High Lonesome

Far from the crystal-clear pools of Palm Springs and its emerald green golf courses lies another world. A world of vast nothingness peppered with the sad remnants of past lives and etchings scratched in the rocks. It’s a place where stillness thunders louder than the wind and God did some of his finest work. High and lonesome.

Sharon and I have been traveling to this wilderness mecca ever since the kids were still in school and offspring weren’t even a part of the equation. We’ve taken friends there as part of the Palm Springs experience when they’ve come to visit. It’s part and parcel of the Southern California magic. Joshua Tree is a world unto its own.

This world-renowned national park and its surrounding communities embrace another form of existence; all of which is surrounded by endless horizons. The area is a mecca for aging rock stars, artists and modern-day bohemians along with ordinary people all in search of a new beginning. It’s the place where people go to get lost and then forgotten.

The high desert of the Morongo Basin is like a modern-day outback of more than 9.5 million acres of public land in the California desert. Its home to old walking trails first used by Native Americans between seasonal encampments then followed by Spanish explorers and finally 19^th century gold seekers and pioneers.

1.7-billion-year-old rocks compete for attention with the ancient land mass of Rodinia and King Clone and 11.000-year-old creosote bush that began its life during the retreat of the last Ice Age. It was a desolate wilderness and home to cowboys, outlaws, roaming Indian people and Mexican traders.

Reminders of past human lives are everywhere. Abandoned mines litter the area with their relics of past hopes and dreams scattered about the ground. A restored railroad depot stands alone with its tracks still leading nowhere. Ramshackle old cabins planted amid miles of sage and scrub brush, sit isolated and lonely in the desert. The evidence is all here if you can look past the dust and dirt and castles made of boulders to imagine all the past lives that once past through this place on the way to a better life.

Before and during the 1950s, the high desert was home to simple shacks on homesteaded land. No water, electricity, or amenities. Initially L.A. outlaws, urban rebels and the adventurous few gravitated to this Spartan existence. Over time, the elements took their toll and many shacks were abandoned and forgotten. Most reverted back to the Bureau of Land Management.

Then in the 1960s and 70s, artists, musicians, urban castaways, and bohemian rebels found the high desert a perfect refuge from the craziness that had overtaken most of the coastal cities. These new explorers flocked to the area in their VW pop-up campers, tents, sleeping bags and simple woolen blankets. It was like an unorganized gathering of like-minded souls each of whom was lost inside their own head.

More recently, high architectural drama followed in the form of classic modern dwellings. Gradually, there grew a vibe, an undercurrent of interest and excitement about high desert living. VRBO and AirBnB locales began sprouting up everywhere.

A whole new generation of architectural aficionados, Gen Xers, boomers, urban pioneers, and retirees are reclaiming the desert and rebuilding those dilapidated shacks into something more attractive-only this time with all the amenities. A lot of the Airbnb listings are remodeled versions of these old shacks that used to be part of a homesteading craze decades ago.

Right from the start, we wanted to introduce our grandchildren to this playground for the imagination. Much like the high-altitude cerebral vacuum of the San Jacinto Mountains, Joshua Tree is the perfect setting for letting their minds wander and bump into thoughts and ideas and feelings they never knew were lurking there.

It means nestling into a large boulder, resting your head on its warm pillow of granite, looking up at the pure blue flawless sky and listening to your surroundings. The stillness will batter your eardrums with a quiet so loud that all you can do is retreat back inside your head for peace and serenity.

The high desert is a cornucopia of images, lifestyles, attitudes, ambitions, and dreams from a plethora of characters; real and imagined. It’s where you go to lose yourself and perhaps find the unexpected. It’s where the ghosts of past rock and roller stars still play their mournful ballads for no one to hear but the wind.

And it’s where writers go to ask ‘what if.’

What Were You Really Like?

If I had a time machine, there would be so many people I’d like to see again. I’d start with the man who gave me life then disappeared for four years before exiting the planet. My mother probably comes in a close second. Raised in a strict rural German Catholic culture, she proved unable to open herself up to maternal feelings that might have been lingering there. Maybe the next time it would be different?

Then there’s another group. Folks who entered into my life for a brief period of time before disappeared again. I was recently commiserating with one of my salon compatriots about old friends and past companions. With our collective miles under the belt, we’ve both had many casual, close and a few profound friendships and relationships.

While some of my friends won’t admit it, I know there’s been several who have acquiesced to ‘Facebook stalking’ and/or perusing ‘Classmates.com’ in hopes of finding old school chums, friends, associates, love interests and other assorted contacts made over the years.

My belief is that you leave something of yourself with everyone you come into contact with. Granted, you are a different person now than you were back then but if you have ‘history’ with someone even for a brief period of time, the connection is still there.

