day late, dollar short, last post (patresa)

I was supposed to post yesterday. I did not. Today, a day late, and a dollar short, is my last COFFEE post.

When I started COFFEE last fall, I was trying to shake off an irrational fear of playing music and singing in front of people. When I was younger, I played music and sang in front of people all the time. But I did it with a tremendous amount of insecurity which induced a lot of shaky and unpleasant performances. By the time I'd gotten older, the feelings associated with the shaky and unpleasant performances (i.e., shame, frustration, and defeat) were what stuck with me. Finally, I just quit playing and singing for anyone. I felt stupid, untalented, inferior to more talented friends, like a poser, and decided I should just stick with behind-the-scenes sorts of expressions and support roles--nothing that would put me on the spot and make me vulnerable.

So, although, on the surface, my initial COFFEE project--to play original songs at 3 open mics--was kind of silly, to me it was definitely something much bigger. It was about forgiving myself for being imperfect, trusting that I had something worth singing even if not everyone thought so, and being bravely vulnerable. It was also about not letting irrational fears limit how I experience life. I think a lot of people spend their lives treading water in the same backyard kiddie pool, because they're too afraid to explore their own potential. I don't want to be one of them.

The support and encouragement I received here at COFFEE, including from a couple of pros (Hello, Wendy & Tawni!), was... magical. I was actually a bit surprised at how powerful it was. Thank you! I accomplished my goal. I played and sang in front of strangers. I did it several times, and it got less scary each time. I even enjoy it now--even when I screw up.

I couldn't think of another project that made my drawers tremble the way my original COFFEE project did, so I decided on a couple of discipline-oriented goals--keep building my set until I have enough to open for someone. Revise one of my novel drafts. These aren't about fear so much as they are about my own laziness and inattention. (Which also threaten to limit how I experience life.)

Work is going to be intense for the next 2 months and then another 2.5 months after that as I prepare everything for maternity leave. In November, I'll become a mother. If that isn't intense, I don't know what is. So you know what I want right now? I want to be lazy and inattentive.

I will continue to write music and play at open mics. I may or may not ever do anything but play at open mics. I just want to do what I do, meet who I meet, and let happen what happens. I will continue to work on my novel when I feel like it. I may or may not ever create a vision board.  I will probably eat a lot of ice cream. And then I will become a mother, completely fall in love with a tiny squirming poop machine, and learn that my ambitions aren't worth crap anymore, or so I imagine.

At any rate, I will stop in and high five our bold COFFEE spirits.

Go forth and be bold!

I leave you with "Rotary Dial," which I wrote several months ago after a walk through an antique store and on a day longing for solitude.

Please note that I have no idea where to focus my gaze when I am singing to myself. I feel a little self-conscious about this (as well as how much I have rounded since my previous videos. I am not a dainty pregnant woman.).

salvageable (Patresa)

It's been a good month.

Nausea passed. Mostly. (I've been revisiting it in a milder form the last few days.)

I'm starting to look more pregnant. (Due to vanity, I've been anxious for it to be obvious that the reason I'm gaining weight is because I have picked up a passenger and not because I've been eating donuts and fried chicken in the parking lot.) (I have been eating waffles and french fries indoors while seated in a variety of chairs.)

And I've felt really creative. (Except right now. Right now I don't feel all that creative, which is why I'm going to cut straight to the goals.)

Progress is as follows:

1. My goal was to attend a songwriting workshop, even if a confused voice in my head called me a fake phony baloney.

Done. It was good! The voices in my head were kind. I learned things--some things that I already do naturally (which was validating) and some things that I have since paid better attention to. More than anything, I've just been writing a lot more. Since the workshop, I've written 6 songs. I like 4 of them. That's quite a lot for me.

2. My goal was to write at least 1 more original and 1 more cover on the piano.

Done. I wrote a corny song for Happy Fest. I didn't end up actually playing the song, because I later decided my set wasn't long enough to (in my mind) warrant hauling the piano around. The song is pretty corny, so I doubt I'll ever play it out unless I revise the crap out of it.

And this past weekend I figured out Angel from Montgomery on the piano, which is one of my favorite songs.

3. My goal was to tell myself at least 5 things that were great about my Happy Fest performance afterward, and forgive myself immediately for imperfections.

Done. I didn't actually count how many nice things I said to myself, but I could make a go here:

a- My voice did not give away my nerves. This was probably the best and most validating thing about the whole shebang. That's been the number one frustration for me--that when I have gotten nervous in the past, my voice has turned small and wobbly. I hate that, because I feel like it's an incorrect representation. I know what's in me, and it doesn't come out right (Incidentally, I have the same frustration when speaking.). But I think my regular go at open mics is helping me develop better control. I don't know how to say this without sounding like a giant cheese log, but I feel like I've found my voice. 

b- People said nice things to me about my songs and my voice. They seemed sincere. (And after a decade working with delinquent teenagers, I feel I have a pretty keen eye and ear for bullshit.) I know I shouldn't place weight on what other people think, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel good.

c- I didn't forget any lyrics. Also something I tend to blank on (even when I'm not nervous).

d- Chris and I discovered how much we love playing together. Strange as it may sound, in the 10 years we've been together, we've only started playing together in the last 2 months. I blame this on my lack of confidence and my locked up voice. I was too scared to even play in front of Chris. Now that I've gotten past the big scary house of doom, we plan to play together more.

e- I felt inspired by the phenomenal musicians who played before and after me. Really, some amazing talent is right here in and around Des Moines. I don't go out much, so I had no idea. 

And I forgave myself immediately for imperfections. There were plenty of them, not the least of which were my very clumsy guitar skills, several clunker chords, and the fact that just as I needed it, I realized I'd left my capo in my guitar case off stage and then had to give away my amateur status by hollering at Chris to bring it to me in the middle of my set. (It's okay. There weren't many people present during my time slot.) I laugh at this.

