The Last Word?

I was not going to post anything today – until this crossed my mind as I was taking this photo:

The Beatles Rubber Soul (December 1965) album is their most crisp, mature and together performance of all. Add the “Day Tripper/We Can Work It Out” single recorded and released at the same time (which would have been on the album today), and you have the most polished truly team effort they ever released. It came together brilliantly. They all write. They all sing. After this, they began to drift apart, bicker more and more, and slowly “lose their minds.” While they would still produce great songs (many individual ones better than what’s on this album), they were less and less of a team. Every other band since has been (even subconsciously) trying to better this album. Approaching 53 years later, none have succeeded. Kids, if you wanna know why your parents and grandparents carry on so about them, and why so many singers and groups continue to cover their songs, download this and listen to it from start to finish.

But even THEY were never 100 percent happy with anything they did.

As a writer, you must be prepared similarly to be dissatisfied to an extent by what you produce. Others may think it’s “fine” or “real good,” but what tumbles out on the pages will almost NEVER make you entirely happy. I go back to my books and too often I do think: “Ouf, I could’ve written that differently…”

I note that here because I want to return to this. I shared it yesterday as an aside in that generally lighthearted post. However, this is quite a serious excerpt and I want to highlight it in this sense:

[Sneak peek from untitled follow up to Conventions: The Garden At Paris. Click to expand.]

I remarked in that post about how writing that back on Wednesday actually upset me. I did not even realize how “upset” I was until the doorbell had rung. Its noise JOLTED me out of my “daze.”

My habit is usually to write “hurriedly.” I tap tap tap frantically. (I don’t need to look at a standard keyboard. Perhaps the most lasting skill I have from high school is thanks to that typing class.) Only much later do I go back to re-read and “tear apart” what I’d drafted and “tinker” as I feel necessary – sometimes for many months.

I doubt if that is “the last word” there. Yet as I go at it again today, once more I force myself to remember this reality. No matter what, eventually you must let go and allow what you created to live – even if that “life” must be imperfect and not fully what you had imagined it would be.

Have a good weekend, wherever you are. 🙂