The categories where old acquaintances can be found vary with time and place. It really comes down to meaningful events in your life even if for only short periods of time. There’re all life sketches, painted a different color for everyone, and yet poignant reminders of one’s past life.

Photo courtesy of Jerry Hoffman

One of my regrets is that almost all of those kids I hung around with in grade school have long since scattered to the winds of time. It would have been so fascinating to find out how their lives turned out after growing up in Highland Park.

The Army had a profound effect on me although I didn’t realize it at the time. My two-year enlistment was ripe with hundreds of storylines, personal antidotes, and character studies. Events happened and were forgotten only to resurface years later when nudged forward by a song, comment, or photograph. It was a colorful kaleidoscope of military images buried deep in my memory bank. There were Drill Sergeants straight out of hell, bunkmates who were anti-social, lost young men, gung-ho John Wayne types, rumblings of a far-off Asian war, and a youthful lusting for the opposite sex.

Straight out of Basic Training, I worked as a reporter at the Presidian, the post newspaper, at the Presidio of San Francisco. My boss, the Sergeant Major, took a fatherly role in pointing me in the right direction (the Army way of doing things.) There was Mara, the office sexpot. She was a sad lost young woman, raised in an abusive household, whose striking good looks proved to be her downfall. The Colonel in charge seemed to hate enlisted men and life in general. I was introduced to the theater (in San Francisco, mind you) by a young German immigrant who had been drafted only weeks after arriving in the states.

As far as my other batshit bunkmates went, I had them all. A hustler (seriously, a working pimp), several deadbeats, an actor (really good), an artist (who hated Joan Baez?) and a squirrel cage of other characters. All destined for success or failure in one form or another.

Living in Europe on two separate occasions also supplied me with lasting memories of colorful characters, sad creatures, and intimate cerebral partners for late night salons.

There was my old roommate I called ‘animal,’ who only lived with me briefly but even then, left a memorable impression. Tiny Bailey, another lost soul from Arizona, who escaped an alcoholic mother to seek solace in Denmark then ended up leaving for Israel instead. The Guy from Canada who lived with a local family and was treated like royalty and Maria, my pal at the Danish laundry.

After I returned back to the states, there was a plethora of friends, close and not so close, who passed in and out of my life. The guy from Kentucky who took me in when I moved out after a racist rant from my mother about my girlfriend at the time. Close contacts that never went very far. For some that was a good thing. For others, I wish I was still in touch.

Those memories ended bundled up as a play entitled ‘PTV’ for which I still have high hopes in the future. It’s a kaleidoscope of wonderful memories: meeting ‘the one’ for the first time, learning to love television production and direction, real estate stumbles and success and now, closer to home, writing nine original songs for the production.

Past Girlfriends are always a topic of curiosity for most men. This kind of inquiry could seem awkward but it doesn’t have to be. For me, each of those women were charming, interesting, and a delight to know in their own way. There were a few others less memorable and my time spent with them was more easily forgotten. Yet with each, there was some ‘history’ and it was good.

Where there was history, there are memories. The key here is to glance into the past but not linger there. I think it’s human nature to want to know about past acquaintances no matter how close or vapid they might have been. They were all, in a way, a reflection of who I was at that time in my life. A point in time that can’t be returned, replaced, or replicated.

There can still be some poignant memories nevertheless. A cryptic e-mail after 48 years stating simply: ‘you did become a writer.’ Occasional e-mail exchanges that never went anywhere. A phone call out of the blue at 58 years for a brief 10 minutes. Then silence again.

Another former friend with whom I crossed paths after sixty some years is still refusing to recognize anything beyond the fact that ‘there was some history there.’ Yeah, like for a year and a half worth but who’s counting? But that’s the way she wants to see our past and I have to respect it.

Memories are like good conversations. They’re ripe with warmth, delight, and carefully construed images dancing in your head. What really happened, who knows? What did the other person feel or remember, who knows?

Like a necklace of pearls, they shine and reflect and say something about who you are, who you were and how far you’ve come. Then it’s time to put the pearls away, look up at life and continue down that pathway of reality. And as Jackie Gleason famously said: “And thanks for the memories.”

Self-Help

Believe it or not, there was actually a time when customer service counted for something and employees were trained to do their job well. My, how times have changed. I was commiserating awhile back with a fellow writer about how business’ have changed so much over the years.

Back in the eighties, my friend was a managing editor at Training Magazine in downtown Minneapolis and I was working fulltime in public television. I also had a side hustle with my own business of producing and distributing personal development video tape programs. This was long before many companies moved their call centers to India (now Vietnam) and you could expect long waits ‘on hold’ as a normal part of doing business with them.