4. My goal was to take my old crashed laptop to the repair shop to get uncrashed and all documents recovered, including the novel I'm going to finish.

Done. The laptop was not salvageable, but the hard drive was. I've drafted several changes I'm going to make. There are big changes. I'm renaming characters and overhauling the main plot. For instance, instead of a fire, there will be a tornado. Instead of a Scarlet, there will be a Coral. And instead of a Bear, there will be a Fox.

5.  My goal for the next month is to create a vision board.

No. This is the only one I didn't do. You know why? Because it requires retrieving materials, setting up a workspace, and then cleaning up after myself. I do not like doing any of those things. Ever.

My goals for the next month are to do more of the same. 

MUSIC: I'm about 2 songs from a full one-hour set. I figure that's enough to open up for someone in a little coffee shop. I don't have much in the way of covers, so I would like to add at least 2 covers.

BOOK: Rewrite Chapters 1-3.

VISION BOARD: I'll just keep writing this down until I do it. 

Peace out. Word to the mothership.

the girl on my front steps (Patresa)

It's been a strange three weeks. Or rather, *I* have been strange. Strange-er. I will blame it on pregnancy, because that is convenient. Although, really, I think pregnancy is only to blame for rattling my screen until all this latent weird junk materialized on my front porch. Literally (sort of).

I think it's because my body is so out of balance right now. Food, exercise, sleep, altered. As soon as my body goes lopsided, everything else does, too--the mind body soul braid, you know. In this case, raging teenage insecurity surfaced. Why this insecurity would be the thing to pop up, I don't know. Maybe it popped up graciously as a reminder, "Hey, you need to fix this before you have a kid. It screws around with you even when you don't see it."

Originally, I called it--this insecurity--a demon. We all have demons, don't we? But then I had a dream two weeks ago, in which I opened the front door of our house and found my teenage self sitting on the front steps. "What are you doing here?" I said to her, annoyed. I don't remember what she said, if she said anything. I woke up immediately.

It was important. I laid in bed a while thinking about that girl on my steps. I've talked before about the thing I say to myself "Get on off the porch, now," from one of my favorite books, Beloved, by Toni Morrison. The ghost of Sethe's daughter, Beloved, whom she had killed in order to save (in a complicated way), had come back to haunt her. Sethe is finally evicting Beloved when she tells her to get on off the porch. I thought of the girl on my steps--was she a ghost? A demon? I would exorcise her. I would slay her. Eject her. How dare she come back now.

But she was no ghost or demon. She wasn't Beloved. She was a good kid who didn't believe her worth. I recognized her then as a muddled soul needing compassion and clarification. Not exorcism.

I imagined a conversation with her. I explained to her the real reasons behind each of her perceived rejections--she was a lovely girl who didn't believe she was lovely, so she hid; she was a talented girl who didn't believe in her own talent, so she trembled until it was unrecognizable; she was a likable girl who feared she'd be abandoned if she wasn't, so she acquiesced and avoided. It was all brand new information to her, which was enlightening for me. Why had I never done this before--ticked through each of those little hurts and fixed my understanding of them? I hadn't, because I thought they were foolish and too petty to devote any time to. Get over it and move on, pansy. The girl on my porch convinced me that is not the case. Although such hurts are microscopic and meaningless from an adult perspective, they were huge and profound at the time they were experienced. Impressions follow even if the logic behind them loses weight. I'm sure there's not one among us who couldn't recount an adolescent rejection and still feel the cut of it.

I mention this sad sorry tale of woe here [sarcasm] only because it's been needling with my COFFEE goals to write songs and books. I don't remember specifically what my goals for the last 3 weeks were, because I deleted my last post hours after posting it. Why? Because I later learned that through some clumsy writing, it looked like I was saying I wanted to write songs for a living. (That is not what I meant, for the record. I meant I wanted to continue to write songs as a creative outlet. Period. A hobbyist who plays at local coffee shops.) At the point of this realization, the girl on my porch hollered through the door, "You're not good and everybody knows it. They're rolling their eyes at you and think you're a naive little prissy pants! You big fake phony baloney! Go back to your room and sing into your hairbrush!" Delete.

That was a Monday. Thursday it was time for another open mic. I dragged myself there and performed sheepishly. If I could have played my guitar with my hands in my pockets, I would have. But I did it, so at least I'm aware of my own irrationality enough to counteract it. Success.

At any rate, I don't mean to sound like a big poor-me-apalooza. I really don't mean that at all. When I reveal and over-explain crap like this, I honestly just do it because I assume it's universal, I enjoy examining strange phenomena, and I enjoy providing the connection. It's all erroneous thinking. I don't need anyone to tell me I'm amazing and magical. Competent, yes. Jesus Christ incarnate, no. I recognize my insecurities as my own skewed thinking and not reality. I'm fixing it. I actually feel quite a lot better after my talk with the girl on the front steps.

Progress has been made:

1. I signed up for a songwriting workshop for May 7. Next Saturday. It doesn't matter if the girl on the porch calls me a fake phony baloney. If I go as myself, then it will be impossible to be fake about it. Can't fake yourself, Puddin'. So my goal for the next month is… well, to go to that, even if a confused voice in my head calls me a fake phony baloney.

2. I bought a portable digital piano, because it will double my "play-out" set. I'm better on the piano. Now I can haul my own piano around. So my goal for the next month is to write at least 1 more original and 1 more cover on the piano.

3. I have a full set put together for Happy Fest on May 13. Excited and nervous. Optimistic. My goal for the next month is to tell myself at least 5 things that were great about it afterward, and forgive myself immediately for imperfections.

4. I've settled on the novel I'm going to finish and revise. It was the first one I started 10 years ago. Unfortunately, the most recent version is on my old, crashed laptop. The only back-up discs I have are incomplete. My goal for the next month is to take that laptop to the repair shop to get uncrashed and all documents recovered.


