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I’m sure many freelancers would agree that NOT having to attend a mandatory office Christmas party is one of the GOOD things about working for yourself…. 

So, when a couple of weeks ago, David asked me if I wanted to have an office Christmas party, I looked at him as if he had grown two heads. He explained that Crissey Farm (http://crisseyfarm.com/), a neighborhood banquet hall where we have hosted and attended some music events, was putting on an “office Christmas party” for small businesses in our community, and that since the two of us are a “business,” our “office” could attend.  The idea being that an office of four or five or six (or, in our case two) people might not be able to put on a big holiday shindig, but various small offices could band together to be part of a larger event. With 150 or so people, you can put on a real dinner party, complete with a DJ and dancing, and you can have it in a nice space, too.  (Crissey Farm is a spanking new green building, with a warmer, more personal feel than your basic hotel banquet hall;  it’s ideal for events up to about 200 people).

It’s a great idea, really: I remember that when I worked in “real jobs” in “real companies,”  the office party was seldom my idea of a good time. I mostly found that in a business setting, as in life, there are people you gravitate to as friends  and people you don’t, and the latter outnumber the former. Enforced jollity with people you have mostly chosen not to socialize with can be awkward, especially when coupled with office hierarchy. 

But at this party, you could network, chat, and socialize all around the community; you could roam around, outside the confines of your own little group. We were seated at the table of a publisher of a local ad magazine, who made us feel very welcome. Our dinner companions included a fellow writer and a fellow musician; it was all very congenial, and who knows, maybe we’ll get the musician over to our place to jam sometime. 

It turned out that David and I knew a handful of people from various different offices: Some were students, or friends of students, or parents of students, or fellow musicians.  Next year, we plan to try to put a table together, and make sure that other self-employed creatives we know in our community — fellow teachers and musicians, the owners of the local music store, piano tuners, and such — know about the event and can come and join us. 

So I’m looking forward to an office Christmas party, a year in advance. Who’d have thought THAT was was possible?

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The fourth annual FODFest is in full swing, and I wanted to describe what playing at opening night was like so anyone living near one of the 14 concert venues can get a feel for why this is something you shouldn’t miss.

The opening night concert had by far the biggest and most impressive venue on the schedule: The Mahaiwe Theatre in Great Barrington, MA, is a beautifully restored 650-seat concert hall that is on the National Register of Historic Places.

As you know if you’ve been following the FodFest story, Daniel Pearl (known locally as “Danny”) started his journalism career in the Berkshires. He was also a talented musician who played in local bands. A new job at the Wall Street Journal took him to Atlanta, where he met and became good friends and band-mates with Todd Mack, a recording producer and a singer-songwriter,  who you’ll read more about here when he gets back from the FodFest Tour and has time to answer some questions.  In one of those simple twists of fate, Todd then moved to the Berkshires, and got to know and work with some of the musicians Danny had played with. 

After Daniel Pearl was brutally murdered in Pakistan in 2002, Todd started FodFest to honor his memory. What began as a backyard jam in 2005 has now grown into a national 14-city 17-day tour. So when the call went out here in the Berkshires for local musicians who knew Danny or who felt they connected with him through his story, his music, his writing, and his ideals — well, a lot of people responded. More than 70 musicians volunteered to participate in the Mahaiwe Show and ultimately, Todd was able to accommodate about 30 musicians in two sets (not counting the entire Berkshire Batteria, a Brazilian drum ensemble that numbers about another 30 percussionists). More musicians will join in in other shows, and some of the musicians will be performing in several shows (or even more).  David and I played in the second set as part of the “FOD-POD” — the back-up band that joins in when the people leading songs want musical support.   

