Showing posts with label Sullivan-Maxx. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sullivan-Maxx. Show all posts

Sunday, December 30, 2012

Putting the First Book Out...A New Step Forward!

Here we are, just a day or two from 2013, and in the wake of the End of the World As We Know It (yeah, right), Yule, Xmas, and whatever else, I find myself at the crossroads.  Time to make a step I was not ready to make, until now.

It's been brought home to me that I have spent an awful long time regaling fellow bloggers, blurkers and the rest about my alleged exploits in writing.  My Facebook posts often go on about my edits of this, and my writing of that.

It's time to set one of those projects free.

I am going to test the waters of electronic publishing next year, via Amazon.com, Kindle and whatever those other devices are people use to "e-read."

My aim is to release my fiction novel, "Parasite Girls" through this medium.  It's time to get some of my work out there, make a name for myself and see what people think of it.

I have decided not to put out (at least not yet, mind) any of my YA Fiction/Anime type stuff.  There are some reasons for this:  first of all, my agent at Sullivan-Maxx is contracted to push the first book of the "Sweet Dreams Series."  I'm not sure putting out similar work is a good idea, because I'm afraid that will detract from the SDS.  It might be seen as a knock-off, or wrongly perceived.

I also wanted to put "Parasite Girls" out because I can actually write in a different genre, and I need to show I can do different stuff.

Another reason, and this may either cause me to do some rewriting, or make changes I'm not certain about:  song lyrics that are not my own weave their way through a lot of the work.  Under Fair Use, you can get some leeway, but...out of respect for copyrighted works, you need permission.

That permission can take a very long time; you have to do it properly, because I know I'd be pissed off if somebody quoted my song lyrics in a book, and I didn't at least get a footnote that states it's mine.

A legal expert has told me the best way is to request formal permission, if you really need them.  If not, either eliminate the lyrics or write your own.

One interesting interpretation, and you might not have known this.  I sure didn't:  if suppose, you have a character speak a line from a song (he used "I Saw Her Standing There" from the Beatles), that is not enough to infringe on Lennon/McCartney (or Michael Jackson's decsendants, urgh), in terms of the copyright.

If the character sang those lyrics?  Then it's infringement.

Stephen King wrote out lyrics from CCR's "Bad Moon Rising" in "The Shining," but gave a footnote and proper credit.  Easy to do; but again, permission required.  That's part of the dilemma.

"Parasite Girls" has very little of other people's stuff, so not a lot to worry about.  I have applied for a couple of permissions; if I get them, fine.  If not, no big deal.

I appreciate the insights given me by Don Chase and Dori Hartley, regarding e-publishing.  I still have a lot to walk through to get there.

This is as much a job as it was the editing.  Writing is not a job to me, but the rest of it is.

I'm telling you this, because as another friend of mine pointed out, I'll be editing until the day I die and SDS might never go up.  I still believe it will, but yeah, I'm not getting any younger.

I want to do this; the world has changed, and I have had to disabuse myself of the notion that an actual book-in-hand is the greatest thing.  It could be, sure; but if not, the next best thing is the future.

I read somewhere 21% of the world's books are read by Kindles, Nooks and whatever those other things are.  I don't own one, clearly; but I suppose I will get one.

Andrei Codrescu (I don't know how to spell his last name) is a writer and commentator on NPR now and again.  He sounds like a curmudgeonly old Eastern European guy (I think he is from Romania, but I do not know); he recently talked about how he got one of those things, and had something like 40 books on it.  He said what it let him do was indulge his love of books and reading without killing his back!

The number is gonna go up, in terms of that readership.  It might even save reading, when you think about it.  I felt behind the times when vinyl gave way to tapes and CD's; I still love the compact disc, but now I've finally started to realize the future is in audio downloads and stuff like that.  The book and record stores will soon be things of the past.

That is sad, really.  It is the way of our times, though.

So back to this:  "Parasite Girls" will take some time, and it is just a beginning.  I have another fiction novel of the type that I might also do, but that will come later.

This one?  Well, I think it's good as a story goes; I've tried to touch on different things that have hit me over the years.

What's the plot?  Well, w/o giving it all away...we follow a photo-journalist named Aidan; he has traveled the world in search of its stories but yet never really seen that world at all.  He lands in Japan, at the apartment of an old friend, seeking refuge in the wake of a terrorist attack, and the resulting intrigue has soured him on the business and life in general.

