How do you know when you're lying? To yourself, I mean. My list of excuses for not working, not writing and recording, is getting unwieldy. Most of them have some validity, it's true. Maybe it doesn't really matter if it's mostly about laziness.
Most folks who do what I do have more to work with. Writer's block. That's a good one, there. A writer can merely express the disappearance of a muse and be let off the hook.
Me? Every woman's my muse. Writing takes nothing out of me. I could sit here and pour out twenty new songs before the sun goes down. I'm not bragging. I never claimed to have written a good one. Any of the twenty would probably be as good as any of the other ones that I've written.
Here are a few examples of what I tell myself daily to keep from writing.
Nobody buys cd's.
I never sold any, to speak of, when they did.
Those gutters should be cleaned before the rains start tonight.
I've written and re-written the same two or three songs for years. Decades. Centuries!
The world has no use, literally, for another Ronny Elliott record.
Oh, I could go on for pages but that gives you the idea. If it sounds like I'm whining, like I'm feeling sorry for myself, I'm not. I'm lucky to have sold any records at all. Grateful, too. I will find a different excuse not to clean the gutters. There's nothing sad about my insignificance as a songwriter. I honestly believe that we're all a part of the grand exhibit and I feel like I've had the best seat at the show.
Love? It's like playing piano. In my head I'm really good at it. There's nothing else to write about.