markbernstein56

This has been bouncing around my head for a while now, and I think it's time to write it down. It's Veteran's Day, and this year marked the 100th anniversary of my father's birth.

This is a story that takes place in wartime, and involves military service. But it might not be what you expect. Let's begin.

April of 1941 was a big month in the life of Allen Leonard Bernstein. He celebrated his 22nd birthday, received his Masters degree in education from Columbia University . . . and enlisted in the United States Army.

I never got around to asking him why he did that last one. (He died when I was 24, after years of illness.) It may have been, in part, because we were still in the Depression, and jobs were hard to find. It may have been, in part, because he wanted to get out of his parents' house. (I never met his parents, as they both died before I was born, but I'm told that my paternal grandmother could be "difficult".)

But I'd like to believe that he also did it, in part, because as a young, educated Jew, he had some understanding of what was going on in Europe, recognized that the U.S. was likely to get involved, and wanted to be part of the fight against the Nazis.

For most of 1941, he was stationed in the U.S., and was able to go home to New York City on leave. It was during one of those visits that he attended a dance sponsored by a local temple. At the dance, the rabbi of the temple introduced him to one of his congregants, an 18-year-old woman named Gladys Zwick. He walked her home, and they started corresponding. (My mother tells me that she knew, by the end of the evening, that he was "the one".)

By the time of the Pearl Harbor attack, he was a Corporal. Shortly after that attack, he was transferred to Hawaii, as part of the Pacific war effort. He was there until 1943.

If you're familiar with WWII history, you may know that by 1943, the U.S. Army had grown so rapidly that there was a shortage of officers. To address this, the Army developed a more compressed version of Officer Candidate School, and started looking for bright young men to train. That's how Sergeant Bernstein, who had already been in the Army for two years, became a Ninety Day Wonder.

It was also in 1943 that he wrote to Gladys that he didn't want to wait until after the war, as they'd been planning, but wanted to get married right away. And so, the newly-minted Lieutenant went home in June of 1943, and he and Gladys were wed. My mother told me that their wedding day was only the tenth time they'd seen each other in person.

The young couple spent the next couple of months in married officers' housing at Fort Sill, Oklahoma. Then Allen was sent to Europe, and Gladys moved back to her parents' apartment in New York for the duration.

He was in Europe for the rest of the war, and was at the Battle of the Bulge. In November of 1945, he was honorably discharged with the rank of Captain in the field artillery.

Now here's the most remarkable thing. What you've just read is pretty much everything I know about my father's time in the Army. He almost never talked about it. The closest thing to a war story I ever heard him tell was when he laughed about being given a Purple Heart for getting a charley horse in a jeep accident.

Understand that he wasn't traumatized, he didn't have PTSD, and he didn't bear any ill will towards the military. (I once found and read a carbon copy of a letter he wrote in 1960 to Senator and candidate John F. Kennedy. In it, he praised the idea of the Peace Corps, and suggested that, to make them instantly recognizable around the world, they should wear uniforms.) It's just that his war experiences didn't define him.

My parents moved to Detroit in 1946, and lived in Michigan for the rest of their lives. (He died in 1980, at 61. She passed earlier this year, at 96.) Here they raised three kids, and he became what he was meant to be - an educator. Over the course of his career, he was a counselor, teacher, curriculum developer, and textbook author, as well as the recipient of a Doctorate in Education. And now, there's a stone in the Beth El Memorial Park that bears his name, two dates, and the words chosen by his widow: "His life enriched others".

That's the man I remember. He chose to serve, and served honorably and well. And then he lived the rest of his life, serving the young, and did that honorably and well.

And so, on this Veteran's Day, in honor of *all* his service, I say, "Thank you, Dad."

Ever have a week where just about everything went right? We just did.

( Friday - on our way )
( Saturday - glass and lamb )
( Sunday - rainy views and skeletons )
( Monday - a garden walk and an OMG dinner )
( Tuesday - dolphins and orcas and heat, oh my )
( Wednesday - rain and Kessel )
( Thursday - banshees and a musical )
( no hurry, no worry )
And now we're home. Sharon spent yesterday working in the yard. I've been catching up on stuff online, and went grocery shopping. It's all good. :)

I wrote this on Facebook a few days ago. It's received a fair amount of positive feedback, so I decided to share it here.