Aidan discovers what past he has in common with the old friend runs deeper than the things he saw in college.  That past again becomes present in the form of her family, and an old love.

Her two best friends are studies all their own:  one battles mental illness, and the other is the "Parasite Girl" herself.  

What does Aidan find out about himself?  Can he reconcile his own past, and remake himself?  Will he be able to help his friends, as they each struggle with their own issues?  What decisions does each one make?

This could be an interesting film, when you think about it.  It's not a romantic comedy, not at all.  Drama, yeah...I hope I convey it well enough.

Anyway, it is a beginning...while we are at it, I will be doing some remaking of things.  My website eventually will rise from the ashes, and as I've mentioned I may well move my blog either to there or to another site.  

Either way, I'm taking a step on a new road, as a wise man once said.  I have to do it; at the very least, it is not a failure but a learning experience.  At best, I'll be closer to what I really want.

Thanks for reading; I hope you can support what I do.  Enjoy 2013; it's gonna be a better one for us all, I hope.

Peace, Out.






Thursday, December 20, 2012

"If this were the last night of the world..."...and How to Find a Literary Agent!

Well, I am going to to all out here in these final hours before "The End of the World as We Know It," yeah, right and I'm going to give you a long-winded and Pepsi Throwback/Goya Decaf induced frenzy that has become the past several days.

As per the usual, my iTunes will chime in with its offerings...just finished the lovely first movement of Joe Jackson's "Symphony."  Right straight into Nick Moss & the Flip Top's "You Got to Lose."  

So first of all, the initial part of my title for this blog is taken from Bruce Cockburn's wonderful "Last Night of the World."  I suggest you find it and give it a listen.  It's really a beautiful song.

Tomorrow night is the Winter Solstice; Yule for those in my dual tradition.  For many more it is the end of the world, or rather they'll wake up in the morning and go, "Hey, wha'happened?" or whatever it is they'll do.

I could go on forever about these loons, but I won't.  They are not worth my time.

Anyway...December 21st for me shall be spent with good friends, many of whom I've not seen in too long.  So if indeed it is the last night of the world Friday night, I shall be amongst friends.

So what has been going on of late...well, I have been furiously working to finish a long-overdue edit of Volume 3 of the "Sweet Dreams Series," subtitled, "Tougher than the Rest."  The first two of the series are now as ready as they will ever be; the third, I don't know yet.  I need to read over the mad pace I set for myself this week.

Writing is never really finished; I have been advised by friends to not refine anymore, but you know, it's something that is different for each individual.  I am one who feels these stories are my children, and while I can't say how they're going to do in the world, I have to give them my best so they can be their best.

"Little Wing," from Axis: Bold as Love.  Jimi figures in a tiny little way in Book 3, or SDS-3 as I call it.  Kinda nice.

This leads to a question from a new friend.  I have joined this writer's community, through my new Google+ account:

https://plus.google.com/u/0/communities/107534692606148129223

This is on the science of writing, and I think I'll meet some interesting folks who are as passionate about this business as I am.

Anyway, one of the fellows here asked me about my literary agent, and how I acquired her.

"Innocent Moon," Will Ackerman.  From Hendrix to gorgeous new age guitar...hmmm...love iTunes...for shuffle, anyway.

So you know, I am repped by Jeanie Loiacono of the Sullivan-Maxx agency, and have been for the past three years.  Jeanie has been kicking open doors, but no hits as of yet.  Bites, yes...but this is more about acquiring that agent, that person who can open those doors for you.

I am no expert, but I will tell you how I did it.  It was by working it like a job, and having a bit of luck.

How you find an agent is exactly how you find a job, in my experience:  you have to be ready to sell yourself, via the resume, or in the agent's case, a manuscript.

Whatever you have...make sure it's ready NOW.  Make 100% sure that what you have to offer is ready RIGHT FUCKING NOW.  You can go back and edit later, but you need to have it NOW.

"It's Time to Play," Alvin Lee...from a very good CD, "Saguitar."

There are conventional ways to find an agent, and there are books to help:

1.  Writer's Market.  This is one of the holy books of the trade, but there are others.  WM has one specially for literary agents.  So that's 2.