5. I do remember that I was going to create a vision board over the last 3 weeks. I didn't do that. So my goal for the next month is to create a vision board.

you don't have to be a painted street mime. (patresa)

I feel a little lost and sideways, frankly. I've been busy the last few weeks, and I don't do "busy" well. I understand my version of busy looks like a really nice break for many. Regardless, my own personal threshold for activity has always been pretty low, so it still effects me. I get twisted and bunched, and then I scatter. I forget my center, and I lose tune. It's all very tragic (please read sarcasm).

In the time since my last post, I was to:

1. Draft a new little bird big tree storybook (as a benchmark toward having a portfolio of at least 3 completed.).
2. Spell out an idea to fellow COFFEE mates about my new vision for us. 

I'm off to a slow start.

Haven't touched little bird big tree.

And although I revealed, more or less, where I want to take COFFEE, I didn't do it with the specifics and the tangible blueprint I'd intended. I do have one in my head. It will just take time to show you. It will require putting together a website.

I'm not overly worried about the slow start. If I recall, my open mic project started pretty slow, also. Eventually, I just got sick of myself and did it. I assume the same will happen here. So, I guess I'll just repeat those goals for the next 3 weeks.

I'll say, also, that I feel a little more fire under my tush about it. I firmly believe that any job on the planet can be performed with creativity and enthusiasm. You don't have to be a painted street mime in order to say you are creative. A big part of my job is analyzing data--the number kind. I feel like I make that a creative endeavor (which does not mean I make up numbers).

But I concede there is something more satisfying about writing a song or a story or smooshing paint around a canvas than being creative with data. It's become apparent to me how critical creative outlets (the overt kinds) are for my well being--physical, mental, spiritual. I'm not exaggerating with the word "critical." I feel myself leaning back into my most fundamental drive to live a life in which creative endeavors consume a bigger chunk than career. The most practical way I see to do that is to blend the two, so that my career IS a creative endeavor.

There's probably a gray area. I'm just too funked up to see it right now.

Get on off the porch, now. (Patresa)

I'm being nudged again. Call it what you want: God, the Universe, Spirit Guides. But I get them, sometimes: celestial nudges. They used to be unnerving. ("Unnerving" is the wrong word. A few of my nudges have been soul shaking and mind f'ing.) I thought I was crazy. But now I've gotten used to them, and I find them beautiful and comforting--like I really don't have to be overly vexed about making big decisions. "Just pay attention, Honey Pie, and go where I tell you." It's worked out remarkably well so far. This COFFEE project was a nudge, for example.

At any rate, I'm ready for new COFFEE projects--I have two.

But first, I want to reflect on Project #1:

Little P's Big COFFEE Project #1: Get on out the door, now, and play some music for people.

I am still playing at open mics. I just played again this last Thursday. That makes 4! I'm going to keep doing this. I am not the best guitar player or the best singer or the best lyricist or the best songwriter, and that bothers me infinitely less than it ever has in my entire life. In fact, this past Thursday, I had my first encounter with a condescending asshole after I played (Condescension is on my list of cardinal sins.). And I found it more... interesting... (Ah! So that's what that looks like!) than anything else--someone who lets Ego fly the plane. Although I logged it as irritating and rude behavior, it didn't unsettle me, and I'm not sure I can properly describe how liberating that is.

Although I will confess one thing slightly unsettling: Playing personal music in a bar. People go there to hang out with their friends and have fun. Which is a-double-okay, completely. 100%. Still, I was in the middle of a new piano number that's kind of intimate, and all I could hear was chatter chatter chatter ha ha ha ha tink tink tink chatter chatter chatter. I felt kind of... dumb. Embarrassed. A small impulse to just stop playing. I've heard Wendy talk about this phenomenon before, so I knew it wasn't an evaluation of me, per se. It was just sort of... I don't know. Weird. It felt bizarre.

Moving on...

COFFEE Project #2: Get on off the couch and make some stories, Sugar.
For a long while I've had an idea for a creative side endeavor. A year ago, I gave it a name (and then promptly stalled):

little bird big tree storybooks

Custom, commissioned "children's" stories (I say "children's" with quotes, because they probably appeal more to child-like grown-ups.). I've actually been doing this a long time, in one form or another, starting with middle school story trades with Tanya, T-Bop. We wrote short stories for each other featuring ourselves with boys we liked. I still have every story Big T wrote for me. All of them! I have them! 10-page epistles, big flowery 12-year-old girl handwriting, folded up in 2 large tins in the basement. When I moved away from Kansas to Iowa, we continued to write them for each other, between the two of us, keeping the US Postal Service in business, as each tome required several stamps.

In high school, I wrote them for my friends as gifts (including one with Wendy ejecting Madonna from the stage for encroaching on her Grammy rehearsal time). I've written them for my nieces and nephew using photos from family vacations and get-togethers. Most recently, I wrote one for a friend's new baby, and I used finger puppets as the characters, conducting elaborate photo shoots in my backyard.

I see a more professional version of this in my head: treating each book like a piece of art. I've known instinctively that this project will align a lot of things that I feel led to do. But I've resisted, and I don't know why exactly. It will be a lot of self-starting work: I fear my lazy tendencies. I fear having to fight with my own expectations constantly (so exhausting). I fear losing my joy for story making. I fear being bad at it. I fear having to learn new technology (more advanced photo editing). I fear resenting my day job when I don't have time to work on my creative life (already happening, if I'm being honest).

Because of the elbow-bumping of...

a) instinctively knowing this is a good design for me;
b) resist resist resist; and
c) a recent nudge...

...I know I'm supposed to do it. One of my very favorite lines of any book any time, is from Beloved by Toni Morrisson. It comes toward the end, when *I think* Sethe, a former slave, is speaking to Beloved, the ghost of her dead daughter, and says, "Get on off the porch, now." (I would double check that, but Beloved is a book I loaned to someone and never got back. "What the crap?" I say indignantly as I take a quick mental inventory of the loaner books on my shelf that I have not yet returned.) At any rate, there is something about that line that burned into my brain all those years ago, and it is one of the mama voices I hear in my head, especially when I'm resisting forward motion.