Monsters of Charlottesville, you have renounced any moral claim you might have ever had to the rights and privileges of American citizenship. The First Amendment protects your right to spew your hate. It also protects my right to say that you are vile, and have no place in a civilized society. The First Amendment also protects the right of citizens to *peaceably* assemble, but clearly you have no interest whatsoever in that.

You have no support from decent people, from good people, from moral people. If you bring your hate to my state, I will be there to tell you that you are not welcome. You disgust me, but you do not frighten me, and you do not intimidate me. The American Spirit is stronger than you. The Constitution is stronger than you.

You have allied yourselves with the most repulsive and murderous regime in human history. In the name of the six million, I shun you.

As I've done in past years, here's my cinematic top ten (well, OK, eleven), Hugo edition. It was an amazing year for animation, but much weaker than 2015 for literary-related works. The top five of this list will be on my Hugo nominating ballot.

Honorable Mention: The Little Prince. A lyrical, charming adaptation-with-framing-device of Saint-Exupéry's classic.

10. Alice and the Extraordinary World. A marvelous bit of animated steampunk, complete with amazing inventions, wild escapes, and engaging characters. Obscure, but recommended.

9. Captain America: Civil War. Its biggest drawback is the downbeat ending, which is, I admit, an unfair criterion, but it's my list and I can be unfair if I want to. Otherwise, big-studio filmmaking at its most skilled. Great cast, and the fight between the two teams was the best action sequence of the year.

8. Moana. Yes, it's a Disney Princess movie, but it's one without even the hint of a love interest, which breaks a major component of the formula. The chemistry between the two leads adds energy to an already-solid script, gorgeous visuals, and ear-catching songs.

7. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Proving that Rowling can write scripts as well as books. I liked the people, loved the creatures, and admired the misdirection involving the villain.

6. Ghostbusters. Comedy is subjective, and this one cracked me up several times. Holtzmann is my favorite character of the year.

5. Doctor Strange. This is the one that deserves the Special Effects Oscar. A top-notch cast, and visually beautiful, obviously done by someone who knows and loves Steve Ditko's artistic contribution to the original comics. The script's pretty good, too.

4. Zootopia. There are tons of animated movies where animals are given the intelligence and personalities of humans, and I wouldn't for a moment consider them Hugo-worthy. So why Zootopia? In one sfnal word, worldbuilding. The writers gave careful thought to how a city shared by myriad species, large, small, herbivore, and carnovire, would operate - the neighborhoods, the politics, law enforcement, and more. That elevates a very good movie to an outstanding one.

3. Kubo and the Two Strings. The most original fantasy of the year. Lots of stuff I'd never seen before, which scores major points with me.

2. Arrival. The one major 2016 SF movie based on written SF, and it's quality all the way.

Before finishing, I feel obliged to remind everyone that the rules for the Dramatic Presentation: Long Form Hugo state that it's for a work of "dramatized science fiction, fantasy or related subjects". In the past, this has led to nominations for both Apollo 13 and The Right Stuff. Which is why I'm perfectly comfortable with my top nomination.

1. Hidden Figures. Fascinating, heroic, heartbreaking, and triumphant, this is the only movie on this list that moved me to tears. Do Not Miss This One.

Two days ago I had the great honor of being inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame. This is the speech I gave.

Thank you to the Hall of Fame jury for choosing me for induction, and for all the hard work they do every year. Thank you, many times over, to anyone who thought I was worth the time, thought, and effort required to write a nomination. A belated thank you to the people who made me feel welcome and accepted when I was new to filk, especially the always-gracious Gordy Dickson, and my friend and mentor, the always-challenging Bob Asprin. As for the rest of you, well, that gets to the heart of what I want to say.

You've just heard a recitation of things I have supposedly given, or tried to give, to filk – both the music and the community. In return, I'd like to take a few moments to talk about some of the wonderful and awesome gifts – for they bring me both wonder and awe - that filk has given to me.

Filk has given me an education in both writing and performing

It's done this in three ways. First, by surrounding me with brilliant, creative, inspiring, generous people who give of their music and themselves, who are happy to share their techniques and views, and who are constantly showing me new and different ways of thinking and working.

Second, by giving me and endless and ongoing string of opportunities to place my craft in front of an audience and learn from them. Each performance is a lesson in what works and what doesn't, when to push and when to pull back, how to find the truth of a song, a poem, a character, a feeling. I've been given the means and the motivation to practice, practice, practice. And forty years later, here I am at Carnegie Hall.

Third, and perhaps most important, filk has taught me a better definition of success. If the whole room is laughing or applauding, that's great. I'll take that. But if a song has meaning for one listener, that's a success, too.