Each show is different, but here’s the basic idea: About 12 – 15 musicians sit on the stage at a time, and those who wish to lead a song take turns at the central microphone. They can either play solo, or they can ask the other musicians to join in. The trick is that a lot of them are playing original songs — and not only have most of the musicians never met each other before, let alone rehearsed – but a lot of the songs aren’t predictable in terms of their modulations and chord progressions. Some of the songs were easy to follow, some — not so much. Interesting feeling to be on stage in front of a pretty hefty audience — and not only not know what you’re doing, but KNOW that you don’t know what you’re doing — and that THAT is part of the whole point of it. I’m looking forward to hearing the tape; the concert was recorded for radio and taped for local cable access TV.

There was a lot of variety, a lot of improvisation, and a wonderful response from the audience, which I guessed at about 400 people. Most of the musicians were thoughtful and respectful in their selection of material, choosing songs that they felt honored Danny in some way. In addition to many guitars (including an unusual 10-string guitar), we had Tahitian ukelele (David) and resonator guitar (also David), violins, mandolins, banjo, upright bass, keyboards, drums, and miscellaneous percussion. One of the highlights was that Todd had invited four young musicians to perform as well, and all I have to say about that is this: If you don’t want to be out-staged, out-performed, and out-applauded, don’t share the stage with super-talented kids! Those fabulous young musicians got the biggest applause of the evening. And justifiably so. They were fantastic.

It was what would have been Daniel Pearl’s 45th birthday. And I think that together, in celebrating Danny’s life and spirit, we all spread the word that music is a way for people to communicate, to share, and to spread joy.

All the concerts are free. They’ll all be different — some are in clubs and bars, some in small halls. But they will all have this amazing connection between players, and between musicians and audience. Please check the schedule (www.Fodfest.org) and go if you can.

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Over the weekend, I was at a reunion for a summer camp I used to go to, and inevitably, there was a lot of updating of information: where people had ended up, who had kids (and grand-kids, even), who still was in touch with whom, and what work people were doing. “I’m a writer and a music teacher and a piano player” I answered more than once, and in one case, the response to THAT was a cheerful “Oh! So you’re poor!”

Not so fast, buster.

Coincidentally, I just stumbled on a National Endowment for the Arts study, which was released earlier this past summer. The NEA compiled data, starting with the 2000 census and continuing on to more recent economic data generated through 2005. They examined artists working in eleven areas: actors; announcers; architects; art directors, fine artists and animators; dancers and choreographers; designers; entertainers and performers; musicians; photographers; producers and directors; writers and authors.

Here are some interesting nuggets from the study:

  • There are almost two million working artists in the United States; taken together, we make up one of the largest occupational clusters: 1.4 percent of the workforce — only slightly less than military personnel.
  • We like to hang out together. More than one-fifth of all U.S. artists live in Los Angeles, New York, Chicago, Washington, and Boston. Half of all of us live in 30 metropolitan areas.
  • We also cluster by occupation: New Mexico has the highest share of fine artists, Vermont has the highest proportion of writers, and Tennessee, the highest proportion of musicians. 
  • We are 3.5 times more likely to be self-employed than non-artists.
  • We generally earn less money than workers with similar education levels, but we work less: One third of us work for only part of the year. 
  • Our median income — from all sources — in 2005 was $34,800; which is higher than the $30,100 median for the total labor force, but lower than the $43,200 median income of other professionals.
  • We are twice as likely to have a college degree as other U.S. workers, and this percentage is rising.
  • Writers, producers, and architects have the highest education levels among artists.

Material in this post is abstracted from the summary of the NEA report, “Artists in the Workforce.”  For the  summary and the executive summary (which has a whole bunch of cool charts and graphs where you can find out the musicians per 10,000 people in Tennessee, or see which states have the highest percentage of writers) go to www.nea.gov/news/news08/ArtistsinWorkforce.html. You can also download the full report, which gives comparative earnings information, among lots of other things. 

Bottom line: Yeah, we might earn a bit less than people with similar levels of education who work in other professions. But look how we get to spend our time!

