When an author shares your book review...
In case you missed it, author Richard Nikoley was kind enough to acknowledge my review of his book Free the Animal: How to Lose Weight and Fat on the Paleo Diet on his own blog. He also shared the review on his Facebook page. I knew there was a possibility that Nikoley might share my review (I went out of my way to make him aware of it, tagging him on Twitter so he would at least see it), so I made sure to proofread and ensure my review was polished before posting; just as I always do. However, when Nikoley shared the review on Facebook, it hit home that my lowly blog had been shared on a site with a huge regular readership and over 3,000 likes on Facebook.
Cue mental crisis!
I immediately scanned back over my post and made a couple of minor wording and punctation adjustments. There were no glaring errors or major misprints, but the idea of easy readability takes on new significance when the audience of a blog and the writer's reputation is suddenly put before a much larger group of people for a short time.
An identical crisis of confidence occurred last year when I reviewed J. Stanton's The Gnoll Credo on HubPages. Eventually, I will learn to let my copy rest for a day or two before proofreading and finally publishing it to the web. It would help me to avoid this crippling state of mind.
Crippling? Yes. The following visual aid should communicate it fairly succinctly.
Andrew McGee: You Can't Sell a Song in Nashville
Sometimes, I really don't know the reason that I blog at all. Originally, it was to promote my photography, but at this point it is simply a constructive outlet for me to flesh out ideas and communicate the things which keep me awake at night. I probably do myself a disservice by writing so much about health and culture instead of specializing in marketable photographic content. But, it's my blog and I'll do what I want.
Tonight, as I continue to work obsessively over my upcoming ebook (unofficially announced several times now, the "official" word is forthcoming), I want to take a break and highlight the work of my friend and colleague, Andrew McGee. Andrew has a pretty remarkable story. After a brush with death that should have sent him on to the great hereafter, Andrew decided to quite stalling and do what he really wanted to do with his life. He moved to Nashville and has created a new life for himself as a singer and songwriter.
Andrew and I met under interesting circumstances. My creative specialty is photography, but I also moonlight as a videographer from time to time. I was most heavily involved in this line of work a few of years ago, and I was introduced to Andrew on a “friend of a friend" basis. Our association was originally pretty simple; another fellow was engaged to write and direct the video for a wonderful song Andrew wrote about the impact of the Deepwater Horizon oil spill. My job was to operate the camera.
Long story short, the other guy flaked on the project and I took up the slack from start to finish. As a result, my video and my name were incorporated into the marketing for Andrew's debut album, These Beautiful Hideous Things. That was 2009, and since that fateful day we met on Pensacola Beach, with BP oil cleanup equipment rumbling about us on all sides, Andrew and I have continued to collaborate on videos for his songs. Our greatest accomplishment so far is the weekend last year when I (along with a group of other creative and reliable people who would go on to found The Dream Factory) traveled to Nashville and shot four music videos for Andrew in four days. I don't know about the rest of the team, but that weekend still ranks as my personal best.
Most performers have a blog or social feed of some sort, but Andrew's stands out. Prior to moving to Nashville, he wasn't a stereotypical neighborhood busker; He didn't and doesn’t pass off blurry iPhone photos of random drunks as his "awesome fans" to build up a web presence. Andrew is an FSU graduate with an MBA in marketing, and his blog has some serious substance. His latest entry, You Can't Sell a Song in Nashville, is stellar. Seriously, if more people recognized the realities of whichever industries they attempted to be part of, instead of delaying their own steps toward action in hopes of “getting discovered,” more dreams would see the light of day.
Read Andrew's blog. And listen to his music. Listening to his album is like listening to a good story, and he has another one coming soon.
You Can't Sell a Song in Nashville
http://youtu.be/8bSEZmoPxvo
Bob Dylan - "Mississippi"
Something about Bob Dylan's music always works its way into my soul and calms me down. I would have loved to post a link to the gentler, acoustic version of this song from the Tell Tale Signs bootleg collection, but this is the best that YouTube could provide. Both sides of my family hail from Mississippi, and I plan to spend some time there in the fall doing some research into family history.