Filk has given me a home

When I arrive at a filk con, I'm surrounded by people who speak with the same vocabulary, who share the values of the community, who are there for many of the same reasons. Like, I suspect, just about everyone here, I've had my days, even whole weekends, of feeling excluded, of thinking of myself as an outsider looking in. It can be hard to get past that. But I've come to know, on a deep level, that this is a place I belong. It's a place where I might end up missing that concert I wanted to hear because I fell into a fascinating conversation with people I may have known for decades, or may have only spoken to a few times. It's a place where I know I can get up and dance when the music moves me, and not be judged on the quality of my movement. It's a place where I can be certain that at some point during the weekend, my voice will become one piece of a much greater whole, as harmonies and instrumentals ring through the circle. Whether I'm in Mississauga, or Columbus, or Atlanta, or Seattle, or Jersey City, or Basingstoke, I know I'm home. Which brings me to . . .

Filk has given me joy

Joy, and the ways in which it differs from simple happiness, is a personal thing. I can't define it. But I know it comes in different flavors. When that greater whole I just referred to coalesces, and fills my awareness, that's a joyful moment. When someone who's been working up their nerve, sometimes for months or years, sings in front of other people for the first time since childhood, that's a joyful moment. When someone who's found their voice here keeps going, keeps on singing or playing or reciting, and manages, whether through applied hard work or simple repetition, to get better and build confidence, that's a whole series of joyful moments. Those moments accumulate, and build, and keep me connected to this community in a way that will never be broken.

Filk has kept me young

There are people I count as friends here who range from a decade or more older than me to three decades or more younger. That's a source of both satisfaction and occasional astonishment. I love and value my long time friends. I also love and value the way the filk community gives me regular chances to make new friends, to hear new voices, to be exposed to new styles of music. That's important to who I am, or at least try to be. While I treasure and respect the historians among us, my own inclination is to focus on looking forward more than back. I hope it will remain central to our beliefs and practices to work on making newcomers of all musical genres and experience levels feel accepted and appreciated.

Finally . . .

Filk has given me the impetus to try to be a better person, and lessons on how to accomplish that

Being part of the filk community means being surrounded by valuable lessons.

Some of those lessons reinforce things we learned as small children. Share. Take turns. Look out for each other. Don't be mean.

Some of the lessons are a little more sophisticated. Be generous with praise, and stingy with criticism. It's not a competition, so try not to compare yourself to other people. Recognize and appreciate the work of people who aren't in the spotlight. Remember that most of the time, it's not about you.

Some are lessons of affirmation and inspiration that we can all sing together, ranging from “Time won't drive us down to dust again” to “We're all mad here, and it's OK”.

But the most fundamental lesson, and here I will steal shamelessly from an essay I wrote several years ago, is the power inherent in a single word: listen.

Filk's greatest strength lies in the deeply ingrained philosophy that everyone has the right to express themselves creatively, to, as Sally Childs-Helton and Kathleen Sloan put it, "take back the right to sing and play."

But, all unknowing, we've done something even greater than that. We don't just say, "Express yourself." We say, "If you choose to express yourself, we will listen to you."

For listening, as distinct from merely hearing, is not passive. Listening says things. It says, "We acknowledge you." It says, "You have value." It says, "We may or may not agree with you, but we will not just dismiss you." And when we in filk listen, it also says, "The act of expressing yourself will not bring you harm." (That last has a power almost beyond comprehension, as there can be so much fear, so much past repression, so many old scars, that must be overcome.)

These are, to be sure, ideals, and as humans we don't always live up to them. I know I fail on a regular basis. But it's important that we keep trying.

For in saying these things, we change lives. We reach out to the hesitant, the shy, the frightened. We tell them that, with hands and voices joined, we can make a better life in a better world. We imbue them with the sure and certain knowledge that their words, their music, the children of their souls, will not just echo in the void.

That, more than anything else, is why you are and will remain my people, my tribe, my world-wide small town.

And so, on this ninth day of April, two thousand sixteen, it is with love, and joy, and gratitude, with considerable pride and a perhaps-unaccustomed measure of humility, with an open heart and always, always with open ears, that I accept this honor. Thank you.

So, I did it, kinda. I listened, kinda, to both the people who said that nominated works deserved fair consideration, and to those who said vote order matters, even coming after No Award. So I read, tried to read, or skimmed every nominee in the Hugo packet.