3.  Dustbooks publises a guide to Independent Publishers and Small Presses.  Just as it says.

1 & 3 are necessary!  2 if you want to go in-depth.

Figure out your genre(s), target audience, etc.  Then go hunting.

Read these books...mark them up, dog-ear the pages, highlight them, and keep a list (Word file or whatever) of everything about the presses and agents that are worth going after.  Everything...names, addresses, numbers, faxes, websites, web addresses...all of it.  You will need this, and it stays in your mind.

Do NOT waste the time of publishers (and YOUR TIME) by submitting to those that don't want your stuff.  If they say, "No this" or "No that," they mean it.

You will find plenty of places to send to.

"Into Brooklyn," by Innocence Mission...different.

Okay...next!  We go into Cyberspace.  

Check for websites, but...I will tell you right now:  keep a sharp eye out for sleazy, fly by night publishers and agents who want your money.

DO NOT GIVE ANYONE ANY MONEY, FOR ANYTHING, EVER.  NO reputable agency takes a reader's fee.  NOT ONE OF THEM.  YOU are NOT responsible for their costs.  THEY ARE TO GET PAID ONLY WHEN YOU GET PAID.

"I Kill Children," Dead Kennedys.  Love these segues.

There are several websites out there, in which forums are available to check out publishers and agents that might not list in WM or Dustbooks.  They all don't.  

AbsoluteWrite.com is a site I strongly suggest you join.  Look around, make contacts, and you will learn quite a bit.  I surely did.

"Sunday Papers," live version by Joe Jackson...with all that's in iTunes, they do repeat artists.

Okay...you often hear about "Vanity Presses."  These are companies that charge you money to print your books.  Createspace is one, Xlibris is another.  Avoid them.

If you want to self-publish, be prepared to know that you will be in charge of everything, from the editing (unless you hire an independent one) to your own marketing and promotion.  I have friends who have self-published in various ways, and they can tell you...don't quit your day job.

I don't have the money to invest thousands of dollars into this, only to get a cover that was not what I wanted, pages that fall out, typeface that is unreadable, and nothing anyone would buy just on the aesthetic displeasure you get.  Also, I've seen too many people sitting alone in bookstores with their horribly produced books stacked there, and smiling, hoping someone comes and buys their books.

There's so much more you need.  If you can get the help, then accept it.

Next up...the Internet is a great place to find reputable, decent and professional literary agents.  You can check them out through numerous ways, thanks to the 'net, so these can be vetted pretty fast.

Here's another...Twitter.

I have found not only a ton of bookstores, but publishers this way!  The big and the small, they all Tweet.

"Little by Little," by James House.  Great song; I generally despise nearly all the country music produced since 1991, but this one from '94 was alright.

Now...do you know who you are going to send to?  Have you got your target list, one you will add to as time goes by?  What do they want?  A query letter?  The first chapter?  Do they want email, or snail mail?  

Do it the way they want it!  Or you get nowhere; or at least a fast trip to the slush pile.

The Query Letter is probably the hardest thing I've ever had to write, up there with a cover letter for a job.  Yes, this is a job, and I shall remind you now of this.  This really is a job, or your job.

No more than one page; clear, concise, no flowery bullshit.  That's all.  They'll want to know the word length (75-thousand is average for a novel), but few more or less is not a terrible deal.  

Get to the heart of it in just a few words (clearly, less than mine here!).

Keep track of every letter or email you send; date your master list, keep your receipts, all of it.

"Strange Brew," BBC session by Cream.  Nice...

Budget out your time; if you are still writing, good!  Time for writing, time for finding, time for sending, time for updating the lists.

Do what works for you, but keep in mind you're looking for a job here.  

So how long did this take?  I literally spent four months, nearly every day doing these very things I told you about.  I got lucky; damned lucky.

A small agency in Georgia, Sullivan-Maxx took me on.  My agent loves the "Sweet Dreams Series," she gets it.  Sometimes all you need is one believer, beyond your circle of friends.  

Do not quit, and do not get discouraged.  Can't stress it enough; this is a lot of work, it don't happen overnight.  If you wish to go the traditional route this hard work really will be worth it.  You will get somewhere.

