Monday, April 6, 2009

Also . . .

. . . Still in love with Justin Townes Earle. If he asked for me to marry him right this minute and run away to Dixieland, I'm not entirely certain I'd say "no."

The Coffee Stained Writer is Neat and Here's Why:

I just got high off of writing a message to friend and freelance writer, Nicole.

Why did I get high, you ask?

Because as I was writing to her, I realized how tremendously reassuring it is to have a friend in the same business, and especially to have one with more experience and wisdom to pass along. And even more importantly, one who checks in on me about my progress and keeps me updated on events and resources I might not know about.

Yay. Yay for Nicole. And yay for Nicole's blog:

In recognition of National Poetry Month, she's been posting a lot of poetry and poet information that has reignited my respect for an art form I've got no business trying to do myself. : )

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Clear It Out!

Today was a day of uncertain mood. There was something I did not particularly like about the world when I woke this morning, though I couldn't put my finger on what that was. This feeling of distaste for an unnamed force persisted throughout the day, redeemed on occasion by some good old fashion Spring cleaning.

My brother popped in with his almost-step-son to reinvent our garage as a rehearsal space for my almost-nephew's band. Oh yes. There is to be a garage band at my house. I am that hip.

Mostly, I let the strong menfolk do the work, standing by only to make sure that precious items like sewing patterns and boxes of unused fabric don't end up in the trash pile via the male mind. Before I ran off to the Apple store (bad battery on my PowerBook), Phil and Drew had created two equally enormous piles: keep and throw out. I was impressed. And refreshed. All the garbage that I used to trip over in the garage was about to be gone. All the stuff Phil and I still needed to live our lives would be carefully packed away, but at last accessible. And the space once occupied by broken CD cases and painty t-shirts would now house the instruments and ambitions of my step-nephew and his friends.

Next thing I knew I was clearing out the fridge, reorganizing my "office" area, responding to neglected emails, returning neglected calls, punching out work I'd been avoiding.

None of these things completely melted the sinking in my gut. But even so, I was moving forward, wasn't I?

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Justin Townes Earle

I haven't fallen hard for a new musician since my Fine Frenzy discovery a year ago.

I found Justin Townes Earle this past Tuesday when he opened for Jason Isbell at Spaceland. It was so unexpected . . . I was expecting decent background music at best, but this fellow is not a background performer. He draws in focus using nothing more aggressive than a warm introduction, his easy Tennessee accent bubbling like a creek bed.

It's impossible to not watch him: his impossibly long and lanky body, his floppy Colonel Sanders bow tie, his greased hair. He hunches over his guitar and tilts his head into the microphone. His voice, his lyrics, his eyes all communicate sincerity. I think that's what gets me: the sincerity. I love the music, but I'm a lyrics person, first and foremost, and the words of his songs are so beautiful and simple and honest. So genuinely honest.

Justin Townes Earle rocks my world.