In Simple Reply

IN SIMPLE REPLY

***If I get another threat because of this post, your email will be sent to the police. Free speech is the essence of our country.***


This is in reply to a blog on Darcy James Argue's Secret Society Site:

...a little about me.
I’m a chick, under the age of 33, sleeveless shirts just aren’t my thing and I write about jazz in a very serious way. My last name does not end in Blumenthal, Yanow, or Ratliff.

I am a jazz writer, despite the opinion of others who share this title.
I have broken through this "glass ceiling," in a very big way.

My first book, the New Face of Jazz (www.newfaceofjazz.com) is due out in the summer of 2010. And I DID NOT get this by blowing an editor or my looks. I got here through doing honest hard work and I've done it in a little over a year. (over 400 interviews with musicians around the country, traveling over 4 of these months, compiling a manuscript of over 120K words and an appendix that makes jazz accessible to the layman in over a dozen cities around the U.S.) I’ve been working on writing for quite a while and this doesn’t mean I've only been a "fan or critic" of jazz for a year either. Hardly.

I stepped on the scene as a player in college. I was a jazz studies major at the University of North Florida I played trumpet, lead trumpet to be exact. Don't play much anymore, but that's fine with me. I love to write. Google my name and you’ll see. I grew up with jazz all around me. It's a part of my DNA. I'm also white. I am not a ball busting bitch nor do I dress butch.

Now, I'm not accusing you guys of saying this at all. BUT. I've been through the ringer with the boys club, and I have the feeling it's only getting started, seeing as my pub. date isn't even until next summer. (We're working on cover art now and edits)

So where do I begin?

Let's start with sarcasm, move to biting humor, you know, the kind that leads to bloodletting and end on a note we can probably all agree on.

The review...you can read my reply to his words, if you even want to call them that, are sitting online beneath him as comments. Was he drunk? Maybe he was being a self-righteous bastard who deserves to live in the bowels of writing hell. I’ve sent out an email to every woman in jazz I know and even those in the pop, hip-hop world and more that will hopefully strike against this asshole. Including Maria herself. She is someone I consider a gift to artists everywhere. I’ve spoken with her a few times and not once would I consider her anything less. Diversity? Yeah, whatever.

For the record, I've written better reviews (and I’m not one to go willy-nilly on bragging, but I think anyone with a writing skill level over the age of six or seven could qualify to say this too) and articles for certain jazz establishments and been told to rewrite or no thanks. Again and again and again. Then I’ve been ignored repeatedly when emailing the said person I was supposed to email and finally got a disgruntled, harried response basically saying nothing but we'll deal with you later. I've asked/queried, even with the recommend of a well known jazz writer for other established publications/circles etc and been blatantly ignored, dismissed, or told to direct my concerns regarding subscriptions elsewhere.

So where does that leave the “female jazz critic?” Bare armed and alone with her stiff movements.

My own take on Maria’s music, since a couple of you have addressed this, is this: She lends a deeply personal and spiritual level to even the most simple melodies thus making them relatable to almost anyone. Each musicians she pens reaches with an individual touch, turn or brush of the beat. She’s the one person that changed my mind about what jazz could be. She is also the person who taught me that I had a long way to go as far as my listening skills. Even if a musician or listener does not agree with her music, they can not deny the skill she demonstrates in her sustained and remarkable craft.

Issue at hand: A lot of the musicians I spoke with throughout my journey writing this book, and these were not fluff interviews, spoke of racism, financial issues, and the lack of respect among our culture at large. Not a single male spoke about the lack of females in the art. Not a single male musician I met in my early days as a musician, unless my gig bag was slung across my back, thought I was a horn player. I was obviously the singer. Right?

It hasn’t changed much. When I first started out as a jazz writer it seemed like it was going to be the same. I had a few believers. Marcus Printup, Doug Wamble, and Vince Gardner, whom I know very well, believed in me. They said sure, come on out to NY, we’ll talk. I relied on known contacts to get to those I didn’t know...I slowly was able to infiltrate inner circles. But what I got was not exactly friendly fire.

