You won’t like this story. There’s no twist at the end. I’m going to share a straight life with no magic. I was born in Tupelo, Mississippi. My Dad was a farmer. He grew lettuce and cabbage. He sold the produce at the farmer’s market and with dealers. My Mom was a nurse in the ER of a local hospital. We had a house with a wrap-around porch, two cars, a tractor, a swing set in the backyard. We didn’t have much money but we weren’t so poor we couldn’t put food on the table or pay for my music lessons. I had a brother who played video games. We weren’t close and Mom and Dad had disgust for the video game playing. I had a talent for singing and playing the guitar. I played in church and later at festivals and farm shows. In high school, I was in a band and the theater. In the yearbook, I was nominated as the next great country music singer. Every day I wrote songs and practiced the guitar and my vocals. I worked at Popeye’s part-time frying chicken. When I graduated I asked my parents for money. I had some saved and with their contribution, I bought a ten-year-old station wagon and took off to Nashville. I had demo tape and I dropped it off at ten musical labels. I was living in my car and the end of two weeks I got a job singing backup for John Carl – a up and coming country singer. Every day I wrote songs and practiced the guitar and my vocals. I also got a job waitressing at a rib place. I was able to split an apartment with a roommate. All my furniture came from the thrift store. John Carl became popular and I went on tour for a year. When we got back to Nashville he finally noticed me and we went on a date. Ten dates later he proposed. The day after our wedding in city hall he recorded his second record. Every day I wrote songs and practiced the guitar and my vocals. We rented a townhome and I got pregnant. Two months before I gave birth I sold one of my songs to Joanne White, a singer of some success. The song became a hit. I got an agent. Every day I wrote songs and practiced the guitar and my vocals. I sold more songs but they fell flat. They weren’t hits. When my third song bombed, I discovered John was cheating on me with a backup singer. I divorced him. I got $50 in alimony every month. Apparently, John Carl no longer had money or music hits. I got a job at a daycare. Sometimes I played the guitar and sang to the kids. Every day I wrote songs and practiced the guitar and my vocals. A mother of one of the kids heard me and thought I should have a record. She spoke to her husband, an executive at a music label. I auditioned for him and he signed me. I sang all my best songs and wrote more. My record debuted and I got kind comments and a lot of downloads. Every day I wrote songs and practiced the guitar and my vocals. My record wasn’t so successful that I was offered another chance. But sometimes I heard my singing on the radio and I felt happy. And every day, I wrote and played. I’m telling you this because there is no shortcut to creativity. You have to put in the work and even then, you may not get a big payoff or reward. You have to love the process of creating. You have to love it like nothing else. And if you do, you’re an artist. That’s it. It’s work and the work may never be acknowledged. But you have to do it. That’s it. I told you-you wouldn’t like this story.
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