Every step of the way we walk the line Your days are numbered, so are mine Time is pilin’ up, we struggle and we scrape We’re all boxed in, nowhere to escape
City’s just a jungle; more games to play Trapped in the heart of it, tryin' to get away I was raised in the country, I been workin’ in the town I been in trouble ever since I set my suitcase down
Got nothin' for you, I had nothin' before Don’t even have anything for myself anymore Sky full of fire, pain pourin’ down Nothing you can sell me, I’ll see you around
All my powers of expression and thoughts so sublime Could never do you justice in reason or rhyme Only one thing I did wrong Stayed in Mississippi a day too long
Well, the devil’s in the alley, mule’s in the stall Say anything you wanna, I have heard it all I was thinkin’ 'bout the things that Rosie said I was dreaming I was sleepin' in Rosie’s bed
Walkin' through the leaves, falling from the trees Feelin' like a stranger nobody sees So many things that we never will undo I know you’re sorry, I’m sorry too
Some people will offer you their hand and some won’t Last night I knew you, tonight I don’t I need somethin’ strong to distract my mind I’m gonna look at you ’til my eyes go blind
Well I got here followin' the southern star I crossed that river just to be where you are Only one thing I did wrong Stayed in Mississippi a day too long
Well my ship’s been split to splinters and it’s sinkin' fast I’m drownin’ in the poison, got no future, got no past But my heart is not weary, it’s light and it’s free I’ve got nothin’ but affection for all those who’ve sailed with me
Everybody movin’ if they ain’t already there Everybody got to move somewhere Stick with me baby, stick with me anyhow Things should start to get interestin' right about now
My clothes are wet, tight on my skin Not as tight as the corner that I painted myself in I know that fortune is waitin’ to be kind So give me your hand and say you’ll be mine
Well, the emptiness is endless, cold as the clay You can always come back, but you can’t come back all the way Only one thing I did wrong Stayed in Mississippi a day too long
A letter posted too late.
I took some time this evening and wrote a letter to a very kind, older Italian couple whom I met on a train between Faenza and Bologna two years ago. The circumstances which drove me to finally write it are unfortunate.
I took some time this evening and wrote a letter to a very kind, older Italian couple whom I met on a train between Faenza and Bologna two years ago.
I was an American kid who spoke no functional Italian; they were a retired couple in their middle sixties who shared my train compartment. "I work in the trains for twenty years," Renato told me in his scant but earnest English, "now, I rest!" He and his wife, Lena, were on their way to eat lunch at the staff commissary in Bologna where he would always eat when he worked as a train conductor. They invited me to lunch with them, and we had a wonderful couple of hours together eating lasagna and green salad before I went on to Venice and they went back home to Faenza. They saw me to the platform to make sure I boarded the correct train.
I have had their address in my journal for two years. This evening, I was informed by my father of the recent earthquake in Bologna, strong enough to be felt as far as Venice and Verona. I will post my letter tomorrow to see if my "temporary Italian grandparents" are alright.
It's times like these that I really hate my own apathy. I should have been writing to them since I returned home two years ago.
My favorite place in New Orleans.
I'm not a drinker. I'm not a partier. I find long nights on the town [baby] to be a complete waste of time unless they are spent having good conversations with one or two good friends in a quiet environment; preferably a gourmet restaurant or an all-night coffee joint with a good dark roast. I'm not sure if I number among the ranks of the strict introverts, but all signs seem to say so. With that stated, it might come as a surprise for you to hear that New Orleans is one of my favorite cities in the United States. I have multiple reasons for liking it as much as I do. Primary among them is the elemental geography of the town. New Orleans' layout is as close to a European city as any place in the US; the individual neighborhoods have their own restaurants, stores and entertainment venues, yet they remain small enough to get around on foot. As Ray Oldenburg stated so brilliantly in his sociological critique The Great Good Place, strong communities need easily accessible places where residents can come together on a regular basis.
Aside from their being accessible, the shops and restaurants in New Orleans are excellent. I have no use for most of the nonsense that goes on in the French Quarter, but even in that environment, a few gems exist. Among these places is The Librairie Book Shop; a true diamond in the rough, just off Jackson Square.
The Librairie blew my mind when I discovered it. Used book shops are often prone to having dodgy selections of books which might be better off recycled and made into new books, but The Librairie's stock is excellent. The last time I was there, they had most of the Library of America collection of novels, priced at a jaw-dropping $9 per book.
The overall atmosphere of the shop feel completely foreign to the insanity which goes on elsewhere in the French Quarter. It's quiet and secluded. The old lady behind the counter only completes the feeling of near-cinematic whimsy. Check it out the next time you're in New Orleans. Please, just don't go to The Libraire after a round of Hand Grenades; I don't want to regret sharing this place.
External Links:
Ray Oldenburg - Project for Public Places
The Librairie Book Shop - Google Maps
Library of America - Official Site
Hand Grenade (cocktail) - Wikipedia