I did this knowing that some of the works would, read or not, be ranked below No Award. Which works? Anything published by Castalia House. I find Theodore Beale's writings reprehensible, and will not do anything that might conceivably lead to his being able to refer to himself as a Hugo winner. But even those, I looked at.

I was strict. I've voted on the Hugos many times, including the last several years consecutively, so I have my own standard of what constitutes good writing. And I've used No Award in the past, when I felt a nominee or two in a given category didn't live up to that standard.

Did I find any nominees from either Puppy slate that I was willing to place above No Award?

Yes, but not many. Here they are:

Skin Game, by Jim Butcher. I've only read the first Harry Dresden novel, so I did feel a little lost without all the backstory, and not particularly inclined to buy the whole book based on the sample included in the packet. But Butcher is certainly a good writer, good enough that I placed him fourth on my ballot, after The Three Body Problem, The Goblin Emperor, and Ancillary Sword. (As to The Dark Between the Stars, sorry, no. I know Anderson has devoted fans. But I read the first few chapters, and, well, it's in sixth.)

Kary English. In the three shorter fiction categories, the only nominee I placed above No Award was the only non-Puppy nominee, "The Day the World Turned Upside Down". Everything else fell short, sometimes way, way, way short. Still, of all the other nominees, the only one that came close for me was the short story "Totaled" by Kary English. In the end, I couldn't quite move it up because I couldn't swallow the huge coincidence at the center of the story. But the writing was good enough that I gave English my first-place vote for the Campbell, ahead of Wesley Chu.

Dramatic Presentation. These are the two categories where I ignored the slates entirely. I ranked the nominees based on my opinions, where I had them. (I haven't seen the "Grimm" or "Game of Thrones" episodes.) I gave my first place Long Form vote to "Guardians of the Galaxy" because I loved it and nominated it. I gave my second place Short Form vote (after "Orphan Black") to "The Flash" because I loved it and nominated it. (Granted, I nominated a different episode, but the pilot is also good.) I didn't list No Award in either category.

Editor, Short Form. I found enough of interest in their two packet-included anthologies that I voted Jennifer Brozek first, and Bryan Thomas Schmidt second.

Editor, Long Form. Sheila Gilbert of DAW is, among other things, the editor of Seanan McGuire's books. Seanan is one of my current favorites, and has acknowledged Gilbert's work many times, so that's enough to get her a first-place vote.

And that's it.

Note: This post specifically relates to the current controversy over the nominations for the 2015 Hugo Awards. If you have no idea what I'm referring to, and don't really care, you'll probably want to skip the whole thing. If you want to learn more, this is a pretty good place to start, and will help what follows make some sense.

Over the last six days, I've read a lot of discussion about the RP/SP slates, and the effect they've had. It's been an upsetting and frustrating week for a lot of us. Part of that is the very human (and often very fannish) feeling that we ought to be able to Do Something. And I think we can. It'll take some planning and commitment, but the opportunity is there.

I've seen many people write about the harm done to the awards themselves, now and in the future, and what, if anything, can be done to minimize that harm in the future. I agree that it's something we should consider.

But there are people, specific people, who have been harmed this year. I mean the people whose works and bodies of work would have earned them a place on this year's final Hugo ballot, had they not been pushed off by the Puppy-slate entries. These are the folks who have been well and truly bitten by the Puppies.

In late August, we'll know who those people are. Once the Hugos have been awarded at Sasquan, the Hugo Subcommittee will release a set of numbers showing how many nominations were submitted for each of the top fifteen or so nominees in each category. This PDF shows the 2014 figures, with the nomination numbers starting on page 19.

Once that's out, I will figure out which five novels would have ended up on the final ballot if all of the Puppy-slate nominees had been removed.

Then I'll buy them. (I've already bought Ancillary Sword and The Goblin Emperor without waiting to see whether or not they're in the free packet.)

It's simple, really. I'll fill out and submit my final Hugo ballot, yes, but now that the Puppies have hijacked the awards, my wallet is the best voting mechanism I have this year. If some authors were cheated out of the honor of a nomination, let's offer them some compensation in the form of increased sales.

And now, in the interest of raising that compensation to a meaningful level, I hereby announce the Help the Bitten initiative.

Here's what I propose, and plan to do:

1) Over the next four months, set aside a little money each month. Whatever you can afford, nothing more.

2) Once the figures are released, I (and, I hope, others) will create and post, as widely as possible, the Puppy-Free Ballot (PFB). In each Hugo or Campbell category, the PFB will list the top five (or more, in case of ties) nominees that did not appear on either Puppy slate.