Meanwhile, keep writing; keep refining, keep thinking about what you have dreamed of and get it ready.  It will happen...it's not a question of "IF," it is a question of "WHEN."

"I Feel So Good," Willie "Big Eyes" Smith and Pinetop Perkins...legends doing great music...

Now, I do not mean to denigrate anyone who chooses the self-publishing way, such as through Amazon.com or however you do it.  Make sure it is what you want; I honestly do not have the tools within me to do every single thing.  I do not know a lot of that, but I also know I have to keep learning as the time goes on.

Do what you feel is right, for you.  I wish you well on the journey...and for those who do, a Joyous Yule.

Peace.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Take Another Road, Chapter 16--"Pacing the Cage"

It's time for Chapter 16 of "Take Another Road!"  Before we proceed, I recently have noted on Facebook that I'm undertaking a look at "Sweet Dreams:  Searching for Roy Buchanan." 

This is the book that my agency is pitching; it's time for a few changes, and true, some is based on the previous blog you'll find here. 

In any case, I keep at it...do enjoy Chapter 16...

###


Chapter 16--Pacing the Cage

            Seated before her cards, Nanae turned the last one of her reading and examined the spread.  The afternoon was waning, and Asuka would be back later that evening.  She had received a phone call from her daughter that the trip had gone well, and that Kaldera would be giving everyone a ride home.  She was pleased that Asuka had had such a good time, and wanted to hear more about it.  For now, Nanae had another, more immediate concern at hand.

            She rose and went to the wall, which separated the room from Keru’s office.  Though she did not like to eavesdrop, what she had heard in a phone conversation from that room earlier in the day could not be ignored.  Keru evidently didn’t know she was there, or he would not have held the conversation in his typical voice. 

            “She is not returning until late,” Nanae had heard him say, “so we shall have to take it up tomorrow, or perhaps later in the week.  Thank you for your time, I will be in touch.  Good day.”

            The phone was replaced, and was no more speech from the office.  Returning to the table, Nanae sat and sipped her tea, and gazed again at the cards.  The reading held a number of cards from one particular suit, and their alignment was not a good one. 

            Nanae rose again; she stepped into the hall, through to the living room, then through the open glass doors to the patio.  The clouds, Nanae noted were starting to build; it would rain tonight.

            Nanae felt an anger rising in her; it was an emotion she did not wish to have, and she did not express it freely.  It did not come from the cards, for those merely confirmed what she’d suspected.

            She took a deep breath and returned inside, closing the doors behind her.  I will have to wait, the time is not right; there is more to this than the cards, or anything I have heard today.

            Sails lowered, Kaldera reversed the engine and expertly backed the Kudo into her slip.  He brought the bow around and set the boat parallel to the dock, with only the slightest squeaking of the hull against the fenders.

            Kaz and Minoru jumped to the dock, and caught the lines from Aimi and Asuka.  Quickly they pulled them taut, and began to wrap them about the huge stone cleats.  Kaldera shut down the engine, secured the wheel, then went forward to slide the gangway over. 

            “All ashore that’s going ashore!”  He called.  As the others laughed, he then went to help Kaz with the stern lines.  Aimi and Asuka came across the gangplank with armloads of gear, which they deposited on the dock.

            Kaldera checked to ensure the sails were properly lashed down and made a final inspection of the boat.  The others continued the load-off; as they did, they saw company coming.  Walking down from the road to the pier were Mei and Midori, both dressed for going out, and hand in hand.

            All detected this last detail immediately, and everyone but Kaldera stopped their activity. 

            “Well, well…”  Kaz commented to no one in particular.

            “I am not surprised,” Aimi added, and she smiled.  “Good for them.”  She watched how the two looked to each other as they walked, rather incongruous as they passed through a boatyard dressed as they were.  But they looked so happy, Aimi thought; she was pleased for them.

            The pair met the others at the slip, and got a big welcome home.  Kaldera joined them, and all repaired inside to get caught up.   Over drinks, the club regaled Mei and Midori with tales of the trip, but were also most interested in what had happened with the two absentees.  Seated together on the couch, Mei and Midori looked at one another, and the former said, “We are an item, gang.  I think we just built up to a place where we now know.”

            “That is really all there is to say,” Midori replied and the two kissed.

