On Writing 4: Writers should expect to get paid

In a diary entry for the 22nd of June, 1989, I noted: 

Yesterday I received $25 in the post from The Mouthpiece magazine ˗ it's about eleven months since I last wrote to them, and received a favourable reply, and a cheque in answer to my cheeky request. I'd read in the 1987 Writers' Yearbook that a cheeky writer had requested money for his work from a magazine that supposedly never paid, and had received a cheque. So I thought it was good enough for me too!

In today's money $25 is about $60, so this wasn't too bad a fee for a spec piece of writing. Furthermore, the editor had told me when I first sent them a piece that they 'didn't pay writers.' Yet, with a bit of cheek, I managed to receive payment each time I wrote for this non-profit magazine. 

The Mornington Brass Band which became the
St Kilda Brass Band in 1912.
(I've played for its soloists on a number of occasions)

The Mouthpiece was produced for brass band players in New Zealand. I should say 'is produced' since a quick look online shows that there are editions dated 2018. 

This is a prime example of the way in which a fledgling writer can get published, and get paid for it. I'd had enough experience with brass bands - as an accompanist to soloists competing in the brass band competitions - to be able to put together a few humorous articles, all of which were accepted over a period of two or three years. 

There's another lesson here: editors of small magazines that have a limited audience are always on the lookout for good material. Why? Because most writers who are earning bigger money don't need the few bucks that a little magazine can offer, and so don't write for them. Plus they don't get a lot of kudos writing for a magazine that focuses on a limited market. 

And equally, a lot of writers start out think they should only aim for the big magazines. Which will prove disheartening, because there are already plenty of writers working for them.

Small magazines are good for newbies, and also for those who can quickly turn their hands to a one-off piece. (Which of course you may be able to revamp for some other outlet.)

Music in my books...Not

I was just thinking how curious it is that there's hardly any mention of music in my four published books: the two most recent ones: The Disenchanted Wizard and The Blood Secret don't even mention the subject; there's one brief mention of it in Grimhilda!, and three passing ones in Diary of a Prostate Wimp. This is surprising to me, now, because music is as much a part of my life as writing. I've played piano for more than sixty years, and been involved in a lot of amateur shows as well as accompanying soloists in competitions and concerts. I was even a professional musician for a couple of years.

The old journal from the 90s that I'm typing onto the computer, however, has lots of references to the music work I was doing at the time, sometimes quite long sections, as when I was describing a trip to Wellington with the St Kilda Brass Band, where I not only accompanied some of the soloists in the solo competitions, but also played a percussion instrument in the full band's competitions.

Plainly, in the next book I write - if there is one - I'll have to be include music a good deal more, to make up for the lack of it elsewhere in my writing.

Photo courtesy of Pixabay

I'm more of a old-school pianist, and play classics and popular music from the earlier part of the 20th century in preference to more recent stuff. (So I don't have much interest in bass guitars at musiciansfriend.com.) But one of the teachers I play for about once a month has introduced me to more recent popular music, from shows I'd never heard of until I came to play a piece from them (such as Matilda). My education is sadly lacking in knowing what shows are current on the big stages these days, or what movies appeal to kids so much that they have to sing the songs from them. (Moana and Frozen, for example.)

Anyway, it's good to learn new things, and to contend with the trickier rhythms in these 21st century songs. Talking of new things, I'm working hard to learn how to play the vocal score of a new opera that's going to be performed here in Dunedin, in July. It's called War Hero, with music composed by John Drummond, who's written a number of short and full-length operas, several of which have been performed here, and even had their premieres here. This will be the premiere of War Hero as well.

It has an all male cast, which is probably not surprising, since it's set in the First World War, and it deals with the well-known pacifist, Archibald Baxter, and the virtual torture he went through because of his beliefs. I think it'll be a powerful piece on stage. The music isn't too difficult, now that I'm getting the harmonic world into my head. But it doesn't take concentration!