I heard everything from comments such as, hmm, imagine that, a white girl writing about jazz all the way to, what do you want, a picture with me? or had I known you smelled or looked like that we could have spoken a lot longer etc...So you ask, where are all the female jazz critics?

I’m still standing.
I’m sure there are others.
There’s got to be.

It took me MONTHS to get over this. Not personally, but professionally. When a certain jaded and tainted and manufactured presence is placed upon your shoulders, that weight begins to cause indentations that cut all the way down to your fucking bones. But my bones didn’t break. I had a support system of men and women, sitting on top of the world, waiting, marching in place, thank god.

The women I interviewed weren’t catty, snarky, or any of the other attributes many paint us as having. Many of them are mothers, some grandmothers, sisters, at the very least to eachother, and in ways beyond words, already connected to one another. They have the same common and dire need as the men I interviewed. One of connection, human connection, the need for respect and to get rid of that sense of futility the material world tends to shelter and harbor artists through and out of. It’s difficult enough to succeed in this world without other issues slapping you in the face. Being a woman shouldn’t be one of them. Sure, if you can’t play, regardless of your sex, hit the shed and work on your craft. Don’t sleep with the manager/director/CEO whatnot. Only thing that buys you is an STD and a plate of fertilized and over-easy eggs before the door hits your ass, if you’re lucky. It most certainly does not earn you a career and/or the respect of your peers.

But every woman also spoke of being assumed the less talented one in the group, the least likely one to get called for gigs, unless it involved little to no clothing, last to get called to solo, the inherit lack of mentorship and encouragement past a certain age of those that are considered masters and the disconnect that is going on with the community of artists at large.

Why are women not nurtured and taken under the wings of some of the greats as the younger men are in jazz or in writing or even in the business world? Would everyone really assume we’re sleeping with them or out to bust balls or whatever term? Would it be taboo or would the men’s wives be so insecure they couldn’t handle that closeness as artists? Who knows what the answer really is, but the way I see it, its the mindset that’s been beaten into us through the media, the mass-marketed self-help books, diet worlds and more as children, teenagers and adults that’s hurting us.

Women’s lib did a world of good for a little while, Martin Luther King did a world of good for a little while, Rosa Parks did a world of good for a small amount of time too. But as we’ve seen, these issues will ALWAYS creep up if we let them. Unless there are innovators that come along and say fuck you, I’m sick of waiting on you/the system/others to change like those mentioned above did, we’ll always be stuck in this position.

So you ask, and I’m not apologizing for my tirade, as it needed to be said, what is it that dissuades the females from entering the music field as a critic? Hmmm, nothing. Not a single thing. We’re out there, we’re writing our asses off and I’m just one hard working gal that happened to attract the attention of the kind editors at Random House with a high concept pitch that also happens to give a hell of a lot of myself in order to see the jazz world thrive. It’s up to the writer’s, artists etc, regardless of sex, race and age to become the most vibrant, tenacious and visible counterparts to those already succeeding in any field in order to obtain the most visible work. I don’t even think we have to work harder, we just have to figure how much shit, just like every other adult I know, we can live being full of, and then purge the rest.

Women need to appreciate themselves for their own traits and attributes and then, and only then, will others, including other women be able to move on. Will this keep me from dressing nice and smelling nice, taking pride in who I am and my womanly side and making sure nice images are up at all times in my place in the public eye, certainly not. I have a level of dignity that needs to be kept. If those that have and expect that same level of dignity to be held in honor of their own names would just follow the simple rule, even those that review others and critique others, we wouldn’t have a need for this discussion today.

REPEAT EPISODE: Doormats

Quote of the Week:
There are only two types of women-goddesses and doormats.
~Pablo Picasso

Local Weather:
Sunshine, despite the lack of warmth
most likely followed by showers of
undigested food particles in the late evening.