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I recently became aware of a sort of movement, if you can call it that: A colleague pointed me in the direction of “Buy Handmade,” a website and organization that is encouraging people to pledge to spend their money on handmade gifts this holiday season. http://www.buyhandmade.org/why-buy-handmade

Handmade objects — crafts, art clothing, paintings, photographs, jewelry – make special gifts. Not only does your recipient get something unique; but by spending your money on hand-made objects, you are supporting others who are also trying to make their livings in creative ways — and very often, you are putting your money back into your own community.  Handmade gifts allow us to connect a creator, a gift giver, and a recipient in a much more personal way.  Everyone benefits.

Sometimes, you might support craftspeople outside of your home region: I’ve long made a habit of doing my Christmas shopping when I’m traveling, the more exotic the better. When possible, I try to buy items directly from artisans who make them. I’ve brought back carvings from Kenya, thankas from Nepal, masks from Tahiti, and fabrics from everywhere. Small items of hand-made jewelry, preferably made of local stones or shells (from non-endangered species, of course) make special gifts, and they aren’t too cumbersome to carry back with you.  A side benefit to giving really cool gifts is the fact that I don’t have to deal with the frightful nightmare of battling my way through department stores during the Christmas rush – a scenario that can turn me into Scrooge faster than you can say “Tiny Tim.”

Being a writer and a musician, I would also add that while books and CDs aren’t technically handmade crafts per se, they are creative products. So as far as I’m concerned, they also fit the bill  – especially if you buy them directly from the writer or musician after a concert or at an author’s book signing. (This usually, although not always, puts a greater chunk of change into the artist’s hands because there are no middlemen.) And you can get them personalized or autographed.  

There are lots of ways we can all put our money in service of our values: We can choose to shop at certain places and not in others, we can support businesses that have policies we agree with and think are important (for example, health insurance for domestic partners, living wages, access to health insurance for part time workers, fair trade issues, and green decision making regarding packaging and production).  We can buy organic food from co-ops, we can choose contractors and housekeepers who use green building materials or non-toxic cleaners… The choices are almost endless and sometimes confusing.

How nice, then, to have a simple solution to gift giving: Buy handmade. Buy creative. And have fun shopping!

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Sometimes, something happens that sort of pulls it all together, and lets you see where what you’re doing makes sense.

It’s been an incredibly busy week. David and I got back from Nashville on Sunday night, and went right to work teaching on Monday morning. Then I started on some article writing while he drove up to Pittsfield to pick up some guests from England. 

David knows Alan from the guitar website he manages; Alan is a classical guitarist and a volunteer moderator for the forums at www.guitarnoise.com. They met once before in New York, so when David learned Alan was going to be in the U.S., he invited him to come and visit. And then he decided that we needed to put on an open mike. The husband of one of David’s students owns Crissey Farm, which is not a farm at all, but rather a hall — it’s the venue where we played an open mike a few weeks back. She agreed to let us have the space and David invited some of our friends and some of his students to come play. Tonight, after getting done with my piano students, I rushed over to the hall to join in. 

Looking around at group, I felt instantly grateful to have found my way into the creative community here. There was Fred Schane, a singer-songwriter, recording engineer, and radio host who just had a bit role in the new movie being filmed about Woodstock. There was Joel Schick, who we first met at the hootenanny way back when we first moved here; Joel is a designer, an artist, and a singer-songwriter (You’ve probably seen his visual arts work, since he worked for years drawing popular Sesame Street characters). Tony owns the photo shop down the street and plays a mean harmonica, Lisa has been taking guitar lessons with David and is now writing and performing her own songs; she sounds better every time we hear her. John plays blues guitar and writes songs; his wife Karen was videotaping the whole show for public access cable TV. Darra, whose husband owns the Crissey Farm hall, has a gorgeous voice. Shaun and Todd have been taking guitar from David at the community college; Shaun has a great singing voice, as well. And last but certainly not least, there was 15-year old Molly Kate, who has been taking piano with me and guitar with David; Molly Kate plays both classical piano and rock keyboards; tonight, she played guitar and sang three songs, once of which she wrote. The first time I heard Molly Kate sing, I could barely make out the words: She had her head down and almost whispered into the mike; tonight, she was smiling at the audience and singing right into the mike, and she knocked everyone out with her voice and poise. I was so proud of her!  And Alan brought the show to an nice end with his classical guitar playing. The encore was an open invite to all to join in on “Angel from Montgomery.”

