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#6 Oh Shit

And here is August. How did that happen?

Summary: 1) CD is mixed, mastered, and ordered. 2) Book is almost done. 3) All related duties are scattered like bird seed.


I pulled the trigger on the CD yesterday. [Why does Wix automatically replace one g of every double-g with an x? I do not understand this. What is happening? Do you see this happening?]

I call that (pulling the trigger on the CD) an OH SHIT moment.

OH SHIT, this could be a disaster. OH SHIT, they have my credit card info. OH SHIT, this could be a very expensive disaster. OH SHIT what if I missed a bunch of mistakes? OH SHIT, what if this is shit? I closed my eyes and clicked SUBMIT.

(Which is an interesting choice of words when you've finally said, "I hope this isn't a disaster.")

Then... three hours later, it came back to me.

Well, shit.

A problem with the artwork for my on-disc design. Do-over. Fine.

RESUBMIT. And we're in the clear. They estimate delivery around August 14, which is 5 days after my "CD Release Party." More on that later.

I understand why people have teams to do these things for them. I don't understand how they make the bank for it, but I understand why they do. I learned new graphic design software to design the CD and book jackets. I came apart at least 23 times. You really only need to come apart once.

"Learned" is the wrong word. I careened through new graphic design software and landed on a cohesive design.

My interactions with discmakers were helpful in a utilitarian and nonclimactic way. Nobody laughed at my jokes. Not really. Just polite tittering on the other end of the line. I imagined they were finishing sandwiches and didn't want to spit egg salad on the computer screen.

A man named Morgan called each time I uploaded a new part of my order. Once I finally uploaded the music and paid, I didn't hear from him again. So disappointed. I really expected a high-five call. What gives, Morgan? I thought we had something special.

I talked to a man named Jerry who helped me figure out my artwork problem. He described the problematic photo in a distinctly East Coast accent. (Jersey? Boston? I don't know.) "Yeah, it's the one with the woman and she's, like, holding a guitar and walking into a field of... um..."

"Daisies? The woman walking into a field of daisies?" I said.

They weren't daisies. They were dandelions gone white and fluffy. It didn't matter. I felt like a dumbass. Some things shouldn't be described.


[I am tired and do not feel capable of cohesive paragraphs.]

I don't know the CD releasing rules. I have broken some. For one thing, I set a CD release date before it was done. There are many moving pieces and you control very few of them. Keep calendars and expectations open and be grateful. Learned!

Expectations, yes. Shut those up. For others, certainly, although my problem was more specifically for myself. You can only listen to your imperfect voice and your imperfect guitar playing and your imperfect piano so many times before you begin to despise it at a molecular level. I think I'll need to wait a month before listening to my own album.

CD Release Party. Who says I need a CD release party? Why do I need that? I'm not Sheryl Crow. I'm not gunning for a Grammy or trying to make a million dollars. The number of people who care are fewer than 50. Why not just proceed as usual but this time with a CD to sell? I don't need streamers and cake. Just booze.

That picture way up there--the jacket preview. I want to just show you the whole thing, but then if you buy it, there will be no surprise. Just, "Yep. I've seen this." Do I show you the whole thing? I don't know. What would Alanis do? Before "havoc and bright lights" she released the cover image, but not the whole kit and caboodle. But her kit and caboodle had a lot more to it. Mine is just a jacket. A sleeve. A front and a back. Less to show. Fewer cards to hold to my chest. Your only surprise will be, "Gee, it's lighter than I thought it would be."

Maybe you don't care.

Song previews. How many songs should I post before the CD comes out? All of them? Half of them? 33% of them? 66%? If I post them all, will you drink the milk for free and forego the cow?

Poor cow. Always so foregone.


I finished it. And then I unfinished it.

I ordered the proof. Actually, I ordered 5 proof copies. I don't know why I did that. I don't remember my thought process. I remembering actively changing 1 to 5, but I don't know why. But the proofs--all of them--came this week. I was unimpressed with myself. So I rewrote. Again. Then, today: RESUBMIT.

I ordered another proof. Just one this time.

I am more of a perfectionist about writing. Clearly, I am not a perfectionist here--not on this blog, not on my other blogs. Blogs are more like word barf, and I don't care so much. But to write something that will be printed on paper--so permanent--and traded for money. The trigger doesn't pull so easily.

This book is only 50 pages. I understand now why I never finished anything before.

I will say this, however. Once I really started cooking with this book, I felt like a writer again, and that felt good. I remembered.


Scattered. I need to make a to-do list. This website needs a LYRICS section. I need to book some more gigs. (Always humbling.) I need to figure out how, specifically, to sell this stuff. Shopping carts don't make themselves. Neither do price points and shipping policies.

It's the business-y stuff that makes me want to hide in the shed. The independent artist has to do business, and isn't that something? I don't know how to do it (business); and I've not the mind for it. Oh, I'll figure it out, yes. I'll just hide in the shed for a wee bit first.

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