Everyone gave off a playful “Aww” as they did, and Aimi said, “You are both so cute like that!  I mean it.”

            “If you are,” Kaldera added, “you are.  No one here would begrudge you two your happiness.”

            “Never,” Aimi added and hugged Mei as she sat beside her.  “I love you both dearly, all of us do.”  Putting her hand out, she announced, “The Other Roads Club has spoken!”

            All put their hands forward and joined together.  “Now,” Kaldera said, “next time we’ll have all of you out there!”  Laughter filled the room, and, having no place special to go, the club sorted out their belongings and whiled away their remaining free time.

            Saki sat across from the man before her, as she nursed a bourbon on the rocks.  Part of her job at Tanaka’s, especially in the hostess bar section was to drink with the customers, something she did not like to do.  As a result, Saki did not “keep up” with those who wished to drink with an attractive, though modern geisha.  As manager of the establishment, Saki could invoke a sort of executive privilege.

            She’d heard just about everything come out of the mouths of the men that passed through here.  Often a geisha in such circumstances had to contend with a great deal of abuse, most of which was the customer venting frustration, and was not meant to be taken personally.  Listening was a large part of making the customer feel welcome, especially when they were in a bad mood.

            Saki however knew the fellow seated before her, and did not feel the need to put up a front.  He was dressed casually but well, his taste as always impeccable.  Yet this man was not himself today; his customarily well-styled hair was askew, and he was getting drunk, which also was not like him.

            “That’s where I stand,” Daisuke slurred.  “I don’t know what he’s got in mind, but everything’s coming to a head, and fast.  I’m afraid of what will happen.”

            Saki nodded.  “Keru is planning to make a bold move,” she replied.

            “Yes,” Daisuke mumbled.  He finished off the drink and signaled the waitress for another.  “I am caught in the middle; Keru is my boss, and he is my friend.  He and my father worked together in building this business, and I took his place after he died.  I have always prided myself on playing it straight, but now…”  

            He waited for the waitress to set down the large glass and take the empty one away.  Daisuke nodded his thanks to the woman, and took a gulp of the fresh one.  “You know how much I care for Asuka.”

            “You do,” Saki replied.  “I care for her, too; but it is you have looked out for her, and her best interests over the years.”

            Daisuke took a deep breath, and seemed to regain some of his composure.  “As she has gotten older,” he continued, “I have seen her grow, and transform from a girl to a young lady.  She still did not know what she would face; of late however, I think she is finally learning these things.  Kaldera, the others, yes, they are helping.  I have tried to be a big brother to Asuka, and I want to protect her, but not so much that it hurts her.”

            Saki said nothing, but sipped her own drink and thought about Daisuke’s words.  “Keru,” she said at length, “is a man who knows what he wants.  He sets goals, he works hard to achieve them, and does not like to take no for an answer.  Unfortunately, Keru also expects everyone else to fall in line with that philosophy.”   

            Daisuke nodded.  “I fear that something more is coming; there will be trouble, and I fear it will split this family.  I know things,” he added, his agitation growing with each word, “that you do not, and that many do not know.  Keru could, in his efforts to secure what he considers the best for Asuka, destroy them.  Asuka, Nanae, and…”  He stopped again, then downed his drink.  “I’ve spoken too freely, Saki,” he finished, “I’m sorry to have brought you into it.”

            Saki reached out and took his hand, and held it down on the table.  “Do not be sorry,” she replied, “I am here to listen, and you are my friend.  You are in a difficult position, but you are not in the right mind to take action.”  She stood up and smoothed her short, silken dress and added, “You are also not driving home, Daisuke; I will take you.”

            Daisuke slowly got to his feet and produced his keys.  Handing them to Saki, he also threw down a stack of notes in payment.  He leaned on the chair, not caring that others in the bar were watching him.  He looked over his shades as he watched Saki walk away in those killer stiletto heels to get her coat.

            “Who is that?”

            Kaz motioned with his head at the woman who was walking down the pier.  He and the others had seen Mei and Midori off a short time before.  The rest had returned to the boat to ensure the lines held the Kudo securely and that everything else was battened down.  The wind was coming up, and a light rain had begun to fall with the evening. 