3) Within the limits of your budget, choose actions from this list:

- Buy nominated PFB Novels
- Buy nominated PFB Graphic Novels
- Buy nominated PFB Related Works
- Buy anthologies that contain nominated PFB Novellas, Novelettes, and Short Stories
- Subscribe to magazines that contain nominated PFB Novellas, Novelettes, and Short Stories
- Subscribe to nominated PFB Semiprozines
- Buy works by PFB Campbell nominees
- Buy works edited by PFB Editor nominees (both Long and Short Form)
- Buy books or prints by nominated PFB Artists

I admit to being at something of a loss as to what to do for the PFB nominees in the Fan categories. I'd love to hear your ideas.

If you like this idea, I hope you'll consider boosting the signal.

If you have an idea for a nifty slogan, or cool piece of artwork, I'll be happy to share it what social media outlets I have (Dreamwidth, LiveJournal, Facebook, and Google+).

Thank you.

It's the end of the year, and once again I can't resist doing a movie wrap-up. Below I'll list the ten best science fiction and fantasy films I saw in 2014. The top five will probably end up on my Hugo ballot. I say "probably" because there are a few well-reviewed movies from last year that I haven't yet seen. They are:

Only Lovers Left Alive (I'll see that in another week, as I've set the DVR to record when Starz airs it on January 5th.
The Tale of Princess Kaguya
Song of the Sea

The most prominent titles that miss the cut are:

The Hobbit: Battle of the Five Armies. I didn't like the first Hobbit movie, and haven't yet read anything that convinces me the other two are worth paying to see.

Interstellar: There's some truly beautiful visual work here, and some big ideas. Sadly, it felt crowded, clunky, and overlong, and had several moments where I didn't believe the character actions and reactions.

Edge of Tomorrow: It's a great example of what it is. What it is is a video game, complete with infinite replays.

Godzilla: The Godzilla fans I saw it with loved it. It wasn't made for me.

And I recommend The Wind Rises, but it's historical biography, not science fiction or fantasy

On to the list:

10: X-Men: Days of Future Past. A good, solid superhero movie, with a fine cast. The big battle scenes dragged on a little long for my taste. Still, there's a lot to like.

9: Big Hero 6. Disney storytelling (that's more of a compliment than a criticism, honest) applied to an anime-ish concept. I had a wonderful time, even while recognizing how safe some of the choices were. A great all-ages movie.

8: The Lego Movie. I think it's been just a little overpraised, but there's no denying that it exceeded expectations. I loved the rapid-fire stream of gags, Chris Pratt's slightly idiotic everyman optimism, and the non-animated scenes that gave it a surprising depth of emotion.

7: Captain America: The Winter Soldier. As much a spy thriller as a superhero movie, and completely successful in both genres. What sticks with me the most is the easy banter between Cap and the Black Window – non-romantic male/female friendships this good shouldn't be this rare.

6: The Hunger Games: Mockingjay, Part 1. The only real complaint is that it's not a whole story, which I knew going in. Jennifer Lawrence continues to impress, there were a couple of plot twists I didn't see coming, and the technical aspects, from pacing to visuals, kept me in the story throughout. I'm looking forward to seeing Part 2.

5: Dawn of the Planet of the Apes. Proof that motion capture, with the right actors, can be a tool to build memorable characters. I cared about Caesar as much as I did any protagonist this year. Put those characters into tense situations and beautifully-crafted action scenes, and you have my full attention.

4: Into the Woods. As maybe 2% of the people reading this don't already know, I'm a Stephen Sondheim fanboy. And this is the best screen adaptation to date of any Sondheim musical. (Granted, there haven't been that many of them.) Go knowing that this is a dark take on fairy tales, and there's not much happily ever after to be found, but do go.

3: How to Train Your Dragon 2. The best animated film I saw (in a year filled with good animated films), and the best Dreamworks animated film to date. The visuals are stunning, but don't overwhelm the story. And the characterization, especially the relationships, is fully believable. In fact, what elevates the film this high in my list is a single scene, in which Viking chief Stoic woos his long-lost wife with song.

2: Guardians of the Galaxy. I'll be genuinely surprised if this isn't next year's Hugo winner. I left grinning, unable to name a single thing the filmmakers and cast did wrong. What a fun ride.

