Welp my WordPress subscription re-upped and I’m super pissed cause I’ve posted like half a time this year so I’d best get going.
Writing isn’t hard. Not writing is hard. And boy sometimes it takes a lot of not writing to get any writing done.
It’s a heck of a horse to stay on. Once it bucks you it’s damn near impossible to mount again. The curve from there is exponential, it gets rapidly, rapidly easier and tapers off quickly. From there it’s easy. But what is ease when you’ve become accustomed to it? No different than difficulty, or medium-ease/difficulty. 80 mph is fast when you just shot up from 35 in four seconds. But once you’ve traveled it for thirteen minutes it’s normal.
And so on.
This little corner of the internet is ostensibly about guitars so reckon I’d better go there. Since last I posted I’ve owned, well I don’t care to remember all that so I’ll just tell you. I have my PRS McCarty 594, my ride-or-die (or sell if times get really rough)- newly dubbed my “Lester Bester” since it more than makes up for the lack of romance carried by a Les Paul in tuning stability, niche credibility, and that certain je ne sais quoi I lovingly refer to as “Won’t break at the headstock if you look at it wrong.”
My 1953 J-45 is now, again, in two pieces. I leaned it in a corner, as I’ve safely done a thousand times before, while attempting to wrangle a very nippy Australian Cattle Dog. I hear the bang. It was windy. I look up at the corner of the porch in question, in shock and not at all suspecting its terrible fate.
Yeah you know where that’s going. It could be repaired, maybe- the break is deeeeep into the truss rod cavity. But I’m over it. It was a non-original headstock when I got it in 2004, having been replaced likely in the 70’s. It gradually came apart starting around 2010 and reaching a critical crap mass by 2017 that I had it repaired. Went great. Til I lived with a girlfriend who belonged in the rainforest, had no AC, and a humidity of 348% in her house. It was a weird time. I awoke one wet May morning to “POP” and the strings completely slacked against a headstock turned very much the wrong way. A year later it was finally repaired. Now fewer than two years after that- I’m done with repairs.
Now of course one day I’ll have it repaired with adamantium or something and it shall be as Aragorn’s Anduril, the blade that was remade. If only it had been broken doing something more epic like cutting off Sauron’s hand. In the meantime I’ll have a new neck built, or rather build one, or rather help my dad build one as he’s become more than handy at building necks and even entire ukuleles from scratch. I’ll be able to salvage the original Brazilian rosewood fingerboard which is cool to say the least.
Now speaking of Anduril and Aragorn- an unexpected delight in life has been TikTok. The internet’s home for all things Tolkien, naturally. The full extent of my escapades on that burgeoning platform are the subject of another series of posts entirely but suffice to say I’m using it to help find and finesse my voice. Literally, I read the entire Fellowship of the Ring, over fifteen nights, live on TikTok. It’s putting me back in touch with the love of reading, of reading fiction in particular (which constitutes less than 5% of my reading, easily), with Tolkien and Middle Earth (both of whom I love dearly and to whom/which I cannot get close enough), and most excitingly is giving me the opportunity to practice my voice. Throughout my purportedly adult years I’ve periodically been asked if I do or have done voice work, whether in radio, narration, or voice acting. The former answer was no, but now is yes (though not professionally as of yet). I love practicing, building my stamina, getting into characters, and above all delivering the arc of a narrative much as one would hope to deliver the arc of a musical work. It’s a natural fit.
More could be said but for now this post only cost me $33.00 so I’m moving in the write direction. Get it. That’s a directive, not a question. Please get it. I’m talking to myself here.