"Get on off the porch, now."

Therefore:

Project #2 First benchmark: Build a portfolio with at least 3 completed storybooks. (Worry about the business aspect later. Right now, I just need product.)

Goal for the next 14 days: Draft the story for 1. (I bought the puppets months ago. And haven't done a thing.)

COFFEE Project #3: Get on off your tush and grow some coffee, Sweetie Cake.
A project about the project. COFFEE wants to grow. She's taking big belly breaths and poking at her confines. I have ideas. Over the next 14 days, I'll put together at least 1 of them for your review (privately. I won't post it in detail here.). Step one however, is the addition of two new and very welcome and spectacular COFFEE-Mates:

Welcome, Jenna! 
Welcome, Angie!

I think Jenna is set to launch this Friday. Angie launches in another two weeks.

I did it! (Patresa)

I celebrated the Lunar New Year by getting over myself and playing in front of

Real!
Live!
Humans!


at Des Moines Social Club's Open Circus.

Irrational Fear, I give you my middle finger.

COFFEE Project: Mission Accomplished.

It's been a few weeks, and I actually already wrote about it at my nap in the bergamot blog. You can read that here: Nap in the Bergamot.

One detail I left out that I think is funny and painfully in-line with my essence and is also why I will never ever, as hard as I may try, ever be cool: I was in the bathroom when they called me up. It's a very "open floor plan" and when I came out of the bathroom (having heard my name), the audience turned around and looked at me. I'm pretty sure my fly was up, but it's hard to tell. I'm surprised I remember to wear pants most days.

If I'm being honest, I will confess that I did not enjoy it. I enjoyed having good friends there. My parents came. Chrispy McNichols. I enjoyed that. But, I did not enjoy the playing experience. I don't like being that uncomfortable--feeling barfy and self-conscious and unsure and vulnerable (Hello, Stephany!) and sweaty and trembly and brain-gappy. As super fantastic as that may sound, can you believe it?

The good news, however, is that I tried again a week later (which was last week). I played at a different coffee shop -- Ritual Cafe. Both Open Circus and Ritual are casual and laid back and no big deal. Ritual was... super duper super casual and laid back and no big deal, though. I was still a bit nervous, but overall felt a lot more comfortable. Take all the discomfort of Time #1 and chop it in half.

Then... I tried it again (at Open Circus) about 3 hours after Ritual. That's right: 2 open mics in one night. The third time I actually didn't feel nervous at all. (The beer helped.) And I decided to wing it with a cover on the out-of-tune piano (Ain't No Sunshine, Bill Withers). This... I enjoyed. Actually, I enjoyed that a lot.

So apparently, I just have to keep doing it in order to get over the discomfort. Huh. Didn't see that coming.

Things that are cool:

• Meeting fun, creative, open people.
• Not feeling so awfully closeted with my music. I hate that it's some kind of weird secret.
• Feeling a renewed energy and motivation to work on my songs. Before, I played at home in my living room, but it didn't really matter. Nobody heard. Not even Chris. So, I could just kind of fart stuff out without caring if it was quality. Now, I want to work on things more. I've even been taking a scratch pad for lyrics to work. (Don't tell the state.)

So there is that. There will be future open mics -- next Thursday, in fact. This might become my new Thursday activity. Friends, be alert! And I'm not sure if I'll continue that as my COFFEE Project or tackle one of the other things stuck in my craw (I have a few.).

In the meantime: 2 videos.

Video 1 = A hodgepodge of my 15 minute, 4-song set.
Video 2 = My last song in its entirety. Actually, it isn't MY song. It's a cover. "3 Little Birds" by Bob Marley.

High five, COFFEE Lovers! (And thank you for the kind encouragement. I had no idea how empowering our collective little project here was going to be. I really didn't. I am deeply grateful for the surprise.)

Video 1 (Hodgepodge)




Video 2 (3 Little Birds)

Monday Tuesday Wednesday Then Thursday (Patresa)

I am writing this Sunday night.

It will post Monday morning.

Then it will be Tuesday.

And then Wednesday.

Then it will be Thursday, and I will play music in front of live human beings at an open mic.

THURSDAY. This Thursday!

I played my 4-song set for Chris. It was just fine. I wasn't nervous or self-conscious. Tonight my parents and aunt came over for dinner, and I played them 2 songs. It was…okay. I wasn't nervous, but I felt shy and stupid--like I was 8 and practicing my recital pieces after Sunday pot roast. So I didn't play or sing very well.

But it was a good step. My dad brought up my teenage niece who got a guitar for Christmas and has been learning. She's very talented, but is too shy to play in front of others. When it comes to my nieces (and my nephew, but in a different way), I've always felt a responsibility to be a good model for "strong in self." (They already have wonderful models. It's just: I'm the aunt, and I don't have any kids, and I'm kind of weird, so they see me a little differently.). I want them to be bold and unafraid, to speak up. I want them to sing when they feel like singing, dance when they feel like dancing, strum when they feel like strumming, be exactly who they are at all times, and do it with a free spirit. I want the same for Chris's and my kids, if we are to have any. I can't say one thing and then do another (although I've certainly made a lifetime of trying). So to a certain extent, this project for me has been about fixing the thing that keeps me from being what I keep telling other people I want them to be.

[How's that for a sentence?]

Last note: I will be endeavoring while sober. I overindulged several weeks over the holidays and into January, so i've been purifying my system. I'm on a "cleanse" trend. Initially, I thought, "Well, I'll make an exception for open mic night." But then I decided it would add extra triumph if I just did it stone cold sober (The bartender will be thrilled.). Why use liquid courage if you can just scrounge up the real stuff?