It wasn’t the easiest day in the world: I had two students who can’t seem to remember where middle C is, and the teaching today seemed to involve a lot of cajoling and refocusing. But when I got to the hall and saw the group assembled — students and friends — I really got the feeling that we are doing exactly what we are supposed to be doing: Helping put music into people’s lives.

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I hate to sound preachy, and I don’t think I usually do, but I’m pleading guilty just now.

I had intended to spend most of this week blogging about Nashville, Tennessee, America’s “Music City,” which I spent last week visiting… and I will get to that tomorrow, because I have some incredibly motivational and inspiring stories about the artists and musicians I met there, and about living the creative life in country music’s capital city. You’ll have to check back for that, though.

Lori Hall Steele’s story has really moved me (http://tinyurl.com/6cwqra) so I want to stay on it for another day.

Any blogger  reading this will probably nod his or her head in agreement when I confess that one of the many ways blogging helps you procrastinate your other work is by providing these little statistics pages where you can obsessively check to see not only how many readers are visiting you, but what sites they are coming from, and where they are going from your blog.

So I got to see that only a few hours hours after I posted about Lori, more than a dozen people had clicked on the links to the page where they could donate to help her.  

It got me thinking that this is like a chain letter — except backwards. And except that it actually works, instead of just sending people on a hopeless goose-chase. A normal chain letter promises that if you send someone a dollar, lots of someone elses will send you many dollars. It’s a pyramid scheme, pure and simple, motivated by greed, and it’s been around since before I can remember — probably before I was even alive.  But they never deliver, do they? Why not? After all, the math works…. for a while.

I think the answer has to do with karma: Things like that just aren’t supposed to work. 

But the blogathon for Lori is just the opposite. Yes, in a sense it’s also a kind of pyramid – my fellow bloggers and I write entries, and each of us sends 10 or 20 or however many people to Lori’s site to donate money. The multiplier effect is enormous. Pretty soon, I guess we’ll run out of people. But this time, the pyramid works: Why? Maybe because in a case like this, with a cause like this, it’s supposed to work. And it’s cool to be part of it.

To join the effort, go to http://www.hallsteele.blogspot.com/

To learn about the blogathon, go to: http://www.asja.org/news/080911.php

And please note: Part of Lori’s problem is that her health insurance refused to cover her due to a “pre-existing condition.” This could happen to any of us. So remember to vote in November. You can compare the candidates’ platforms for yourself and decide which one is going to at least ATTEMPT to help average everyday Americans like most of us so that we have health insurance security. In my opinion, it’s one of THE most important issues out there. And if you don’t agree, just read Lori’s story.

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Please read this post. You can help.

I actually don’t know Lori Hall Steele. I’d never even heard her name, even though she’s a fellow writer, a member of one of the national writer’s organizations I belong to, and the author of more than 3,000 articles. (She wrote a wonderful story for the Washington Post about a mother’s desire to shield her son from life’s harshness; you can read it at http://tinyurl.com/5odnp7.) I learned about Lori when a colleague of mine — someone I DO  know — shared her story on our organization’s website.

Short story: Lori is the single mom of a seven-year-old boy, and she’s been stricken and paralyzed with ALS (Lou Gehrig’s disease, a debilitating, paralyzing illness). Lori can currently barely move or speak and on top of that, she has acute Lyme disease. Her portion of medical bills may exceed $100,000, she can no longer work, and when my colleague wrote about her plight, foreclosure on the her house was imminent. Our organization (the American Society of Journalists and Authors; www.asja.org) runs a charitable program (http://www.asja.org/weaf) to help writers in need, but it had already given Lori every cent its bylaws allowed, and it still wasn’t enough. My colleague asked us to send private donations to try to help Lori and her son stay in their home.

