Writing with Rox WEEKLY—Good Folks, Good Times

Ever since I was seven, when Ma hauled me and my brother off to Northern Californian for four weeks to go to the coolest summer camp ever (it was a win-win situation!), I've loved sing-alongs. There was something about sitting beneath all those shady apple trees in the heat of the summer and singing about love in my bell bottoms and tie-dyed sunshine t-shirts that has stayed with me and likely, had always been a part of me, even long before summer camp. Somewhere deep within the timelessness of the human body, mine recognized and rejoiced in the rise, fall, and resolution of a good solid folk song. My heart hung on the story lines, memorizing the words and melodies, singing and living through them each time as though the first.

  Let me tell you the story about a man named Charlie on this tragic and fateful day...

Though some of my counselors were hippie strange and even though I had no idea what most of the songs meant and I  likely botched the lyrics (as I do so today), the magic of the singing together ran way deeper than anything I could ever have put into words back home without making it sound, as my LA friends back home would say, "lame" or "gay," as this was the mentality I was dealing with back then, back home,  before either of these words meant what they really mean.  I think because  it was such a contrast to life in LA— to the hustle and bustle of disco, fast red cars, movie making, fast talking, deal making, etc—song singing was a welcome slower pace, a sort of peace that I never knew, but must have longed for... When we sang together I felt a belonging to the entire world, unlike at home where my latchkey years were devoid of any consistent source of community.

but he couldn't get off of that train...

Well, fast forward 30 years and I've come home once again to the sing-along. Many fortunate and coincidental and surprising things have granted me the good life where I am able to spend much of my free time playing music with others and singing. Don't ask me how, but I've even been lucky enough to go along with Two Cute Face, a real musician, on a few singalong gigs for 55+ communities.  What I've discovered in singing (or writing, for that matter) with others is how much I hear consistently how much "we need this."  Last week after singing, one of the elders approached us afterwards and said, "There are so many bad things going on in the world, but singing is good. We need to sing." This of course opens up similar feedback, as well as stories about growing up and singing Blue Moon when the sheet music was hot off the press and delivered to your classroom and nothing could be better.

Lately I've heard a few people make a similar declaration: the world is in big doody trouble, but (fill in the blank) is good. As long as there is (fill in the blank) life's not so bad after all. In fact, my son's circus teacher (is that what they are called?) announced this to a roomful of nervous parents about to see their child dangle and clown and climb and swing for a paying crowd; at the beginning of the show he said something to the tune of: Everyone says life is so bad these days, but here at the circus, life is pretty darn great. We have a great time. 

I find these finally carved and well lived declarations of insight so moving. And so crucial, especially given these quick-paced times where genuine community is endangered. These declarations hit me like hope, like powerful cinema, and I can hear the natural swelling of music in the earth as I take in the wisdom of said optimism.

As writers, especially memoir, we need to balance the dark and drama with the light and celebratory.


What do you see that's "good"?  How do you complete the sentence "The world is in big doody trouble, but                           is good! Better yet, or                                                                                                            

                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

                                                                                                             

                                                                                                             ... is good!"

  

And you know what? If you don't know, maybe that is good, too.



And speaking of not knowing, please join me for my upcoming March Workshop at the Beach WRITING INTO THE UNKNOWN  SATURDAY March 22, 2014 9:30am-1pm. What's gonna happen? Who knows, but we'll start with six words and go from there. Where?  We'll go where no one has gone before on the page... linger in the unknown and witness how the unknown lends suspense and depth to the page, and our  lives. Email or call to register. Limited to 6!