Of course, when you are 36, married, and not drinking, people tend to think you're pregnant. I will make a special t-shirt for the occasion. VACANCY over my abdomen.

So, that's what I got. My next post will be a full report, with possible video, of how it went. It will hopefully not include any barfing.

Peace out.

the yodeling goat sets a date. (patresa)

I'm going to be brief. I think. (I'm kind of crabby and want to go to bed with my book.)


Goal Progress:

1. Practice 10 hours.

Probably. 

2. Practice The Gambler and No One is to Blame until they are fluid and memorized.

Practice, Yes. Fluid, No.

3. Pick a 3rd cover song.

Oh, I don't know. I can't decide. There's a reason I make up my own stuff: I'm not good at playing other people's stuff. The Gambler is cool, but that's for a select audience in a specific mood. I can't just walk in and play that anywhere anytime. This goal makes me want to make a lot of guttural noises and stomp around.

4. Attend an open mic.

Yes, thanks to Super Becky, who managed to prod my butt off the couch at 9:00 p.m. 9:00 p.m. start time! On a school night! Don't they know my sleep schedule? And the first act didn't even go on until 9:30. So I sat there next to Becky--who knew 500 people at the bar--nodding into my beer.

That's a lie. I wasn't nodding into my beer. And Becky didn't know 500 people. Just 3. I was rubbing my sweaty palms on my pants. Just being there and thinking about it made me want to hide. We stayed long enough for 2 people. 2 man people. They were both good. And they both had confidence and didn't seem to actually care any of us were there. I found it intimidating. I feel okay about my voice (although it gets pretty flimsy when I'm all yodeling goat nervous), but I am a really really clumsy guitar player. Really clumsy. Not clean at all. And I have absolutely no clear perspective on whether or not my songs are stupid. Sometimes I play them, and I think, "Hey, look at you! These aren't bad!" And other times I feel riddled with embarrassment that so much corn casserole is in my soul.

I play them for Chris and try to read his reaction. Which isn't really fair. I have never cared whether or not he likes my hair or the clothes I'm wearing. Don't care if he likes something I painted or a poem I wrote. And I have never ever asked him if my butt looks big. But music? That's where I get weak and snively. He knows how uber-sensitive I am about it, how insecure. What's he going to say? Wow, you suck ass, sucker sucka! Of course not. He will point out the things about it that he liked, and then I will infer all the things about it he didn't like (and that the compliments were LIES! all LIES!).

On that note, when it comes to something I feel genuinely insecure about, I have a painfully hard time with compliments. (I cannot think of one single thing that I feel more insecure about than making music in front of Other People. Not one single thing.) If I feel insecure, no matter what you say, I will think you are lying. If I win an award, I will think 99% of the audience watching me win the award is thinking, "I can't believe trash like that won an award." If you compliment me on something very specific ("Oh, I like what you did with that one note there."), I will think you had to work really really hard to find something good to say. It's a no-win situation, really, so most of the time, I wish no one would say anything at all. (And then when you say nothing at all, I will think, "See? They're not saying anything at all! It was so horrible, they probably feel awkward and embarrassed for me!" and I will wish that you would say something.)

Summary: You, as the one tasked with being supportive, are screwed.

5. Scratch out vocals and lyrics to a 4th and naked guitar line I made up a long time ago.

Check! And I like it. It's kind of fun and means nothing. It's about 3 friends at a bar on a Saturday night.

Or is it stupid and worthless? Maybe it's horrible. Ask me tomorrow. Ask me 10 minutes from now. I've already changed my mind.

6. Set a due date. I can't drag this thing out forever. Maybe February?

Thursday, February 3. Lunar New Year. Seems fitting.

I've decided to rip this thing off like a bandaid. I will rip the lid off my soul, strip my psyche naked, fly my freak flag, and several other metaphorical acts that represent vulnerability and possible humiliation. Also, I may barf (not a metaphor).

My goal for the next 14 days is to breathe and not barf and to practice until I suck less.

10-4.

The only way out is through, Sugar. (Patresa)

Welcome back to COFFEE. At the start of a new year, it seems fitting to return to a project like COFFEE, which is all about pushing past perceived limits without being a giant pansy about it. This is a pansy-free zone.


Which is too bad, because I had a major pansy episode yesterday, which I will get to shortly. First… my goals for the last 19 days and my progress toward each:

1. Create a more complete version of The Messenger.

Done. I now have a full song.

Extra Credit A

I have a 2nd full song, "Everything to Me" … about the tendency for us (me) to expect our (my) partner to be everything we (I) want them to be at the exact moment we (I) want them to be that (and then be something entirely different in a split second). It seems kind of foolish to think happiness and fulfillment is something someone else gives you. Ultimately, it seems like a way to shirk responsibility for taking care of ourselves and a recipe for a lifetime of unsatisfying relationships. (For that matter, my current working theory on relationships is that a good partner supports and encourages the other's efforts to self-elevate.)

It's also about kittens and bunnies and puppies.

Extra Credit B

I have a 3rd partial song that has 2 verses and no name. It's in Drop D tuning. It's about a world of despair and death and destruction. (Just kidding.)

2. Figure out at least the verse for No One is to Blame. 

Done. I don't have it memorized, but I can play most of it. Now I just have to practice it. [Eye roll.]

Extra Credit C

I learned The Gambler by Kenny Rogers. The Gambler! I like the idea of playing kind of corny cover songs that everyone knows and no one expects. I grew up listening to a lot of Kenny Rogers and Alabama, and The Gambler was one of my very favorites as a kid. The chords are super crazy easy (G C D). I can't pick them the way he does, but I slowed them down and made the verses into a waltz, and I think once I polish it, it will be kind of cool.

3. Make a list of all the positive things to be gained from this experience. 

I forgot to do this again. Seems like it would be easy enough, right? Ah well. 

