Being a artist is tough. It is irregular, irrational, and depending on who you may be talking to, completely irrelevant to the general worlds incessant pursuit of monetary wealth.
Regularly telling yourself you aren’t good enough, taking the time to create something only to shoot it full of holes and throw it in the trash. being attacked from inside and out. It’s a constant battle.
Now add to the equation maintaining a happy functioning marriage and the raising of a child.
and a part time job to bring in a little currency so you can pay bills. It’s a balancing act.
In order to add to one you have to take from another.
but you do what you can.
I have notebooks full of Ideas. Lyrics jotted here and there, on envelopes, paper towels, and scraps of paper. I study other songs. Hunting “sounds” or feelings or whatever the hell else you might find. I’ve spent countless of hours studying my ep, and it isn’t even done yet. I have notes, “turn this up, turn this down” “try this part without this, or with that”. Notes on what I like and don’t like. and it’s all subjective. There is no right or wrong. It’s more of a matter of finding what agrees with you.
And that’s what makes it great. Makes artists great. Some innate ability to find things that resonate. To not just copy what someone else is doing and try and pass that off. Hell, any two bit schmuck w/ guitar who calls his/her self a musician can do that. That’s color by numbers. It sucks and people don’t respond to it. What I’m talking about is free form, and direct translation of the person who CREATES the art. There are NO guidelines. Just gut feelings. and you have it or you don’t.
So in between wife and daughter and job I have to find time to analyze. pick apart, study and create. and some days I succeed and some days I fail. but you have to make it work.
Because what else have you got?
OH, and then you have to find actual time to PLAY as well. Find time with your wife yelling at you, and your kid hanging on your neck. Without disturbing any one. to actually make all the racket that gets recorded to tape. In a tiny house. With a wife who hates the sound of the guitar. without neglecting anything else.
It’s a balancing act. It’s never easy. and you never do enough.
You just do what you can.
and you beat yourself up over that too.