Brass comps

I'm playing for the National Brass Band Competitions next week, in Invercargill. At the moment there are two contestants playing one of my favourite brass pieces. Variations on a Welsh Theme by Peter Kneale. I've written about this piece before on this blog, and possibly I've written about it at some other time as well!  The great satisfaction about this piece is that the piano part is as interesting as the soloist's. That's not entirely unusual in brass band solos, but this one in particular is a delight to play.

Another contestant is playing Mace by Philip Sparke, a conductor and prolific composer whose music is played everywhere brass players play. Mace has a lovely slow melody opening the piece, but then it goes crazy. As far as I can make out it was originally written for soloist and piano, rather than soloist and band. The soloist has a hectic part in the fast section, with hardly room to breathe, and a massive cadenza.The pianist doesn't really have anything like as much to do, except make sure he or she keeps up: there's a constant shifting between 2/4 and 3/4 and counting beats (for me, anyway) is a major task. There are only a couple of awkward spots, one with impossible to play thirds. The rest of the time it's a matter of making sure you and the soloist stay together. It'll be interesting.

Another player is doing a piece called Concerto No 1 for Tuba and orchestra (although the soloist here is a bass trombonist). It's by Alexej Lebedjew, another prolific composer, especially for the tuba. This accompaniment, interestingly enough, even though it was composed for orchestra, sits under the pianist's hands very well. There are some nasty moments but in general it's more pianistic in style than orchestral. Perhaps the composer rewrote it himself for piano, rather than someone just transcribing it from the orchestral score. It's a big play and I'll probably leave the soloist behind while I'm enjoying myself...

There are some other pieces which are more traditional in style: the old thing of the pianist just having to keep hammering away while the soloist does all the fiddly bits. They have their place, but it's good that modern composers have moved well away from this style.

Flute

I would think that someone who was a beginner was probably also 'new', but I found this tautological phrase in an advertisement today: new beginner flute at WWBW. WWBW stands for The Woodwind and Brasswind. Yup, that's it: I presume the word 'shop' is assumed at the end, as, The Woodwind and Brasswind shop.  I can't say I've ever heard of the word, Brasswind, before either, though I guess it's a fair enough description of the instruments used in a brass band.

I've just rethought the 'new' - perhaps it refers to the flute, rather than the beginner.  Could be!

Accompanying and pianos

Due to a fellow-accompanist having a serious problem with one of his eyes, and needing to rest for a few weeks, I've inherited a bunch of accompaniments for the upcoming Cleveland Awards on Sunday week, and the junior singing competitions a couple of weeks later.  On top of that I'm going to be rehearsing with a clarinettist (not the same one as last year) whose usual accompanist is away for several weeks.

Suddenly having to learn a bunch of pieces, some of which are actually making me work.  It's very good for me, but it's a serious intrusion into my otherwise quiet and moderately-paced life as a retired person.

One thing about accompanying singers in these situations is that it's all acoustic: we don't have any of the difficulties of dealing with amplifiers (one of our major bugbears at church) or M-Audio microphones or the like.  Acoustic is good.  You come to appreciate it more and more when you have to deal with a battery of techno gear, much of which refuses to work as it should because it's been plugged in where it doesn't want to be.  And so on.

On the other hand, in favour of something technical: during the winter I tend to practice on the electronic piano we bought for the musical last year.  I can do that in a warmer part of the house: the baby grand is on the cold side of the house, in a room that only gets sun in the later part of the afternoon (which means, in winter, not a long patch of sun at all).  The only tricky thing about this is that I've felt for some time that there was perhaps a slight difference in width of the keys on the electronic piano as compared to the baby grand.  It turns out to be fractional, but I'm sure it makes a difference!  As a pianist I should be used to pianos in all shapes and sizes, and I've certainly played some doozies in my time: ones with missing notes, or notes that stick, or ivory broken or gone completely; ones that are plainly out of tune, or haven't been tuned in many moons, ones that have no 'give', or no depth, or no volume, or no guts.

