Well begun is half done

Who knew this quote was from Aristotle? I always thought it was from Mary Poppins. With a three-year-old in the house, I certainly watch the latter more frequently than I delve into ancient philosophy. But as with many things, it's the thought that counts. And for someone like me who is getting into the business (well, the practice anyway; "business" implies that money is changing hands) of writing books, it's an important thought indeed.

I recently learned about a competition being held by a literary agent named Nathan Bransford. Writers were to send him the opening paragraph of their work in progress, and the best one would receive a free critique of the writer's work or query letter. It seemed like a low-risk venture, so I entered. But I didn't send the opening paragraph of my completed manuscript, The Grave and the Gay. The reason is that I had already sent a query letter and sample chapters of the work to Bransford and he had rejected it. And even though I had since adjusted the opening (and did so again as recently as 48 hours ago), I felt that a fresh start was required.

I looked at the opening paragraph of my other work in progress, which is a single sentence: "I am the King of Bad Dreams." Nah, that won't work. Not much of a paragraph, is it? I could bring up the next two sentences and pretend I intended the three to form an opening paragraph, but it still wasn't compelling enough to stand up to competition. The fact is, the opening is the hardest part of writing a novel. I'm not sure I'd be happy with my current openings if I spent the next 30 years revising them.

Ultimately, I sent the opening paragraph of the essay I wrote about spreading my friend's ashes, which I shared in an earlier post. Even though it's not a work in progress, it's my favorite opening paragraph:

The last time I saw my friend Marc, he was tumbling down from a bridge onto the ground approximately sixty feet below. I had a good view because I was the one who caused his descent. I didn’t necessarily want to do it, but he insisted. And he wasn’t hurt by the fall, because he was already dead. You see, I was spreading his ashes.

Suffice to say, I didn't win. Well, so what? As my hero Abraham Lincoln once said, "I have been too familiar with disappointments to be very much chagrined." Besides, I'm plenty busy shopping around The Grave and the Gay and working on my other work in progress (which is still untitled; the file name is NEW NOVEL.doc). So I dropped it from my mind. Until today.

I was looking through my "Writings" folder on my computer, where a number of files of varying vintages are stored. Many of these are fragments: beginnings of stories, snatches of dialogue, plays on words, observations, etc. I've saved them because I'd once read that Stephen Stills saves all of his musical and lyrical scraps until he finds a place to fit them in. Maybe it could work for me, as well.

One of the files had the cryptic title, "Fifteen.doc." I didn't recall its contents so I opened it. There was just a single short paragraph:

Fifteen. When I was 15 it seemed like I’d be 15 forever. The summer that I was 15 was a memorable one. I had my first beer, my first joint, and my first kiss. Days lasted years. Nights lasted decades. And then one morning, I woke up and I was 45.

I liked it! I must have written it some time last year, when I was 45. It felt real to me, and yet it was also something I felt I could build on. The first question, of course, was "What's next?" And it came to me very quickly. I appended the following to the paragraph:

And I had a 15-year-old of my own. And I had to tell him that I was leaving his mother.

So now I had a brand new opening paragraph that I wish I had found in time for the competition:

Fifteen. When I was 15 it seemed like I’d be 15 forever. The summer that I was 15 was a memorable one. I had my first beer, my first joint, and my first kiss. Days lasted years. Nights lasted decades. And then one morning, I woke up and I was 45. And I had a 15-year-old of my own. And I had to tell him that I was leaving his mother.

No matter. It was an exciting new beginning and I went with it. Within half an hour, I had five paragraphs and something more: yet another work in progress. In need of a title and, one day I hope, an agent and publisher.

Future Projects IV: Monkees tribute band

OK, you're thinking, now he's gone off the deep end. How does one go from wanting to novelize the romance between King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba, stage a one-act play dramatizing the spreading of one's friend's ashes at a sacred childhood spot, and develop other creative fiction and non-fiction works, to forming a band to play the repertoire of the Monkees? What can I say, I'm a renaissance man.

I love the Monkees. I have ever since I took my sister's copy of their first album. I then got their Greatest Hits, with the original orange and black cover. And of course, I loved the TV show. But, say the critics and the cynics, that's really all it was, right? A TV show about a band, and the band was just actors who didn't play on their records, right? Wrong. While the individual Monkees were indeed cast for a show, their first hit single preceded the show's debut. They provided all the vocals, and Mike Nesmith contributed two original compositions (his song, Different Drum, was already a hit for Linda Ronstadt).

Therefore, in terms of the level of participation of the members in their recordings, the distinction between the Monkees and a group like the Temptations or even the Jackson 5 seems pretty small. Furthermore, the Monkees, at least Nesmith and Peter Tork, actively campaigned for the right to play and write on their records. More Monkees performed on the group's third album, Headquarters, than Beach Boys performed on Pet Sounds. Motown had the Funk Brothers, the Beach Boys and Phil Spector had the Wrecking Crew. The Monkees also benefited from studio musicians. It makes them no less of a legitimate band.

Ultimately, though, the proof of the pudding is in the grooves. They were great singers and they sang great songs, written by some of the best songwriting talent around at that time, including Goffin-King, Neil Diamond, Harry Nilsson, Boyce & Hart, and John Stewart. With his contributions, Nesmith was one of the earliest pioneers of country rock. Micky Dolenz was a soulful singer with relentless energy. Davy Jones was the balladeer, but could also put some English on uptempo rockers. Peter Tork was underutilized but whenever he was featured, his efforts stood out.

So anyway, I play drums and I've always wanted to form a Monkees tribute band. Aside from loving the music, it's also a fun idea. Now, I need to be clear that I don't want a band that dresses and acts like the Monkees, nor do I want a band that slavishly copies the original recordings. I just want a band that plays this music well and with enjoyment. I even have a name for the group: MonkeeJuice. This is a tribute to the Boston-based cover band, BeatleJuice, that was fronted by former Boston (the group) vocalist Brad Delp before his unfortunate suicide a couple of years ago. BeatleJuice played Beatles songs for the sheer love of the music, and that's what I want to do with MonkeeJuice, too.

Unfortunately, the guys I've played with over the past few years aren't so much into the idea. One show, one time, we played Last Train to Clarksville, with me on drums and vocals. Other than that, I can't get these guys to buy into the idea. At the same time, I'm a bit hesitant to pursue this project more heavily. One of the guys I've played with decided a few years ago he wanted to start a Steely Dan tribute band. He placed a notice on Craig's List and was inundated with offers from people all over the country. He assembled a large group and rehearsed with them for a long time until it started to splinter, with some people complaining it was getting too jazzy, and others saying it wasn't jazzy enough. If this can't be fun, I don't want to do it.

What I do want to do, however, is spread the gospel of the Monkees, a band that absolutely deserves to be in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.

This rarity was written by Goffin-King, sung and produced by Nesmith. Always thought this sounded like a lost Buffalo Springfield track (not that ironic considering Peter Tork was a one-time roommate of Stephen Stills).