            Aimi stepped to Kaz’s side and looked.  She was a small woman, but her look and

bearing showed she was not local.  She was black and dressed all in black, from her

her jeans to her leather biker jacket and boots.  Her hair too was black, in long

dreadlocks which were tied behind her.  The woman was carrying a guitar case, and

held a slip of paper in her hand.  She appeared to not know where she was.

Minoru stepped down from the gangplank and approached her.  “May I help you?”  He asked politely in English.  “You appear to be lost.”

            The woman regarded the young man before her, then grinned and displayed two rows of large teeth, yellowed by smoking or some other abuse.  “Someone speaks my language, cool,” she said, her voice husky for a female and a little ragged in its intonation.  “Yeah, I’m looking for Kaldera’s place.”

            “You have found it,” Minoru replied, as Aimi, Kaz and Asuka came down.  “We’re friends of his.”  Minoru introduced them around, and then asked, “Perchance, is your name Marlie?”

            She grinned again.  “That’s what people call me, among other things,” she replied.  “I guess Kaldera told you I was coming.”

            “He did,” Aimi replied and the group walked toward the boathouse.  “I understand you are friends.”

            Old friends,” Marlie said.  “I haven’t seen him in years, but I’m touring over here, and I hoped to catch up with him.  How…is he, by the way?”

            The way Marlie asked the question was odd, and Kaz asked, “How do you mean?”

            Marlie shrugged as the mounted the steps.  “Kaldera was in a pretty bad way, the last time I saw him,” she explained.  “Sorry, I guess I shouldn’t say; I oughta see him first.” 

            As they stepped onto the porch, they could hear a guitar playing.  Before Minoru could get the door, Marlie stayed his hand. 

            “Wait,” she said quietly, “let’s listen.”

            The four looked at one another.  Marlie’s expression was one of concern, but also sadness, as they did so.

“Sunset is an angel weeping

Holding out a bloody sword

No matter how I squint I cannot

Make out what it’s pointing toward



Sometimes you feel like you’ve lived too long

The days drift slowly on the page

(And you catch yourself)

Pacing the cage…”



            Marlie set her guitar case on end and leaned on it.  They could tell she was listening, with a deeper intent.  They did the same as Kaldera sang in a plaintive vocal, over a series of basic chords.  None of them had ever heard this song before, but Marlie obviously knew it.

“I never knew what you all wanted

So I gave you everything

All that I could pillage

All the spells that I could sing



It’s as if the thing were written

In the constitution of the age

(Sooner or later)

You wind up pacing the cage…”



            The song soon ended, and there was a silence.  Kaldera then moved off into some noodling on his acoustic.  The rain was starting to pick up, but Marlie remained in her spot. 

            “Same old Michael,” she said, almost ruefully, “but he sounds a lot better, that’s good.”

            “Michael?”  Aimi had asked the question in surprise, and her friends all directed their quizzical expressions toward Marlie.

            Marlie smiled.  “That’s his first name,” she replied, “gather he didn’t tell you that.  Not surprised, he usually just goes by his last.  Listen,” she added as she addressed them, her face now serious, “you didn’t hear me say this, but it’s clear you guys are good friends with him.”

            They nodded, and Kaz replied, “We have been for a while.  He’s been teaching Minoru and me, and he’s really brought us together as friends, and more.”

            Marlie nodded.  “Good,” she said, “now I’ll ask you guys a favor:  don’t do anything you wouldn’t normally do for him.  I know that Kaldera needs you as his friends just as much.  Be that for him,” she told them, “he needs you more than you’ll ever know.”  She nodded to the door.  “I’m ready if you all are.”

            Minoru slid the door back and allowed Marlie to pass through first.  As she did, the guitar playing stopped, and they watched Kaldera get to his feet.  He regarded Marlie with a genuine, welcoming grin, but Aimi noted he also stood before her and bowed in great respect.  “It’s been too long, Marlie,” he finally said.

            Marlie put her case down and went to Kaldera, and the two embraced.  “Too long, buddy,” she replied.  “Your friends found me wandering around out there.”

            Kaldera chuckled.  “I see you’ve all met, then.  Everyone, this is the famous Marlie Jones I spoke of.”

            Marlie laughed.  “Please,” she countered, “there’s nothing famous about me!  A one-hit wonder is not famous, but notorious!”