And then of course there have been some beauties.  While in New Plymouth for the Brass Band solo competitions last week, I played on three very nice pianos.  One was the grand in the hall where the Slow Melody contest was held.  It was a delight. and unfortunately I didn't get another opportunity to use it.  The other two pianos, both uprights, one that we practised on and one that was the performance piano, were both good quality with no flaws.  It makes a huge difference when you're playing for a competition; nothing is more off-putting than having to deal with a piano's 'issues' while trying to do your best for a soloist!

Accompanying at the Comps

I used to accompany young singers (from beginners right up to seniors) in the local singing Competitions.  I did this for quite a number of years until I just couldn't take it anymore.  It's hard work: you have to keep the tempi of dozens of songs in your head, and have to remember any changes that have been made to what's on the page, and often you'd go straight from accompanying one child to accompanying another without any time to think about what the piece was that you were playing.  And in some cases you'd have the singing teacher hissing at you from the wings if the tempo wasn't quite up to scratch, or if you didn't seem to be doing quite what they wanted...

Of course you had a rehearsal with all these kids.  One rehearsal for each child and for each piece.   You'd  also have the music in hand a week or two before so you could practice it.  And truth to be told, most of the pieces were a doddle to play, since they were geared at little kids.

The seniors' music was a different kettle of fish, though usually things weren't quite so pressurised with their competitions. You didn't feel constantly rushed.  On the other hand the music could be quite complicated, and required you to actually practise the stuff.  That was no problem, and enjoyable, and often very satisfying.   I accompanied some very fine young singers over the years, a number of whom have gone on to much bigger things.

Anyway, I haven't done the singing comps for some time, apart from maybe playing for one or two singers who happened to come my way for some particular reason.  I'm due to accompany a young fellow next week, for instance, at the senior comps.  Just one person.

I've very rarely accompanied instrumentalists in the instrumental comps.  This is a different kettle of fish again.  (That's three kettles so far.)  I think the last time I did I accompanied an instrumentalist (apart from the Brass Band competitions, which are a fourth kettle of fish) was more than twenty years ago.  I can't even remember now who I accompanied, or what instrument they played.

However, I got asked recently if I'd accompany a young clarinettist (she's in Year 13 at school) for this year's comps.  The connection was that she'd been in the orchestra for Grimhilda! (as had her mother).  Only in that orchestra this talented young lady had played the violin while her mother played the clarinet!  (Confused?)

I was happy to do this.  And then I saw the music.   One of the pieces was fairly straightforward: a movement from a Weber clarinet concerto with an orchestral reduction.  The reduction was, overall, readable and manageable.  I just needed to do some work on the scales that ran helter-skelter down the keyboard in a couple of places, and do a bit of jiggling with a bar which would be fine if you were a string player, but which doesn't fit under pianistic hands at all.  So I rewrote it in a way that I could actually manage without falling over.

But then there were two of the Gershwin Preludes for Piano transcribed as pieces for Clarinet and Piano.  Do they let the pianist off the hook?  Not at all.  Perhaps there are fewer notes, but there are some real 'moments' when you're leaping about the place or trying to fit a tricky rhythm into what seems to be an inordinately short space of time.  I have really, really had to practice these.  And they last less than a couple of minutes each.

Then there was the Jazz Variations on a theme of Paganini by Michael Garson.  This is easy, overall - for the pianist - the clarinettist has notes going off in every direction. Check out these two youngsters playing it with insouciance.  The jazz rhythms aren't anything to get your hair in a frizz about.  But one stretch of about eight bars when the clarinet and the pianist's right hand play exactly the same thing is a bit of a killer: sixteen semiquavers to the bar, at speed, involving some really interesting turns and twists. (I have practised this five thousand times. I'm sure I have.) This actually came off very well in our performance.  We stayed together beautifully - although I don't know when the clarinettist breathed.  I'm not sure that I breathed either.

Finally there was another Weber: the first movement of his Grand Duo Concertant.  When I first looked at this I thought, this is (sort of) okay.  It probably doesn't go very fast.  And then I watched a video on You Tube and discovered that it does go very fast. [Here's one example of several.] And keeps on going fast except for a few bars when either the clarinettist or the pianist take a slight breather.  (There are more of these moments for the clarinettist than the pianist.)