4. 10 hours of practice.

Done. At least 10 hours. I've actually been playing a ton the past two weeks. I haven't logged my practice time, but I'm 100% positive I've put in well over 10 hours; and I have the calluses to prove it. I haven't been doing the drills from Professor Chris, but I'm okay with that.

5. Attend an open mic.

I didn't do this. I waited too long to look for open mic schedules, and by the time I found them, clubs were taking breaks for holidays, and the earliest was January 6. So: Des Moines sistas, I'm looking at the Des Moines Social Club (every Thursday) and Ritual Cafe (2nd Thursday of the month). Wanna come? Again: NOT PLAYING! Just observing.

Now then...

My Giant Pansy Episode

by Patresa Hartman

Yesterday I had a giant pansy episode. I told Chris I'd learned The Gambler. He got excited and asked me to play it for him. Since starting the COFFEE project, I've gotten a lot better about playing for Chris. This has felt like progress.

[This is where I take a time-out to emphasize the degree of my fear. Chris's unconditional support is on-par with my parents'. There is absolutely nothing in the world I could do or say or f**k up enough for him to insult me or be embarrassed about or for me. And yet… I get panicked and anxious even to play in front of him. Just him. Alone. In our house. In the living room.]

So, although the same little twitchy ball rolled into my belly, I told myself not to be stupid, and I said, "Sure." So I picked up my guitar and started to play, and for whatever reason, I couldn't hear the song anymore. I couldn't quite remember what I'd done the night before. And the old caged animal returned.

I call it a caged animal, because when it happens, I feel like that's what I become -- like I've been cornered and must ESCAPE! Get out! Get out! I panicked, got wild-eyed, barked "No no no. I can't." Abruptly put the guitar down, shooed him out of the room, and closed the door. I sat down in my red chair and said these exact words: "I quit. This is stupid."

Just like that. Start to finish, it took about 20 seconds.

Chris has seen this 500 times, so it doesn't really affect him anymore, other than he thinks I'm insane and wishes I would get over it.

So after I proclaimed my failure and decided to quit, I picked up my laptop and started to distract myself with mindless activity. But then, my self-mothering voice kicked in. She said, "Now wait a minute. Just take a second. Put that down. Here, give that to me, Dear." 

I closed the laptop.

"Let's think about this," she said.

I pulled my legs up and sat pretzel-legged in my chair.

"Slow it down. String it out. What just happened? And why did it happen?"

I thought about a lot of things, but finally, I called up my old skills as a school psychologist. I analyzed the function of my behavior; that is to say, we learn behavior through a series of either intended or un-intended reinforcements. The function of my behavior was escape. And I was rewarded with escape every time I freaked out, which reinforced the freak outs. So if what I wanted was escape from the task, and every time I freaked out, I got to escape (what I wanted), then… I was teaching myself over and over again to be a freak.

My former school psychologist self said, "You extinguish escape behavior by removing the escape and granting it only when the desired behavior has been performed."

My self-mothering voice said, "The only way out is through, Sugar."

So I picked up my guitar. Plucked through The Gambler once. Retrieved Chris (who, having moved on from my freak out, was very innocently brushing his teeth), said, "Don't let me get away with that crap," and played it for him.

The end. 

(I really do feel like a freak about it. And I really do think someone should give my husband a medal. I must be very strange to live with.)

So my goals for the next 14 days:

1. Practice 10 hours.

2. Practice The Gambler and No One is to Blame until they are fluid and memorized.

3. Pick a 3rd cover song.

4. Attend an open mic.

5. Scratch out vocals and lyrics to a 4th and naked guitar line I made up a long time ago.

6. Set a due date. I can't drag this thing out forever. Maybe February?

What a tool. v-log #2 (Patresa)

I haven't done much the past 10 days (anything I did, I basically pulled out here at the end); but I don't feel too bad about it. I'm not going to shoot any middle fingers. I haven't even been swearing too much. I just decided I needed to "rest."

Here is V-log #2. You may need to turn the sound up or put in headphones, because I was practically whispering. Chris was in the next room, and I feared his ridicule. Really, talking to your laptop is not normal behavior.

Guitar practice time = 4 hours or so. A guesstimation (I've been very unstructured.).

Narrative evidence of progress: I didn't swear very much, and I made helpful observations (see below).

New Song Development: Yes! Today, as a matter of fact. I scratched out the beginnings of The Messenger, and you can see it in the v-log.

Cover Song Development: No. 

Helpful Observations: My frustrations are less about a skill deficit and more about feeling like I have no flow. I rely on this flow for nearly every area of my life. It kind of feels like channeling spirits, and it helps me feel peaceful about tasks. 

When I try too hard, things don't happen. Or they do, but they're clumsy and untrue. Sometimes I sit down to write, and I realize I'm trying too hard to compose. It's not coming easily; it's not enjoyable; and I misrepresent the things in my head. When I feel this happening, I stop and follow these steps:

1. open a new, fresh, blank document

2. inhale, exhale

3. then, depending on my mood I say one of 2 things:

            a. What do you want to say, dear? (Question directed to self.)

            b. What would you like me to say? (Question directed to God, Guides, and The Universe.)

4. write simply and directly.

I can't think of a single time this didn't work. I even do it at work when I'm writing things like quarterly summaries and Quality Assurance plans. "What do you want to say, dear?" Maybe I got that from The Artist's Way; I don't remember. But I do believe that there is universal "material," and that when we are  clear and open, we become vessels for whatever material/product/message needs to be shared. (Which is also why I think that there is really no excuse for arrogance when it comes to art and expression--or ever, actually. You like my words? You like my painting? You like my song? You like what I'm doing here? Cool. It's not really me, though. Kind of like when people compliment me on my name. Awesome. I love it, too. I'll tell my parents.) In this respect, we're all tools.

So, this happens when I write. I can channel.