Currently on my IPOD:
People are Strange by: The Doors

Hello my dear friends,

I am home. And as Benjamin Franklin says, Fish and Relatives smell in three days. I have been gone for seven in Georgia. Deduce what you want from that statement. Although I must say I am not sure if they were the ones with the stench, I have the feeling it was me...

Regardless, this was not an uneventful week. First off, the plane ride over to Georgia from Denver is not a short one. Coming in at around 3 hours, there are times in which I wish the pilots would just speed it up to around Warp Speed and get us the duck out of fodge.

However....people on this day decided to travel with their children. I did learn that I have surprisingly poor super power abilities to make myself and the others around me invisible. I failed. Miserably failed. And guess what. The others who were traveling with children...they were seated to my left and then to the immediate rear of me.

Let’s address the issue of the children sitting behind me first. Two boys. Two boys around the ages of say...hmmm...7 & 5. One boy: Blonde, rowdy and into the whole hair pulling thing. The other one: Brunette, Pissed off and into the whole biting thing. I won’t distinguish which was which. The mother: Looked fairly normal. Now, I don’t have boys, but still. The second the plane boarded in its entirety, she handed them brownies or some kind of other Little Debbie Snack cake in a plastic wrapper. They finished the delicacy within the confines of processed foods and then the fighting started. Not the no I didn’t, yes you did, no I didn’t sort, it was more of ultimate fighting championship ala Airtran Airlines. My seat was bucking, going back and forth and the airline pilot was managing to keep the plane as steady as I had yet to experience.

Then the biting started. I think one of them drew blood from the other. At least it was beginning to smell like blood. Status on the mother: Silent, reading her book. I thought for a brief moment, good for her, ignoring them, letting them kill themselves without her help. And then it was time for the drink service. The hapless air waitresses came down our section of the flight, offering a bevy of plastic cups that aren’t recycled and a limited selection of drinks and snacks, most of which dehydrate you further while you are flying. (***Nurse Cicily says: Dehydration is a known problem during flying, next time you’re en route and enjoying the entertainment of those around you,choose the water and skip the pretzels and or peanuts. You can order vodka or gin..if you have the money, just make sure you follow it with water) I ordered my water, threw the peanuts into the carry on bag for a later date and thought that maybe the three ring circus behind me would settle in for a drink.

Yeah, fat chance.

No, they didn’t want the peanuts and yes, that’s all the ladies had to offer. The mother smacks the older kid upside the head and says, wadda ya want? at the top of her lungs. He screams back, Cherry Coke. Oh dear hell. Caffeinated, dehydrating fluids. My index like brain quickly ran over the side effects. Irritability, excessive venerability and possible death by bludgeoning from the unsuspecting quiet red head in the seat in front of him. The next boy...ordered the same. Then the two boys proceeded to scream that they didn’t want the healthy shit their mother was offering them. I peaked behind my seat and found them throwing the nutri-grain simulated nutritional bars she had just tossed their way, onto the floor. The younger one even ground the bar into the floor with his untied shoe.

The older kid was, at this point, grabbing his brother in the head lock he had promised him a few minutes previous to the beverage service and the drink spilled all over the floor. I was waiting for candid camera to pop up or my magical stun gun to appear in my hand. The mother finally turned to them, and through her gritted teeth mouth, said, if you don’t stop now, I’ll take away your M&M’s.

Yeah, stick it to em’. WTF?

I would have killed them and easily taken the jail sentence or corporal punishment. On the way out of the plane, they pushed, shoved and screamed their way out to the ramp. The mother, screamed back, wait, wait up. Helpless little kittens, oh, how they have lost their mittens. Right? The oldest boy turned around and said, I don’t have to listen to you anyway, you’re my step-mom.

BINGO! Doormat # 1, we have a winner.