The story moved me, but I’m ashamed to admit that when I read it, I was frantically tying up loose ends and packing for a trip, so I put a note on my to do list, secretly suspecting that it would probably wait until I came back, at which time, it would run the risk of disappearing into the land of good intentions.

Then another colleague posted a challenge: Just send $25, he said.  Don’t think, don’t put it on your to do list, don’t do something else first, just stop whatever it is you’re doing or not doing, and write the damn check. (I’m paraphrasing here; Tom is way too much of a gentleman to tell anyone to send a “damn” check.)We’re 1400 members strong, he said. If each of us just send that tiny little amount — $25 — imagine what it could do.  We could save this woman’s house.  We could help her stay sane through this nightmare — something that could happen to any one of any of us at any time. Life is like that.

I don’t usually respond to appeals for a $10 donation to this that or the other cause. I do have organizations I give money to, but I tend to base my giving on long relationships rather than knee-jerk reactions. But something moved me in my colleague’s challenge. Quite honestly, I don’t think I could have ignored it and stayed a human being. I wrote a check, sent it off, and went to Nashville Tennessee, where, as it turned out, I learned something about artistic communities, musical collaboration, the power of mutual support – and about how sometimes our greatest assets are the very people we might be tempted to think we are in competition with.  (I’ll be writing more about America’s “Music City” later in the week.)

Lori’s story and the trip to Nashville — a creative enclave known for collaboration and its musical community — cemented the certainty that I have that wherever we are in our creative work, we are part of a community, and to live in it fully, we need to support each other. Sometimes it means showing up at each other’s concerts, or buying each other’s CDs, or sharing an editor’s name, or passing on a gig we can’t do to a competitor/colleague who CAN. And sometimes, it means sending a check. I returned home today to learn that so far, our little $25 and $50 and $100 checks (and some bigger ones, too) have managed to stave off foreclosure for Lori’s home — at least for now. It gave me an incredible feeling to be a tiny part of something so powerful: None of us alone could have done this, but a few dollars at a time, we are doing it together. By simply sending a check, I have been given far more than I gave: the chance to help someone in a meaningful way.

You probably don’t know Lori, either. But we are ALL part of this artistic community.  If you’d like to help, please go to: http://www.hallsteele.blogspot.com/.  You can also check out the American Society of Journalists and Authors, http://www.asja.org/news/080911.php, which is sponsoring a number of efforts to get the word out and rasie money for Lori.

Please help.

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A few years back, David and I had just set up shop as music teachers and the new kids on the local gigging block. We had recently moved into the community, and were trying to make inroads: We did some advertising, we introduced ourselves at the local music shops (and spent money, too), we sent letters of introduction to the school music teachers, we went to a few open mikes, and we attended local performances and chatted with the musicians during breaks. But it seemed like there was an invisible wall between us and the community; it felt like we had to reintroduce ourselves every time we went into some of the local stores.

And then we went to a ”hootenanny” that was held in a church two towns away.

I had always understood “hootenannies” to be participatory events (Joni Mitchell is said to have called them the folk muisc equivalent to a jazz jam session). However, this being New England, everybody took their turn politely, and no one really invited anyone to come up and join them. Pretty much, it was just a long line of people getting up to sing their own mournful (and sometimes clever) songs, mostly about war, the then-upcoming election, and global warming. In other words, your basic open-mike, all about “me” and not much about “us.” 

Until David got up and invited everyone to join him with their instruments, voices, or both. David is a talented songwriter, with a whole repertoire of interesting songs. So what did he choose to bring the house down?   “You Are My Sunshine” (which, as he likes to point out, is one of the saddest songs ever written; just check out the words for yourself…)  

A few days later, we got a call from one of the organizers of the hootenanny who asked if we’d like to join him in forming a jug band. That led to practicing and playing with a bunch of other local musicians, and we did a couple of  performances, which introduced us to yet more people. One of them ran an open mike, so we went a few times, and got to perform some more. But it didn’t seem to be leading anywhere. Yet.

