My regular readers know I’m working on a novel series branded as Dance Floor Wars, and that I’m pushing Durden Kell as the John Le Carré of Love.
My regular readers also know I’m writing songs to go with those books and the movies that will follow. It’s called planning for Multiple Streams of Income.
You know what they say, right?
Go big or go home.
But something interesting happens when I talk of these plans. Other writers get mad at me. They get so mad they splutter. They trip over their words. They stomp their feet. They lean forward in their chairs and point accusing fingers at me. They grind their fists into their palms. They stop talking to me.
Some have said I have not paid enough dues, whatever in the hell that means…and they can’t explain it either.
Some have said I don’t have the right to think along the lines of a series of novels and movies and so forth. They say things like “Only highly successful authors can do something like this, Angela!” and “No agent or publisher is going to want to sign you if you keep acting like that!” Though that is never quantified, either.
I have watched and heard all this for many years and still find it fascinating.
I tell them that, when I played the game according to the rules laid out so carefully for me in Writer’s Marketplace and from all those peachy panelists, I got nowhere fast. So playing by the rules others make is not helpful, either. Hmmmm…
So I stopped playing by those rules.
Anyway, for your pleasure, here’s part of one song called “Ain’t Driving to the Promised Land”. Each line is a four-count measure:
Gm White sheets covered in
Gm Body laying upon the
Gm No need to hurry, he’s
Eb Looks like the suspect has
Am Who is he? Why is he here?
Bb Where is the weapon? Motive’s unclear.
Am What do we know? Keys in his hand, but
Eb he ain’t driving to the promised
Gm Oh. No.
X DRUMS ONLY
X DRUMS ONLY