So, as I ramble on and on, I come to the uncertain fate of the woman next to me and her seemingly angelic little girl. The girl had ringlets, yes, real ringlets, pouring down from her scalp to her shoulders. Her light and unblemished skin aged her to be around 2 or 3 at the very most. She had a pacifier in and for most of the ride. Nearing the end of my patience with the boys from hell behind me, she woke up, plucked her pacifier out of her mouth and threw it across the aisle. At me. I picked it up, offered the mother to go rinse it off and then the girl said NO! I want it now! The mom looked at me and smiled. I forked over the pacifier without saying a word. The little girl then looked at her mom and screamed, I WANT OUT OF HERE NOW!!!! Sure, most kids get frightened on their first flights and may get a little claustrophobic like the adults in the cabin who didn't have the five bucks to buy the 0.02 oz of vodka to go in their sprite or cran-apple juice...I digress. Then the little girl got up, ran around the aisles and started to scream at the adults.

This flight was not a late night flight. This was not a red-eye flight.

The mom just sat there and took it. Yeah, I wouldn’t have been so kind. Not that I am one to completely duct tape my children to the chair or anything, but come on! Be responsible and keep your kids under control.

Okay, enough about that. Sorry, my rant went on longer than I expected. And as for the last part of my weather forecast? Yeah, Saturday night went out with some friends and got the worst case of food poisoning in my life. I still have not stopped with the nausea or the product of nausea. I don’t think it’ll ever end. My stomach feels as though its been hole punched by some mutant bacteria.

I’m sure I’ll survive, but you better tune in next week to make sure I do...

Oh, and don’t forget to check out my retreat site: Writing Away Retreats. Would love to see you all there!

Yours in Fabulous Parenting, Food Fights and Fussing Over Nothing,

Cicily

*Repeating my oldies until the MS is done. If you'd like to guest blog on here, let me know, you're more than welcome to contribute until I get done! And don't forget, your registrations for Writing Away Retreats need to be filled out!*

Guest Blogger: Rebecca Emrich: Writing Retreats.

Greetings to all who read Cicily's blog. My name is Rebecca Emrich and I'm guest blogging for her today.

She once asked me if I would write about writing retreats and well, That is what my topic is about. Writing Retreats are possibly the best way to recharge your mind and soul. Now, it doesn't have to be elaborate, or long. It just has to be something that means a lot for you.

I have to admit I've never gone on a writing retreat. Yes, I have taken writing classes through Gotham and Writers Online Workshops, These classes helped me a lot in my growth as a writer. Then Cicily emailed me about her blog, which is by the way, one you should follow. It' packed with vital information and a valuable edition for writers. The question I asked myself was how would a retreat help my growth as a writer?

So much more than I could imagine. I also learned that you don't have to go fancy, but you need to make sometime, for yourself as a writer. This is a job right? You want to do well in the twin careers of writing and publishing. You want to make some connections or find a place where you can sit and write for as long as is needed.

Some people have in the past started out with simply a room of one's own where they could write. This works great provided you aren't like me with two very small curious children. So The next step is a home away from home without the children, say in a hotel. Again a great idea, provided that you aren't spending the week with the TV on or the money on phone bills calling home or worse... spending time in a spa, when you should be writing.

That leaves one option: Writing retreats. Now I'd love to go on one myself, since I know what a intense time it is. If you are serious about writing go to one. I'll say this, don't pick any simply because they seem good. I think the best thing that needs to come out is having editors and professions in your field there. It also needs to be a long enough time where you can get work done. And NO distractions, just writing.

My main point is Writing Retreats are a must at some point.

Now a Question for you: what would it take to make your writing go to the next level?

-Rebecca Emrich

**Thanks Rebecca for your insight and words. You're welcome to guest blog with me anytime!

Uninterrupted....

Hey guys and gals,

My usual blog will be up and running with a post from a guest next week and then my usual schtick will be here before you know it. Finishing a manuscript is MUCH harder than I thought it would be.


But. I have to do it.

It's almost there. A few more weeks and voila' the New Face of Jazz should be in the hands of my editor.

For now, I'll guest blogging later this week on Brian Knight's blog, The New Author. And don't just go there to read my posting, read through all of his works on there. They're insightful and offer invaluable advice to the new writer/author.

Thanks again to Brian for having me.

Yours in Finishing What you Started, Finding Your Worth and Finally Getting it.

Cicily