Self-help and personal development topics were all the rage back then and a community of gurus was ready with the answers. Books, tapes, lectures, seminars, and ‘live’ courses all rushed in to fill the vacuum of need. Councilors included a Jesuit priest and a Mexican Shaman.

ChatGPT summarized it best: ‘In the 1980s, the self-help movement exploded in popularity, blending psychology, motivational speaking, business coaching, and spirituality. Many of these figures rose to prominence during that decade and became household names.

Tony Robbins – Emerged in the mid-to-late 1980s with Unlimited Power (1986) and his firewalking seminars; became one of the most recognizable motivational coaches.

Zig Ziglar – A dynamic speaker and author of See You at the Top (revived in the 1980s), famous for sales training and positive thinking.

Jim Rohn – Mentor to Tony Robbins, popular in the 1980s for his seminars on success, personal responsibility, and mindset.

Brian Tracy – Began gaining attention in the 1980s with talks and books about goal setting, productivity, and achievement (The Psychology of Achievement).

Wayne Dyer – Already known from the 1970s (Your Erroneous Zones), but remained hugely popular in the 1980s with his blend of psychology and spirituality.

On the business front, several authors wrote fascinating sagas about business success stories and innovative entrepreneurs. Thomas J. Peters is credited with co-authoring the 1982 best-selling book In Search of Excellence: Lessons from America's Best-Run Companies with Robert Waterman. The book sold over 5 million copies and helped change people’s attitudes about business in general. Two other authors, Jim Collins and Jerry Porras, wrote a series of best sellers like ‘Built to Last: Successful Habits of Visionary Companies’ as part of their ‘Good to Great’ Series of books.’

During that same time period, my own business, Sharden Productions, Inc., was heavy into producing and distributing personal development and self-help material in a variety of formats. I marketed my products to other public television stations, cable outlets, colleges, and universities and sub-contracted with distributors for a broader reach.

Two of my perennial top-selling courses were on speed reading and time management. But as the business grew, I expanded out to other markets like sports (Golf Memories), music (a jazz concert series called ‘Some Call It Jazz’) and even engineering courses. It was an eclectic series of products but it served various audiences and made money.

As those markets changed and evolved, I gradually shifted to producing more video series for my own home town. At one point, I had three series going simultaneously: ‘Hook and Ladder’ (Apple Valley Fire Department), ‘Police Beat’ (Apple Valley Police) and ‘Apple Valley Today’ (a magazine format video series on events and happenings in and around the city of Apple Valley). When those had run their course and I wasn’t ready for retirement, I switched to fulltime writing and never looked back.

Following that 80’s period of self-help literature, another more egregious form of salesmanship came on the scene in the early 90s. This was the whole ‘something for nothing’ or ‘little down and less in return’ sales pitch. Easy pickings in real estate were the main target for the naïve shopper but it also included just about any product or goal that required little effort on the buyer’s part, little knowledge of the product and easy sailing almost guaranteed.

The pinnacle of that foolishness was probably best exemplified by a Fortune Magazine front page shoutout in 2008. Just before the real estate crash of 2008, Fortune Magazine was touting the riches to be made in ‘get rich quick’ real estate schemes. Nothing really changes.

So, if it’s true that nothing really changes, I guess the only answer is that one remains vigilant, don’t believe it just because it’s in print or on social media and be ‘thrifty smart’ and not ‘stupid cheap.’

If it’s too good to be true, well, stupid, it probably is. I’ve seen a lot of people try to ride that pony and they usually fall off. We only have one road trip in this lifetime. So, learn to relax a little and enjoy the ride for what it is. The ride of a lifetime.

Going It Alone

Is group think a better way to create ideas, thoughts, images, patterns, songs and the written word?  Do artists create alone or by committee? Is Artificial Intelligence the answer? Does that special formula associated with creativity only call for isolated wanderings inside one’s head to find that image or thought. Then you pull, yank, cajole or force it out into the open in one of a bajillion forms or formats?

Is ‘creativity by consensus’ group think and/or ‘following the herd’ a real thing? I would argue it is not. I would suggest that creating in isolation, going inside one’s head, into the zone is the way most art is created. In my own songbook, the great musical collaborators were two artists work-ing together but still doing their own thing.

Several folks, whom I respect a lot, would strongly disagree. They argue that one must be open to ideas, suggestions, attitudes and ever popular trends if one is to succeed in telling their story. In the case of a script reading for a play, the creators of the work should be open to suggestions as long it is understood that the final say always rests with the playwright and director. Ultimately, it is up to the creator (whoever that may be) who gave birth to the project to have the last say.

The vast majority of creative works of art; be it novels, plays, movies, art, song, etc. have one creator, one visionary, one story-teller. A host of others may collaborate on the final product but its true birth mother or father is its true parent. That doesn’t ignore or denigrate the immense help that beta readers, editors, and other collaborators can add to the final product.