            All sat down in the living room, as Kaldera and Marlie got caught up.  Aimi noticed most were in silence as the two old friends reconnected.  Then Marlie brought out a gorgeous rosewood acoustic guitar from her case; Kaldera picked up the Martin he’d been playing earlier, and he urged Kaz and Minoru to join them as well.

            Both were rather reluctant, as what they heard became almost a clinic on singing and musicianship, from two people who communicated to one another in a most remarkable way.

            Marlie’s voice was that of a blues woman, though no one could really tie her to anyone in comparison.  Her finger picking style of guitar was done just with the elongated nails of her right hand, and her dexterity matched Kaldera’s note for note.  They played like they had never been away from one another.

            The songs were more of a folk-blues vein, a couple that were familiar through the cover versions all had heard Japanese musicians do, but quite a few others, many of them by the guest.  Aimi found herself enthralled by the woman, especially as she appeared so unflappable over whatever success she’d had in America.

            There was plenty of talk, too--the pair traded “war stories,” as they called them.  While Aimi and the others got occasional questions in, they were content to just sit and listen.  She also noted that Kaldera was changing again:  always relaxed, he seemed even more so, delighted to be with this friend of his one more time.

            Then Kaldera began to play “Street of the Broken Dreams.”  Marlie’s eyes widened at the opening chords; she had been surprised, Aimi thought, no, shocked was more the word.  But Marlie quickly picked up a second guitar line, an as Kaldera sang, Kaz and Minoru each added their musical colors.  Aimi and Asuka both began to sing the chorus as well; they’d heard it enough to know.

“But sometimes life doesn’t go the way you want it to

It’s a crowded place, the street of the broken dreams…”



            There was a silence after the song’s end.  Kaldera then turned to Marlie and gave a sad smile.  “Surprised, are you?” He asked.

            “I never thought I’d hear you do that song again.” Seeing that Kaldera was reaching for his cigarettes, Marlie reached into the pocket of her blouse and pulled out a short, thin cigar.  As she lit up, she added, “Have you told your friends about that one?”

            Kaldera shook his head.  “No,” he replied, “but I can, now.”  He looked around, and asked, “You heard me play this at the club.  It is one of my better songs, I feel, and one that has been recorded a few times.  It’s the one song from the very deepest parts of my soul, but you don’t know the full portent of it.”

            “It did,” Asuka replied, “sound like something very personal.  You don’t have to share it if you don’t wish to, Kaldera.”

            “No, I must.”  Kaldera smiled.  “I appreciate your courtesy, all of you; but you have become dear friends, and as we’ve become a ‘club,’ I don’t think there’s a need for secrecy.  Add to that, it is time to explain.

            ‘The song is about me,” Kaldera went on as he took a deep drag of his smoke.  “It is also about a woman; my former wife, Alicia.  She was my dearest friend, and to put a fine point upon it, my biggest fan.”

            “Alicia was my roommate in college,” Marlie said as she took up the story.  “We went to see a band Kaldera was in, and they hit it off like a house on fire.”

            Kaldera chuckled.  “That is so.  She was with me many years, though we did not get married for some time after that.  Alicia was to me a woman of vivacity and beauty.  She had a great, powerful zest for life.  After I began to tour and have some success in bands, she was my constant companion.”

            They watched as Kaldera’s face began to change, as the memories of the past returned.  “She stood by me for a long time, even when things got difficult.  Then it became too much for her.”

            Kaldera fell silent.  Marlie explained, “We all went off the deep end in those days, and we were just three of the many.  I was off doing my own music, my own thing, but with the money we made came a lot of other things.”
            “Drugs?”  Kaz asked, with some hesitancy.

            “Drugs, booze, anything you can imagine.”  Kaldera had leaned back on the couch, his guitar held loosely on his lap.  “I was an addict; I didn’t know a person who wasn’t.  We took and used everything that came along, and we even made up a few new ones in the era before designer drugs.  Money came in, and we spent it just as fast, all the while on the road, touring, recording and somehow still coming up with music that people wanted to hear.”

            “Alicia,” Marlie said, looking to Kaldera with a certain nervousness, “went even deeper.  The drugs brought a dark side out of her, one I’d never seen.”