I can do it with how I interact with people, too. When my mind isn't quiet, and I know that I'm being called on for something important--handling conflict, being supportive, offering solutions--I will stop and take a moment (in my head) and say, "Who do you need me to be right now?" And then, my brain clears. (The problem is that I don't always think to do this. I need to remember more.)

I hope this doesn't make me sound crazy.

Anyway, the point is that I rely a lot on this natural, channeling flow, and with the guitar... it ain't happenin'. When I started this last round, I realized I was trying too hard, so I stopped. Put the guitar away. And focused on something else to reconnect with my flow. I pulled out a canvas and some oil paints and played.

What's nice about painting (for me), is that I genuinely don't care what I produce. It is one of very few things in my life where I truly have not a single expectation for myself. Seriously! (Sometimes I say things like that, and in the back of my head, I am thinking something totally contradictory. But in this case…nope. All of my parts are in agreement.) I am not a painter. I do not aspire to excellence. No piece of my identity is wrapped into what comes out on the canvas. So I play. I like color. I like the smell of paint. I like experimenting with brushes. When I fudge a line, I just shrug and say, "Huh. I guess I'll go that way, then." It's like a road trip with no map, no destination, no annoying passengers, and no schedule. I don't swear when I paint, because I don't get frustrated. For someone like me, who spends 95% of her day spring-loaded and hiding from her imperfections… this is a powerful reprieve. (Writing this has just clarified that I need to paint more often.)

So… Goals...


COFFEE is taking a break and then altering the posting schedule a bit. We'll be breaking Dec. 25-Jan 2. Starting January 3, we'll each post every 2 weeks (with a few little breaks in the middle and at the end of a round). So… 

Goals for the next 19 days:

1. Create a more complete version of The Messenger (see v-log).

2. Figure out at least the verse for No One is to Blame. (Will this to-do item ever go away?)

3. Make a list of all the positive things to be gained from this experience. (I forgot to do this.)

4. 10 hours of practice.

5. Attend an open mic. Note: I did not say PLAY at an open mic. I said "attend." I should start scouting these things to see how they work. Like a shark circling a wounded pelican. I'm the shark. The nameless audience is the wounded pelican. Watch out.

my middle finger (Patresa)

I kind of want to give the last 10 days my middle finger. But it is 10:30 p.m. the night before my COFFEE post is due, and I am very tired. Plus, I am leaving for Chicago in the morning. I will drive straight east for 6 hours tomorrow morning, and I do not want to crash, all because I wore myself out flipping the universe the bird the night before.

Guitar practice time. = 4 hours. I fell 1 hour short of the 5 hour goal.

More travel this past week. More travel this weekend. And I have another week out after that. I do not like to hear myself whine. It's foolish and ungrateful. I like my job. I like that I have a job. I like that I have opportunities to leave my government issue cubicle to do my job and to live my life (e.g., Washington D.C. for a work conference; Chicago to meet my friend's baby). 

Also… (I once heard Dr. Phil say that the word "but" reverses everything you just said. For example, I love you, but you stink says, "I don't love you, because you stink." So we should use "and" and its derivatives instead. I love you, and you stink says, "I love you even when you stink.") 

As I was saying…

Also.. I have a very hard time with too much Go. It simply isn't my design to be constantly "on" and in motion. I am not a multi-tasker. My ends fray and my thoughts fragment. I can't sustain this kind of momentum. Some people can. I can't. 

So, there is that.

Narrative evidence of progress: Well, crap. I don't know. Chris gave me a new exercise -- the blues scale up and down the neck. It makes musical sense in a way the previous exercises didn't. So I prefer the blues scale. Plus, the intervals cover more space, so it takes less time. Really, I simply cannot tolerate being inconvenienced by work. (That was a joke.)

New Song Development: My goal was to scratch out a vocal line for an original. I did not. 

I have reached the "f*ck it" stage of progress. Sadly, this is where I live a lot of the time. It is my back yard. In this stage, I start to notice that everything I produce, every chord progression, every [whatever else I don't have the lingo to properly identify], starts to sound like the one before. Everything sounds stupid and amateurish, and I hate it all. I lose my joy in the process. I start to wonder why I'm even bothering. Who gives a crap? This goal doesn't matter. Play at an open mic? Seriously? What's the point?

Answer: The point, Angel Face, is to not limit your experiences because of chicken-shit-itis. If there is something I want to do, and I find myself thinking up reasons to not do it (e.g., "There is no point to it."), it probably means I'm suffering from chicken-shit-itis, which is a dumb and treatable disease.

The other part of the f*ck it stage... I start thinking about my next project. I have two lined up: (1) learning to sew and design clothes; and (2) a story writing venture, which would take too long to explain. Neither of these things scare me. So the fact that my brain right now is saying, "Oh, these are better projects, Honey. You just picked the wrong project, Sweetheart. Drop this singing and songwriting silliness and pick something that's better suited for you, Pumpkin."

I've noticed this about myself -- that my escape from a dissatisfying present reality (for whatever reason… my imperfections, falling short of expectations, whatever) is to plan and fantasize about a future. It doesn't take long to completely detach from where I am and what I'm doing. I drift away into hypothetical possibility and lose progress. This is frustrating to me, and I would like to fix this pattern.

You know, overall, the last 10 days have really solidified something I already knew: the importance of stillness to creativity. Stillness is clarifying, scoops out the muck. I have always enjoyed being alone. It's energizing. I cannot be creative without stillness. Can anyone? I can't express anything in a way that's genuine with so much junk in my trunk. And stillness isn't necessarily "quiet" in terms of volume.  I can be still in a crowd. I think stillness is just time to exist without expectations (others' or own). So important for so many reasons.