I had to work.  My fingers felt as though they'd gone back to the 50s or 60s when they were practising for a major exam.  The only difference was that they're no longer as flexible as they were, and the brain doesn't fire as fast as it once did, and what, in the past, would happen almost without me thinking about it, doesn't happen any more.  I have to think.  I have to tell the fingers what to do (they seem to have lost their ability to just get on with it.)  I have to say, Yes, we will practise this bit until you get it right.  And even then, having got it right, they forget what they did yesterday and we have to start all over again.

They respond (a little sarcastically) that it's good for me.  I haven't been impressed with anyone telling me this since I was a youth, when my best friend used to say it regularly.  But they're right; it has been good for me to do some real solid practise, as I haven't been playing anything that stretched me since we finished the Grimhilda! rehearsals, apart from four piano pieces I wrote after the production was over that have sections in them that require me to do some work.

Besides the young artist I was playing for, there were a number of other talented musicians: one violinist was the sister of the young man who conducted Grimhilda!; deservedly, she won both the sections I saw her perform in.  Another violinist was the young man who played the Parrot in Grimhilda! - connections all over.  (And this morning the young man who did the lighting for the show turned up at the competitions, even though he was supposed to be in Australia.)

There was a pianist who played one of his own compositions - a theme and variations from his piano sonata.  It a very good piece, full of intricacies, fun, jazz, noise, crashes and bangs and such huge chords towards the end that I didn't think there'd be anything left of the piano for me to play when it came to my turn.  And he played it with enormous verve and confidence.  I'd be happy to have half the confidence he's got, but sadly my confidence just has to gird its loins these days and do its utmost.  It isn't there like it was in the old days.

There were also a couple of boys of Asian parentage (both brought up in New Zealand by the sound of it) who played the piano.  One played a piece called Cat and Mouse, by Aaron Copland.  This was a delight, though I'm not sure if the mouse survived or not.  The other boy played a piece by a Japanese composer (I think - I didn't have a programme).  This was a seemingly simple piece, halting and emotional, and wonderfully played.

The worst thing about the competitions is how few people attend.  The audiences while I was there consisted mostly of parents, some relatives, and a few teachers.  At one point there were no more than ten people in the audience.  This is a crying shame, because not only are the ticket prices very reasonable, you get to hear some excellent performances by young people on their way up in the music world.  And you get to hear some music that's unfamiliar.  Even if I'm not playing for anyone next year, I think I'll go along just to hear what the local kids are doing.  It's well worth it.

A win...and a loss

I've been in Sydney over the weekend, playing for a brass band soloist at a competition called the Ern Keller International Soloist of the Year - the details in the link relate to last year.  Obviously they'll be updated soon, and show that the person I played for (and who took me to Sydney specially to do so!) - John Lewis - won.  Great excitement.   John was the Champion of Champions in the brass competitions for 2011, a title which made him eligible for an invitation to the Ern Keller.

The competition was held in St Mary's suburb in Sydney, where the St Mary's Brass Band has a club that functions all the year round with concerts and a casino and pokies and restaurants and much more.  It's the sort of thing most brass bands probably dream of, because it brings in income that assists the band to function.  Our motel was just across the road - literally.

The weather was much hotter than I'm used to, so it was good that the competition was held indoors in an air conditioned hall, one that's obviously used for other functions where drinks and nibbles are readily available.  The piano was a bit of a disappointment: it seemed muted somehow.  I could only just get it to come to life and no more.  Never mind, in spite of that, the trip was most worthwhile.  And we managed to get away on the plane yesterday in spite of the fact that the terrific storm the night before (with lightning and thunder every few seconds) flooded parts of the Sydney airport, and a good deal of other places.

