in the sixteen years of playing guitar, I’ve only written perhaps six songs and only recorded demos for three. And of those three, only one was recorded by me. I don’t know what gives me the idea that I could pull this off. I only know that I need to do this.

Just Starting

The hardest part was actually starting something. Not just kind of starting, but really starting. For far too long, all I did was shuffle around the same partial ideas or organize yet another “someday” list. I never did sit down to do any actual writing. Now, I have.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve sat down for hour or so blocks, two or three times a week, to do some free writing. It’s not easy. And most everything I’ve written is horrible, terrible, no good or very bad. There are, however, a couple of lyric worthy phrases and, overall, I have a more solidified idea of what I want this to be. I have almost become encouraged. It’s time to pick up the guitar and start listening for melodies and possibly stringing together something that may resemble music.

Into the Fog…

If my fear of not knowing how to write a song is overwhelming, then my fear of not knowing how to record what I write is indescribable. This is quite possibly because I’ve not spent much time on multi-track recording. I may manage by fumbling through it, but I also have a dear friend who has offered to help. And I honestly can’t wait to be able to take him up on that offer. For now, I must get back to my steno notepad, which may be half full, but it’s only the start.