In the next day or so, I’ll explain the completely serendipitous coincidence between me using the ’67 pyromaniacal Hendrix episode as the launchpad for my own life-changes and the fact that I spent the night sleeping on that very stage two nights ago. I was in Monterey for a week, and blogging was just simply off the menu in any meaningful sense.
During my week there, I received an email from the as-yet-unnamed publication, stating that my idea for an article was intriguing, and they would like to see it.
Talk about wow. I’ve never exactly been in this position before. I’m sending them something that I hope draws upon the best of my abilities. They might actually like it. They might actually pay me for it.
Kinda strange. An awkward, sort-of-Streisandic form of stage fright that now sets in; my stuff is now going to be on the block for evaluation by another. Sure, blogging is also that in a way, but the revulsion of readers here will simply manifest itself in absence. Anyone wanting to channel-9 this blog swill simply have to do so by the passive act of not showing up.
Now–I face the possibility that I will do my best work-and still not have it harmonize with the vision of the magazine somehow. That’s not something to which I am accustomed. It’s also a pressure-chamber I better get used to.