            Kaldera nodded.  “Alicia had dark periods,” he explained, his voice beginning to waver.  “She would explode into these violent rages, and I knew what it was.  I couldn’t cope with it.  I tried everything I could think of--I did drugs with her, I didn’t do them with her, I ignored her.  Finally several years ago, I gave up on her.”

            Running his hand over his face, Kaldera explained, “We were living in Nashville at the time.  I was sick, very sick; I was determined to get myself clean after years of abuse.  I wanted Alicia to do it too, but she wouldn’t hear of it.  She continued to believe that she was fine, and that everyone else was mad.  I walked out, and never went back.  I checked myself into a rehabilitation clinic in Florida, near where Marlie lived at the time.”

            “I’d gotten clean about a year before,” she said, “and I told Kaldera that it would work, if he was willing to make the effort.  I bought him the plane ticket down and got him in there.”

            “I thought the 30 days I spent drying out would be the worst time in my life,” Kaldera admitted, “and it was hard.  I didn’t sleep for nearly three weeks as my body cleansed itself.  All I did was meditate, play guitar and go to my daily meetings with a counselor, and the group I was assigned to.  Toward the end, I began to feel progress was being made.  Then,” he added, as his voice trailed off, “I got a phone call.”

            Kaldera fell silent, and looked to Marlie.  “Can I?”  She asked.  When Kaldera nodded, she continued, “It was from the Nashville police.  Alicia had been found dead in her apartment.  It was an overdose of a bunch of drugs.”

            Aimi saw the shock, or at least the stunned looks on the other’s faces.  Kaldera was looking at the floor, his head resting on his guitar.  “I wasn’t there,” he said quietly.  “I know, I was not responsible for her actions, but their deaths were on my head.”

            Their deaths?”  Minoru asked.  His voice reflected the shock of those in the room.  “You mean--”

            “--yes.”  Kaldera raised his head.  He looked very old now, and Aimi could see the lines in his face in the dim light.  “Alicia was pregnant.  She was not far advanced; I didn’t know, she probably didn’t, either.  I know I was the father, because the one thing Alicia never did to me was cheat on me.”

            Kaldera rubbed his eyes and put his guitar aside.  “I wrote that song for her while I was still in rehab,” he said.  “I never recorded it myself, but friends who heard it did.  I had to somehow get the guilt out of myself.  Writing is therapy, they say--it is, and I just hope that people who hear the song know it is not an anti-drug song.  It is a song about loss, but also hope--hope that you can get out of tragedy and carry on with life.”

            Aimi watched as Marlie pulled Kaldera to her, and the others pondered what they had just heard.  Minoru finally spoke:  “Kaldera, you have just gone further than anyone I know in letting yourself go.  When my mother died, I never thought I could let her memory go.  There was always something there to hold onto.”

            “It’s all right to hold onto some things,” Kaldera said as he sat upright again, “but you cannot live like a person who has passed is still here, still alive.  Their spirit is always with us, and Alicia had the greatest, strongest spirit of any woman, any person I knew.  I now know that while she and our child are not here, they are here.  They are still with me.  That is why I do what I do; I find the way to live for myself, but also to assist others on whatever path they choose.  That’s why I’m here.”

            Everyone was aware that it had begun to rain harder; the drops struck the roof with force, and there was a rumble of thunder.  Kaldera took his guitar up again.  “If I may,” he went on, “there is a song I wrote recently.  I think it is about all of us, why we’re here.”

“Welcome to our story

As strange as you’ll hear

Yet between the words I speak

You may find it clear



It’s gone through many rewrites

And through the editor’s hands

And the story remains unfinished

But I’m sure you’ll understand…”



            Aimi looked around as all sat and thought of what they‘d heard, plus the lyrics of Kaldera‘s song.  We are all here for a reason, in this place, in this moment.  As sad a tale as this, we all needed to hear it, in order to understand Kaldera, but also ourselves.

“We all share a common thread

That binds us as one

Frayed at the edges in some places

But the ties, they remain strong


We were cut from different cloths

Not one of us the same

But we are a common thread

A common thread, the same…”

###

(Notes:  "Pacing the Cage" was written by Bruce Cockburn, and appears on The Charity of Night CD, 1996.

"Common Thread" was written by me; it has not been recorded.

###

Well, there you have it!  I welcome your thoughts...