This is a photo taken around the time
I knew Elizabeth

That's the win.  While I was there, I heard about the loss.  I've mentioned before on this blog that back in the late sixties I was briefly engaged to the opera singer Elizabeth Connell, who was at that time studying at the London Opera Centre; I'd been studying there the year before on the repetiteur's course.  It would have been an interesting marriage, if it had gone ahead: after a difficult start in the operatic world, Elizabeth made a name for herself as singer of roles that required considerable stamina and vocal technique.  She excelled in some of the Wagnerian roles, for instance, and in Turandot, one of the most difficult soprano roles in the repertoire.   When I knew her she was a mezzo-soprano, but she later took time off to lift her voice into the soprano range.   She was briefly married to another singer, but this marriage was later dissolved.

I hadn't heard from her in years, until she wrote to me out of the blue in the early 2000s.  We corresponded a little and I tried to get her email address via her agent so that we could write more directly, but I never heard back from them.   She came out here to judge one of the Lexus aria contest, and we thought about going to the Dunedin concert that came after the event, and then decided against it at the last minute.  Which meant we missed catching up with Elizabeth.

When I was in Sydney this weekend, my wife phoned to say that Elizabeth had died; somewhat suddenly, although she'd been ill with cancer on and off for some time.  She would have been 66 this year.  Even though it's been a long time since we had any real contact, it's still a quite unsettling loss.  I guess people you didn't get married to linger on in the background of your life.  Certainly, on hearing of her death, Elizabeth proved that she had lingered more than a little...

PS: There's a news report about John's win in the Otago Daily Times.

Next week and then after

Concert's now only a week away - less in fact, since it's on Saturday - and the artists all seem pretty much up with the play. I'm getting to the point where I don't feel I can do any more with the piano pieces I play; if I don't get some things right now, I probably never will, but I'll need to keep practicing anyway. That's the problem with writing music that has passages in it that are just a bit beyond your own capability!

As for after the concert, well, I've got another play coming up, one that was to have gone on late last year, but didn't make it for various reasons: some health issues, as far as I recall. This one's A Christmas Carol, and I'm playing a couple of parts (as are some of the other actors): Marley's Ghost, and Mr Fezziwig (or is it Fizziweg? can never remember). The cast includes people from both When We Are Married and The Diary of Anne Frank, so it's kind of being amongst family.

What after that? I'd like to get on and finish the Children's Opera I started writing way back in the 70s, and which I've added some more to over the last few years. What's been holding me up was a lack of libretto. I did a kind of synopsis about a year ago, and things have stalled again since then. So I really need to sort this out.

I'd like to see if the three movements for brass band can get a play through. I've talked this over with a couple of the players from the St Kilda Band. It's up to me at this stage to go further with this, and I just need to get myself into gear, print out a full score, the parts and go from there.

And something else - something that I've already started on: while I was going through all the problems related to my prostate op late last year and early this year, I wrote a number of posts on another blog, WorkReport.net. Sometime after most of the hassle was over, I got an email from someone who was going through something similar, saying that the posts had helped him get some perspective on things. So I'm planning on turning the posts into an e-book, with some additional comments. I'm not sure how I go about putting an e-book out there, but we'll be working on it. (The link on WorkReport is a typical sample of the posts that were being written about this time. )

Songs finished

Yesterday, amongst other things, I finished the set of eight songs to words by Peter Olds. I've been working on these since April, so it's good to have them done. I had a particular singer in mind when I wrote them, but I get the feeling she's not interested in doing them, as I've had no responses either to an email I sent a while back or to a note on Facebook. Might have to find someone else!
I've been writing music this year with the intention of doing another concert, as I've no doubt mentioned previously, and was pleasantly surprised to discover over the last couple of days that I had several other songs that would be suitable. I'd written three children's songs back in 2000 that have never been performed, as far as I know, plus a song that did get one performance in 2006; another that was written at the same time, that didn't get any performance - at least I've never heard that it did, and two other songs to the same set of words. These were written for a couple who wanted to be able to sing a poem they enjoyed reciting to their toddler at that time. I wrote a slow version and a fast one. What's happened to them since, I don't know.
Anyway, with those six songs, the eight Peter Olds ones, the four piano pieces, another song called The Cockerel and the waltz I wrote for my wife, I've got a fair amount of material for a concert. Might need to have a few other things - perhaps an instrumental piece - to round the thing out and give a bit of variety. I have been writing instrumental music - suite for Brass Band, and a string quartet, and a suite for cor anglais and strings, but I can't see any of these getting performed in a rush. What I need is an impresario to look after my 'marketing'. It's something I'm not good at.