I read a fascinating book recently about the production of the Fleetwood Mac album ‘Rumours.’ The band consisted of four musically brilliant musicians, who together, melded their different approaches to rhythm and rhyme and cadence into each song and together created an award-winning album.

The magic here was in their individual ‘point of view’ approach to the music. For example, if you give ten directors a movie script, each will come up with a different movie in their mind. In the case of ‘Rumours,’ those four different points of view found a commonality or theme that the four musicians could agree upon. Each held to their own vision of the song but was willing to compromise for a fabulous final product.

It's simply another argument that in most cases there is one creator of a song, novel, play, movie. Certainly, collaboration is often a key here. But ultimately the core idea was (probably) the result of one person’s thought process, imagination, etc. AI can help or hinder here depending on how it is used or misused.

Bob Dylan is renowned for his original folk songs in the early 60s. The truth is that Dylan was a master at taking old 1700 and 1800 English, Scottish, and early Americana music and adapting it to his own particular style. The folk tradition is rife with examples of songs being adapted, changed, and revised for another artist.

Pablo Picasso is famously associated with the saying: “Good artists copy, great artists steal.”

The idea behind this line is that true creativity doesn’t come from simply imitating others, but from deeply absorbing influences, transforming them, and making them one’s own.

That said, there’s some nuance:

• Picasso is often credited with this quote, but there’s debate about whether he actually said it.
• Some scholars trace the phrase to earlier sources. For instance, the poet T.S. Eliot wrote in 1920:
  “Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.”
• Picasso did, however, speak openly about borrowing, transforming, and reimagining other artists’ work. He once said:
  “When there’s anything to steal, I steal.”

So, while the exact wording may be questionable, the sentiment—that great artists take inspiration and transform it into something uniquely theirs—is strongly tied to Picasso’s philosophy and practice.  (Thanks to ChatGPT for that clarification.)

So, by that standard, Bob Dylan is a master thief and brilliant at it. I should be so talented.

Malcolm Gladwell in both his books ‘Outliers’ and ‘The Tipping Point’ touches on some of the seemingly serendipitous side notes that make such a difference in the creative process. It’s the little things like practice and dedication and focus that separate the actors from the ushers. And there’s a phrase for that: ‘Hiding the brush strokes.’

It always looks so easy because the media wants us to believe it is. House flippers flip and make a fortune overnight. Writers pen the great American novel without breaking a sweat. Movie directors create a one of-a-kind film just as planned and songwriters simply pen a classic on a whim. We want to believe that a playwright’s magic on Broadway was a simple journey from pen to stage.

Few of us truly understand the panic, fear, exhilaration, heartbreak, and hope that goes into creating a work of art. We don’t want to hear about the years spent toiling in the graveyard of broken dreams, spent efforts and abject failures before something, if anything, ever happens from all that soul-crushing effort. It’s all made to look so easy.  We seldom, if ever, hear about the many miles traveled before success is reached. Instead, every artist is presented as an overnight success.

Ignoring the harsh reality that in real life there are no guarantees and nothing is owed. Those with grit get it. Those lacking that ‘something within’ keep dreaming and hoping then wonder why nothing ever happens. Without real effort and sacrifice and usually some failure nothing is accomplished.

George Lucas went through hell to get his first feature ‘THX 1138’ produced. When it crashed as a commercial failure, he wrote another movie initially called ‘Friday Night in Modesto’ and finally produced it as ‘American Graffiti.’ Even that success didn’t guarantee any support for his next feature about space ships and large furry sidekicks.

My art is the written word. My mediums are primarily novels, plays and movies. Each presents its own unique set of challenges and opportunities for story-telling. Through good fortune and lucky breaks, I’ve had three plays produced by the Second Act Players in Rosemount. Two more were produced in California. Each was a wonderful learning experience and another opportunity to express myself.

I teach in my workshop on ‘How to Get Started as a Writer’ that the key to writing is to write. I make the point right up front that there are no guarantees and no promises. I can only point the way for my audience. I remind them that there are three things needed to become a writer.

Desire…but they won’t know if they have it unless they give it a try.

Perseverance…they won’t know if they have it unless they try.

Talent…they won’t know if they have it unless they give it a try.

The key here is to write something every day, almost every day or whenever they can. If they do that, they will begin to feel a passion that gets them out of bed each morning. They will have begun traveling on that long road to becoming a writer. That’s called showing your brush strokes.

As with any kind of art, nothing is guaranteed or comes easy. That’s life. But what a gift it is to create something, anything, that’s been swirling around in your brain for oh so long. Let’s face it, there is no better way to live your life than to do whatever it is you love to do.

Isn’t that what life is all about?