The "Knowing What the Hell You're Doing" Quotient

This one’s for me.

I almost started this by citing my own uniqueness as a person who works in a field in which he is expected to create something new on a daily basis. Whether or not a writer actually creates or serves as more of a conduit through which something greater speaks is an issue for a future post that I will probably never compose. I have re-thought my original open to accommodate the fact that most working people have the job of creation every day. A real estate agent creates relationships between buyers and sellers. A cell phone salesman creates a link between one who searches for something that will fit his or her needs and something that hopefully fits his or her needs. A recruiter creates interest, comfort, and enthusiasm in the minds of those she recruits. A band director (who does a good job) creates circumstances that cultivate musical understanding, growth, and confidence, and hopefully the ability to apply all of these things. A janitor creates cleanliness. A CEO at the least creates circumstances that lead to shareholder pleasure, and at the best creates circumstances that lead to employees who feel valuable and view themselves – rightly - as creators. And a writer creates value through combinations or words, or notes, or both.

My third biggest fear (I think, after speaking to women I don’t know and the possible collapse of the music business… I also don’t like manatees) is that of the empty page. The prospect of staring at a sheet of paper with nothing but a lot of white space and a few blue lines is daunting. I think a lot of this stems from a belief in a finite set of material resources… that there are only so many words, so many valid ideas, and only (in Western music) 12 notes. Some time back (here I go referring to a previous entry again) I wrote about my Theory of Abundance. That is that the possibilities for songs, sales, love, value, wealth, and anything else desirable are not only abundant, but indeed may be limitless. This is so much easier to preach than to practice.

Today, I wrote for myself – with no regard for what is or will be marketable, and with no concern for writing with too much darkness or introspection. The result was not Dylan-esque or Grammy-worthy, but it’s valid, listenable, and something I will value regardless of whether anyone hears it and is bored or driven to tears.

As my fear for the blank page gave way to clutter, I realized (at least for tonight) how unreasonable that fear is.

Here’s why (I’m afraid this is silly, but still).

I think a lot of people look at that process at the beginning (not just the process of writing… any occupation that requires some type of creation) and maybe forget that they’re qualified to do what they do. I know I look at a page and think back to sitting at six years old in the back seat of my Dad’s 1978 Buick Century, listening to Alabama on eight-track, and singing along with "Dixiel@nd De\ight." I recall the feeling of being a consumer of the value I am trying to produce, rather than a creator of same. When I do that, I make the mistake of painting myself a novice.

That’s pretty much all I have to say. Assuming you have some semblance of a professional conscience (a worry I have about no one I know who is likely to read this), you wouldn’t be a aesthetician if you didn’t know how to pluck hair. You wouldn’t be a ditch digger if you didn’t know how the ditch witch works. You wouldn’t be a cop if you didn’t know how to write a ticket. And hell, I guess you wouldn’t be a songwriter if you didn’t know how to write a song… even if the most difficult part is starting it.