About a year after we’d been here, David mentioned that he felt everything was going really well with teaching, writing books, working on our respective Internet projects, and writing magazine articles. I was doing quite a bit of interesting travel writing; David had been asked to write for Acoustic Guitar and Play Guitar magazines. The only thing we felt was missing was the chance to play out more.   

Well, be careful what you ask for: Somehow, between slowly getting to know people, showing up for small scale local events, being willing to jump in and play with utter strangers, we found ourselves on stage, a lot.

Now, to be perfectly honest, a lot of the “stages” — such as they are — are pretty modest.  One town’s gazebo for a benefit, another town park for a holiday party, a B and B for Christmas music, a restaurant for the Rotary Club’s holiday party, not to mention bars, more parks, a lot of open mikes, and our favorite, favorite place: The Monterey General Store (Where we’re playing again on September 19, by the way). One gig leads to another, and some of our stages and getting bigger. Our audiences are growing, too. We’ve even had a few times when we’ve done back-to-back shows in a single weekend.

If you’re interested in getting gigs, here are a few things we’ve learned:

  • Show up for open mikes, and give them your best shot. Someone may be listening who can hire you.
  • Be friendly to the hosts and buy something!  We’re ALL trying to make a living here!
  • Bring an audience. We announce to our students when we’ll be playing. They enjoy seeing us play out, and it’s great for them to see how much WE enjoy it.
  • We’ve actually put our students on stage as “opening acts.” The kids love being “part of the show,” it’s great real-world experience for them, it showcases both our playing and our teaching to the rest of the community, and the students bring additional audiences, as well.  
  • Make a CD. You may not sell a million copies, but you’ll sell a few. Plus, you’ll have them to give to people who might be in a position to hire you.  
  • Introduce yourself to local restaurant owners and bartenders, even when you just go in for dinner or a drink. At one of our favorite local restaurants, we brought our bandmates in for a late supper after a show. The restaurant was thrilled to see us, as it had been a slow slow night, and we chatted with the owner about the show we’d just done… he mentioned wanting to have music sometime in the future … who knows what’ll happen?
  • Don’t take it personally when people don’t remember you or think of you first: Everyone is in his or her own world. It takes a long long time before you’ll be in the forefront of anyone else’s brain! Just keep showing up and reminding people of what you do.
  • Match your show to the gig. At a restuarant, they probably want background music. At a bar, they don’t want 300 verses of an anti-war dirge. At a party, they might want to dance. If there are kids, leave out the racy lyrics.
  • Invite others to join you; they may return the favor.
  • Accept opportunities to play. Unless you’re already at the point where people are throwing lots of money your way, play out whenever you can: At the very least, it’s great practice for you. And it gets you heard.
  • Have fun on stage: When you show how much fun you’re having, others share it, too.

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Today, David and I got to play for an audience that included three cows and a goat.

Sheffield, Massachusetts is one of the towns that borders on ours, and today was its annual town festival. We were one of a number of local groups asked to play for an hour, so we carted the electric piano and guitar over, dashed between the raindrops, and set up under the big pole-and-beam shelter. Meanwhile, a local farm was unloading livestock that the kids could pet.

I love living in a small town. I’m originally from a city of about 80,000 from just outside New York City, where cows don’t show up for your musical gigs. Population-wise, my high school graduation class of 842 is pretty close in size to the town I now call home (population about 1,000). 

What this means is that we’re pretty much ALL famous here: In a two-degrees of separation community, if you don’t actually know someone personally, you certainly have heard of them, or know someone who knows them. And they know all about YOU, too. Back in Westchester County, I didn’t even know the names of my neighbors.  After nearly six years of living here, I feel like I’m part of the fabric of this community, even though neither David nor I grew up here or went to school nearby. It’s true, though, that most of our social contacts come through teaching, playing, and participating in local artist events.  If we just stayed home and wrote and practiced, we’d never meet anyone.