Cover Song Development: I chose No One is to Blame by Howard Jones. I love this song. I love these lyrics. And I could not figure out the blasted chords to save my life. I just couldn't find them on the guitar. I was just about to scrap the song completely when this morning I decided to cheat. With the help of the google machine, I found a ridiculously simplified version of the chords. Like, shamefully simple. Like, E A D, simple, for those in the know. Seriously? E A D? I couldn't find that? That's the equivalent of… "Oh, golly gee. What's that word for the thing that you put on top of your head when it's cold? Oh! Right! Hat." (No offense to anyone suffering brain injury or just learning English.)

Goals for the next 10 days:

1. Log another 4 hours of practice time. (I'm in town only 5 of the next 10 days. I will not be flying to D.C. on a work trip with my guitar stowed in the overhead compartment. So… I seriously doubt I'll get 5 hours.)

2. Scratch out a better vocal line for an original. I will do this by recording the guitar parts of a few songs before I leave. I can work on vocal lines in my hotel room. My hotel neighbors will be very appreciative, I'm sure.

3. Figure out at least the verse for No One is to Blame. (Because I didn't do it the last 10 days.)

4. Make a list of all the positive things to be gained from this experience. (Because I'm forgetting. The f*ck it stage trips a short in my memory.)

5. Eat some cookies. (Because they are delicious.)

Chris Says. (Patresa)

Guitar practice time. = 4 hours with a BUT. It is 7:40 p.m. Tuesday night. Although at this exact moment, I have only practiced 4 hours, I will practice at least another 30 minutes tonight before I go to bed. So… by the time you read this, I will have fallen only 30 minutes shy of my 5 hour goal. I'm good with that. 


Of the 10 days since my last post, I have spent 5 on the road. In fact, I just got home from two days out. I actually considered taking my guitar with me, but... Tooling around Iowa in a state-marked vehicle with my guitar sticking up in the backseat? No… the governor would get calls. (The governor already gets calls when state-marked vehicles are parked at malls.)

I've been doing my soul-sucking drills. (I think my soul is still okay. I've been keeping track.) I do feel a little difference even just after 2 weeks. They still frustrate me. It takes 20 minutes to get through all the variations. And when I bobble the notes, I want to throw objects at other objects. I have very low tolerance for frustration. Very low. But Chris says (all my posts will now be re-titled "Chris Says -1," "Chris Says-2," "Chris Says-3"…) that after another couple of weeks of this round of drills, he'll show me a new set. Chris Says… "You have to walk before you run, Grasshopper." Whatever. Eye roll.

Narrative evidence of progress: I just deleted the rabbit ears I put around the word progress. I'm not going to take a poop on it. It really was progress, although I got pretty frustrated this week. Here is why:

a. I broke a string for the very first time. I've been playing the guitar for the past 8 years. But I played it sheepishly and quietly and with little commitment. I think it took me 8 years to bust my first string because I played too hesitantly. I'm playing with a little more oomph now. So… I decided the busted string was progress, and I felt pretty badass about it.

b. But then I had to restring my guitar. Chris taught me a long time ago. (Chris Says) I'd done it a few times, but the last few years, I've always managed to get Chris to do it for me. I mean, people PAY him to set up their guitars; why would I not have him do mine? Now that I've decided to stop being a giant pansy, I figure I should do this myself. So I did. It was frustrating. Slow. Clumsy. It took me an hour and a half. I swore a lot, and I drew blood when I pinched my hand with the wire cutters. Then… I started to tune and realized I had put on the wrong strings. THE WRONG STRINGS, for crying out loud! I'd grabbed a set of "mistake" strings--leftovers from an accidental purchase (I accidentally bought 12-string guitar strings a while back.). I admit: I cried. I cry when I'm tired and frustrated. Terribly embarrassing. Chris stifled his laughter and then offered to restring it. But… I refused on account of my pride.

I took a break. I went out and got a haircut and confessed to Rona, Hair Goddess, that I really hoped by the time I got home, Chris would have restrung it for me out of pity. He did not. (Damn you, Chris, for not being an enabler!) So, I restrung my guitar AGAIN and with the correct strings. It's all better. Progress.

Scheduled free time: You know what? Screw this. I mean, really. What was I thinking? It's f-ing free time, P. FREE.

New Song Development: One morning I found a really cool vocal line to go with some scratchy lyrics of one of my new songs. I played it through a few times and was really excited about it. Then I had to go to work. 8.5 hours later I returned home and could not for the life of me recall the rhythm or vocal line. This burned my buns. (Damn you, State of Iowa!)

Cover Song Development: My goal was to pick one and get started. I had 4 in mind:

1. The Passenger by Iggy Pop, 

2. Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) -- Nancy Sinatra's (I don't remember who did it originally.),

3. No One is to Blame by Howard Jones, and

4. …. I dont remember the 4th, but it may have been from the Indigo Girls (predictably).

I picked No One is to Blame. I think this is such a cool song. It's piano-driven, but I can hear a really cool acoustic guitar version in my head. The problem, as I'm finding it, is that I can't get what I hear in my head to come out through my fingers. Chris could do it in 5 minutes (Chris Says), but I should be able to do this myself, so I'm not asking him for help. I worked on it one night and wanted to punch somebody in the face. If I were at the piano, I could do it fairly easily. The piano makes sense to me; it's linear; I know what I'm playing; I can hear something in my head, and I know where to find it in the keys. The guitar doesn't make sense to me. It's too layered, and the intervals seem inconsistent. I don't understand what I'm doing. I don't know where the sounds are. It makes me really mad, and then I swear, beat on my strings, and say horribly degrading things to myself. Really, the things I say to myself… I would never in a million years say them to another living soul. (We really must be kinder to the people we see in our mirrors. They are such good, well-meaning people.)

Goals for the next 10 days:

1. Log another 5 hours of practice time.

2. Scratch out a better vocal line for an original.

3. Figure out at least the verse for No One is to Blame.

4. Create new swear words to replace the ones I've been overusing this week.

Now, I will go practice. While I'm doing that, here's Howard Jones. You should consider his haircut.