The fancy-looking cockerel was photographed by SteveB

What I've been up to

So what have I been doing on the creative front for the last couple of weeks?
Rehearsals for the Narnia play have been in full swing since mid-June, so there’s a couple of those a week; I’ve done some tidying up on the three Brass Band movements I wrote earlier in the year, particularly on the third movement, the fastest of the three. The ending of it hadn’t satisfied me for a while, and finally I cut out a chunk completely, bringing two sections together (with a small amount of connecting material), and then added about twenty bars at the end consisting of previously used music in a slightly different guise. At the moment I’m a lot more satisfied with it.
However, when you aren’t satisfied with something it isn’t always easy to see what the basic problem is. Someone else might come along and say, ‘Here, the problem wasn’t the end, but this bit of rubbish in the middle.’ Well, for the moment I think it was the end that was the problem, so that’s what I’ve fixed.
I’m going to go back to the two movements I wrote for a string quartet too, and start to do some serious work on revising those. One of them works pretty well, but again I’m not entirely sure that I’m comfortable with the ending, which could be said to peter out. That may be fine, but I’ll need to think some more about it. Usually what happens is I look at it and look at it and can’t see what I need to do to get it right and then go off and do something else (like sleep) and the answer will arrive.
I need to finish the Peter Olds songs too – I’ve written five of them and there are still three to go.
So plenty of work on the horizon!

Powerless

Spent Friday and Saturday night playing on and off at the Presbyterian Synod AGM. This involved several stints of playing hymns and other worship music for the various services that were held during the evening and day, as well as accompanying two or three singers (singing together) as entertainment during the meal, and presenting the world premiere of the three piano pieces I’ve written this year.

Playing these in public didn’t add anything to my savings accounts as yet, but at least it gave me a chance to test the water on the pieces and the general reaction was good. I found it harder to play them at this event, because the piano was one of those old uprights that had been put on large castors – the better to move it, my dear. However this meant that the pedals were way off the floor, and I needed a couple of chairs to sit at the thing, which didn’t give me the sort of security I have when playing on the wide piano stool at home. I wasn’t very happy with the performances, but several people came and talked about them with enthusiasm, so that was good.

It was a bit of a night: just as we were about to sing the ‘grace’ before the meal (we were still in the church at this point), the lights went out with a great bang. Seems that one of the three phases to the church complex had gone, and the only lighting was in the kitchen and large hall area outside it. This was fine, except that the dining room was in darkness, and some of the kitchen equipment had gone out as well. Dinner got delayed, so I finished up playing before the meal instead of after the main course, which was more satisfactory from my point of view.

We had the meal by candlelight, which was pleasant (although it made it a bit hard to see what you were eating). The lights were suddenly restored towards the end of the mains. There’d been a different and briefer bit of ‘excitement’ at the Brass Band Contest I played at last weekend. The cornet player was just heading towards a climax of one section when there was a bang and a light bulb fell from the theatre’s flies onto the stage where we were performing, missing us both, but giving us both a bit of a start. Seasoned pros that we are, we carried on playing.

Success at the Provincials

Down to Invercargill today to play for three bandspeople (two men and a young woman) who were playing solos in the Provincial Competitions.

The two men had the Championship Air Varie to themselves, so both won (I'm just not sure which came first and which second, as they were being a bit coy about it).

The young lady had already won her slow melody by the time I arrived (she had to start at the ungodly hour of nine am, and I would have had to leave home about 6.30 to get there, so I didn't go for that one), and she went on and got a second for her air varie in the afternoon.

