I recently acquired a lot of new music, on vinyl and CD. My mother moved out of the house we’d lived
in since 1958, and gave me a lifetime’s collection. The vinyl included some iconic recordings from my
childhood. There are albums from Jonathan Winters, Frank Sinatra, and the Baja Marimba Band, not to
mention Beethoven and Bach.
For years, I’ve asserted that a poem is not complete until it’s read aloud. I blame it on Aristotle. A poem can sit, in a book, on the shelf, unopened, gathering dust, and eventually die in the used-book bin. Or, it can leap boldly into action, sing and dance, and live forever. ..
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You Write WHERE?
David Mamet’s collection of essays entitled WRITING IN RESTAURANTS inspired me to write just about everywhere. Like the pervert-preacher in MIDNIGHT COWBOY, I’ve written on rooftops, I’ve written in bus stations, I’ve written in brothels.
In the interest of full disclosure: Mamet argues that radio is a great training ground for writers, so, perhaps he is not to be trusted.
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