1: Her. I'm doing something unprecedented here, and putting the same movie on two consecutive best lists, and two consecutive Hugo nominating ballots. My rationale for doing so is that it opened in limited release in late December of 2013 (to make it Oscar-eligible), then in wide release in early 2014, so it really counts as more of a 2014 release. My reason for doing so is that it's the best science fiction movie of the last several years, and deserves recognition within our community. (It already has the Oscar, the Golden Globe, and the Writer's Guild award for best original screenplay.) The world-building is detailed, rich, and plausible. The ideas are brilliantly developed. The acting, especially by Joaquin Phoenix and Scarlet Johansson, is top-notch. If you haven't yet seen it, find it.

Overall, a damn good year, I'd say.

There are two[2] kinds of reasons why we sing. There's singing to feed your ego, and there's singing to feed your soul.

That sounds pretty stark, doesn't it? Clear cut, black and white. But it's not, not really. There's actually nothing inherently wrong with having an ego.[3] Having too much ego can be a bad thing, but so can having too little.

Too much ego leads you to show off, to constantly try to draw attention to yourself. Too much ego breeds arrogance and a lack of consideration for others. In filk terms, too much ego leads to filkhogging. After all, if you're there, why would people want to listen to anyone else? Excessive ego, in short, can lead to everyone thinking you're an asshole. And being right.

But too little ego can leave you always sitting in the back, telling yourself you're not good enough. Too little ego leaves you convinced that nobody will like your singing, so why try? Lack of ego is what breeds "I can't", and all the reasons we come up with to support it.

Worse yet, if there's anything in you that wants to sing, all those years of "I can't" can be toxic. You can end up feeling left out, like you're not really a part of the community. You can build up resentment, wondering why no one will give you a chance. Which, I'm both sorry and sad to say, is sometimes because you never gave yourself one.

Ego in moderation works for you. Ego is a spur to effort. Ego can be why we practice. Ego leads us to hone our craft. And ego isn't just wanting others to applaud, or laugh, or cry, or tell you they loved what you did, though those all feel great. It's the satisfaction that comes when you can honestly believe that you did something well, and created something worthwhile.

But.

While feeding your ego isn't necessarily a bad reason to sing, it's not, by itself, a sufficient reason.

I'll tell you a secret that's not a secret. All those people you come to cons to hear? The ones whose CDs you buy, and videos you watch? The ones whose songs you have memorized? Ego is a part of why they work as hard as they do, and that hard work is what makes them so good. But it's not why they do what they do. Their craft may earn your respect and admiration, but their love and passion for their art is what touches your heart.

They sing to feed their souls. And so do the people in the circle with quiet, quavering voices, who don't always hit the right notes, but who still manage to make you feel something, and leave you glad they sang.

When you sing because there's something you need to say, and there's a song that says it better than any other way you know, that's singing to feed your soul, whether you wrote that song or not. When there's a song that you haven't heard in the circle in a while, and you know that it must be shared with those who haven't heard it yet, that's singing to feed your soul. When you sing just because singing makes you feel good in a way that nothing else does, that's singing to feed your soul.

When you sing because it eases your pain, or lifts your spirit, or because you can't imagine living the rest of your life not singing, you're singing to feed your soul.

And the best thing is that if you're doing that, all that other stuff doesn't matter. Hitting all the right notes? Doesn't matter. Remembering the words without reading them as you sing? Doesn't matter. Being a charismatic performer? Definitely doesn't matter. You're singing for you. You can be aware of how everyone else in the room is reacting, sure, but that reaction doesn't control you. Applause is nice. That's all it is. Deep down, you know you don't have to have it.

The glorious, joyful truth is that feeding your soul is, all by itself, more than sufficient reason to sing.

Here's the bottom line:

If you want the things that feed your ego, you have to work for them. Practice. Get better. Learn your craft. Go for it.

If, however, the only thing you want is to sing, then sing. Forget everything else, and do what you need to do.

Sing for yourself.

Sing for the pure joy of singing, and having sung.

Sing to feed your soul.

I'll be listening.



[1] I'm allowing myself a little artistic license here, using "sing" to refer to singing, instrumentals, spoken word, dance, etc. It would be more accurate to say "perform", but "sing" just flows better, y'know?

[2] Any statement that divides the world in two is almost certain to be an oversimplification. In this case, I think it's a useful oversimplification.

[3] Those who know me will be shocked, shocked to find that I would say this.[4]

[4] Yes, that's a Casablanca reference, and yes, I'm using too many footnotes. I'll stop now.