I didn't wait for the results of the men's slow melody - it would have taken almost another hour - so at this point I don't know how they got on.

My wife came with me and we shared the driving (two and a half hours each way). As usual on longer trips we listened to some stories on cassette: this time, four short stories by John Mortimer about Horace Rumpole, and one short story by Agatha Christie, which was more of a romance than a mystery - and was extraordinarily dated. Charming, all the same.

Not too taxing

I’m practicing with a couple of bandsmen at the moment for the Provincial Comps in Invercargill. None of the pieces are too taxing, though I do need to keep working on them, all the same.

Invercargill is about three plus hours from here, so it’s a bit of a hike to go for just four accompaniments. My wife is going to come with me, and we’ll probably have to set off very early; things start at ten, though possibly we won’t be.

When we go anywhere like this we always take some travel supplies, like the famous hot flask and cups and sandwiches and fruit and enough supplies to keep us going for the day. My wife doesn’t like to spend more money when travelling than necessary!

I’d proposed going down the night before and staying over, but she’s not keen. Invercargill isn’t that exciting even though it’s improved considerably over the last few years.

Tune in the head

I don’t know how it is with other composers, but I find when I’m working on something (as I have been on the third of the brass band pieces I’m currently writing) a tune from that piece will get itself in my head and hammer away at every opportunity. I know composers aren’t supposed to write tunes anymore (sez who?) but I write tunes still; that’s the way I am. At least two of the three ‘movements’ of this brass band collection have big tunes, ones where the tune is built up gradually from a small number of players to the whole band. Listening to it on Sibelius is quite exciting as you hear more and more instruments joining in.
But having the tune go round and round in your head for days on end is as annoying as seeing one of those funny t-shirts where you catch the words on the front but don’t have time to see what’s on the back. Or vice versa.
Or it’s as annoying as reading a review by James Berardinelli and finding that he likes a movie you hated. Or vice versa.


Photo courtesy of Steve 9091, on Flickr.com

How do you say No?

In years past I used to accompany soloists from the Saints, one of the local brass bands. That came to a sudden end due to economic reasons, I think, and since then I’ve only spasmodically had anything to do with them. However, one of the trombonists is a buddy of mine from church, I see a 'retired' member of the band waiting at the same bus stop most nights, and their principal cornet player, John Lewis, seems to like my accompanying and has asked me to play for him on several occasions, so I’m still in infrequent contact with them.
It's slightly surprising that he still asks me to play, as on one of the more important occasions when I last played for him, I played the introduction with a sharp or flat extra. Not a good start, but we recovered, as old pros do.
John has just rung me tonight, and asked if I’d be interested in playing for him and a few others in the Invercargill Regional Comps, to be held in April. It’s a chance to do some playing for something particular, rather than just sitting at home practicing my scales (!), but I’ll also be rehearsing for the play by that time, which means I’ll have a bit on my plate.
I don’t want to join the wine club (sorry, whine club) but I have to think about how much time commitment is involved.
The play isn’t too involved, as far as I’m concerned – and I do need to keep my fingers in motion, so…
So I’m sitting debating whether I should be saying No, or whether I just do what I do in other years and go for it. Hmmm.

I've got a little list

In line with what I said in the last post here’s a quick overview of the creative factor in the Crowl world as at this date:
Lined up for a small part in a play called And Then They Came for Me: remembering the world of Anne Frank. It’s written by James Still.
Writing some brass band music in the hope that one of the A Grade local bands might consider playing it.
Writing some piano music with tongue-in-cheek titles.
Considering writing some songs again, including a song for the dramatisation of C S Lewis' The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, which our church is producing later this year.
Writing four blogs mainly, and posting occasionally to a couple of others.
Considering a way in which a novel I’ve virtually finished might be published on the Net, bit by bit.

That’ll do for the moment. Meantime, I’d like to alert you to a poem I wrote which gets advertised at times in a widget along the side of these posts. It doesn’t get many views from people, so I’d like you to have a look and either leave a comment here or on the site of the poem itself.