At the town festival, I ran into several students and ex-students, as well as some of David’s students, and a few people we’ve met along the way, mostly at events like other gigs or bookstore signings. It’s nice to look up when you’re playing and see someone you know  waving at you. And it’s great for our students to see US playing music and having fun with it. It’s the whole “Do as I do” thing in action. We preach to the kids about how music is a lifelong activity. When they come and hear us play and see how much fun we’re having, they get to see that it is, for us at least, exactly that.

It was a rainy, muggy day — one of those on-again off-again sorts of days where your were either being drizzled on or bitten by bugs. The turnout was down, undoubtedly because of the weather, but we enjoyed playing. We did some of David’s originals, and some old favorites, including “Summer Wages” and “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard.” Did you know that the lyrics are  “See you, me and Julio down by the schoolyard?” I didn’t, until recently, but ever since I learned that song, incorrectly as it turns out, in junior high-school music class, I have been wondering just what whoever was there was doing down by the schoolyard… I think back in junior high my friends and I (the original nerd group) decided they must have been doing something REALLY bad — like smoking cigarettes. Anybody have any other guesses? 

Anyway, it’s always fun to look up and see people tapping their feet or dancing or bringing their little kids up to see the music being made up close. There were, I have to admit, a fair number of mistakes, nothing big, but still…. Will someone please tell me just why exactly is it that I can always find new and diffierent places to screw up on a song I’ve played 100 times?   

That practice thing, David would say. Sigh. Here’s where I need to take my own advice and do what I tell my students to do; Hit the keyboard more often. Only I have this sinking suspicion (and it IS based on some hard historical evidence) that no matter how many times I practice, I’d STILL find another completely new and different mistake to make. I came up with at least a couple of really creative ones today.

Oh well. The secret is to smile and keep going. Look like “I MEANT to do that! Wasn’t it wonderful!”

Besides, I don’t think the audience minded. Including the cows and the goat.

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“Sowing Seeds” is a phrase David and I use to mean “put your energy out into the world.” Our expectation is that if we keep on doing our best work and putting it out there, that good things will come back to us. Call it the “Artist’s Law of Attraction.”

We attract back to us the energy that we put out, but we don’t control it: You may put a lot of energy into volunteering at a particular school, hoping to land a part-time teaching gig there. The teaching gig goes to someone else, but one of the parents turns out to be the coordinator of community events, and hires you to play regular weekend gigs. The process that ended up with me getting me a contract to write a book on piano playing started when a fellow writer heard me playing piano during a break in a writer’s conference at a country inn. I have long since stopped trying to figure out how the “Artist’s Law of Attraction” works; I just know that it does. 

Here are some ways to get started: 

  • Tell everyone you meet what you do.
  • Always carry business cards.
  • Advertise once in a while, just to keep your name out there.
  • Patronize local businesses that deal in your field (music stores for musicians, book stores for writers). Talk to the owners, send them  referrals, use them for regular purchases, even if the Internet IS 10 percent cheaper.  
  • Volunteer to give programs at the local libraries, at schools, and at community centers.
  • Join your town’s arts league or cultural events committee and participate in community arts events.
  • Trade skills with other artists: A designer does a CD cover for a musician; the musician reciprocates by playing for a dinner party. A photographer does a quick head shot for an author; the author writes the photographer’s press packet. 
  • Join the national groups in your field for which you qualify. Get involved in Internet forum. discussions, participate in mutual help exchanges, or volunteer for a committee.
  • Join — or create — a local group of your peers where you can share contacts, trade critiques, and celebrate, or commiserate, as appropriate.
  • Support fellow artists in your community: Buy their books, their crafts, go to their concerts and plays, use them to write your press releases or take your publicity shots.
  • GET OUT OF YOUR HOUSE, STUDIO, OR WHEREVER IT IS THAT YOU SPEND ALL THAT TIME WORKING ALONE!

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