c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(7-26)
Part of the mystery surrounding creative writing is that this pursuit often seems to take its own course. Somewhat like a river cutting its way through soil and stone. No impediment to the process is enough to still that flow, when in motion. Yet while being viewed by an observer who does not participate in the craft, it may appear to be capricious and undisciplined. Predictably, that was the reaction I got from T. Randall Squire, after posting another composition on my newspaper blog.
It Happened
“I took a ride on a sinner’s course
On the saddle of a crazy horse
And it brought me regret and remorse
It happened to me
I see others going wistfully wild
Participating in a rebel style
But all I got was a wink and smile
It happened to me
The trade
The trade
That feel of being played
I should have known better
But I just couldn’t wait
I took a step off the crest of a hill
Took a tumble like a Slinky spill
The whole deal left me feeling ill
It happened to me
For the rest it is a better day
They roll the dice and make their play
But in the end, I got nothing to say
It happened to me
The mark
The mark
Got left out in the dark
Lost the image of myself
Just playing the part
I needed nothing but a pat on the back
A meager moment when the room goes black
But consequences are a natural fact
It happened to me
I took a hit right on the chin
While watching the others win
And then the guilt trip rightly begins
It happened to me
The leap
The leap
A jump right off my feet
I spun around the spindle
Till the grooves were incomplete
I never guessed that a detour dive
Would make me wonder ‘bout being alive
I wasn’t sure if I could count to five
It happened to me
I sold my birthright for a chunk of ham
Hungry, homeless, and a broken man
Then at sunset I kicked the can
It happened to me
The fog
The fog
It swirls like a swampy bog
Full of minutes, misconstrued
And I’m a lonely dog
When the final move peters out
And the gamers surrender to doubt
I’ll be the one turned inside-out
It happened to me
Just a wager that went all wrong
A verse different from the anthem song
I should have known it all along
It happened to me
Yes, it happened to me...”
His sneering snort of dissatisfaction appeared in my voicemail queue, hours later.
“WHAT THE HECK, BOY? ARE YA JUST TRYIN’ TA GET MY GOAT, OR WHAT? ONE DAY YER ON A WHITE HORSE, RIDIN’ HIGH, AND THE NEXT, Y’ALL SOUND LIKE A DAMN FREAK SPITTIN’ OUT BULLSHIT AT A POETRY SLAM! I THOUGHT WE HAD OUR LITTLE PARTNERSHIP FIGURED OUT! ARE YA AN ORNERY CUSS, OR WHAT?”
Planning ahead of time on work assignments was never part of my routine. So, I have always tended to wander a bit with regard to subject matter. I do what I do, and let the after-effects take hold, once that session has expired. Being too careful and self-conscious about making art is a sure sign of conformity, I believe. Something that I have never thought belongs in the toolkit of a professional scribbler.
But when I returned the call of my contact from the record label, this rowdy mood had settled. I did my best to explain the variance in output, without becoming too condescending.
“Look, as I’ve said before, this isn’t a production-line pursuit, like making toasters or household appliances. My home office isn’t a factory site. I go with whatever vibe the muse presents. Today that might be a flourish of coffeehouse poetry, and tomorrow, it might change to some down-home, hillbilly clogging. All of that is contained in my personal experiences. When you open the faucet, you get the full stream, and more...”
Squire groaned loudly and coughed cigar smoke at his phone.
“WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TA DO WITH THAT KIND OF UNPREDICTABLE POOP? I NEVER KNOW WHAT TA EXPECT! THIS RECORD LABEL RUNS ON HIT MATERIAL, RODNEY! I NEED GOLD NUGGETS FROM THE MINE, NOT SHOVEL BLADES FULL OF DIRT! GIVE ME SOMETHIN’ TA WORK WITH AND WE CAN DO THIS THING! OTHERWISE I’M GONNA BE IN THE DAMN POOR HOUSE! AND Y’ALL WILL BE RIGHT THERE BESIDE ME!”
A tickle of sarcasm lilted in my voice.
“I’ve been in the poorhouse for years, my friend. It’s not so bad when you learn to tighten your belt...”
The entertainment mogul must have dropped his cigar on the desk. I could hear paperwork scattering, and the drumbeat of his fists, hammering away.
“DOGGONE IT BOY, WHY DO YA GOTTA BE SO PIG-HEADED ABOUT THIS? WRITE ME SOME STUFF LIKE CONWAY TWITTY, HANK THOMPSON, OR PORTER WAGONER! GIVE ME THE MAGIC OF GEORGE STRAIT! CROON OUT SOME LYRICS THAT’LL BRING A TEAR TO YER EYES! OR A PATRIOTIC THEME THAT’LL HAVE YA TAKIN’ OFF YER HAT AND PUTTIN’ A HAND OVER YER HEART!”
I was not attempting to be uncooperative, yet could not get in sync with his plans for profiteering. I had no interest in turning my art into a commercial venture.
“Sir, let me say this straight out, okay? I write what I write. You know where to look when the mood strikes. My internet site has no paywall in force. You can log on anytime. If there happens to be something of interest there, by all means, reach out to me, personally. We can cooperate on future projects as you see fit. But I’m not a trick pony for your rodeo show. I don’t do that kind of thing for anyone...”
I could hear him cursing in the background. He must have covered the handset with his palm. A secretary in his office whispered something unintelligible. Then, he returned to the call in progress.
“Alrighty boy, if that’s how it’s gotta be, then dammit, there it is! I’ll take what yer givin’ fer now. But just remember that there coulda been a lot more dinero in this deal fer both of us, if ya had been willin’ to meet me halfway! Remember that ya passed on a great deal! And remember that chances like this don’t come along every day! I’m a big-time tycoon fer a reason! It’s ‘cause I can smell talent and know what to do with it when I find it!”
The line clicked in my ear, and went dead. That was apparently the end of our conversation.
Country Squire had not offended me with his salesman’s rant. Yet he had also failed to inspire a change of heart. I was content to continue my work in the peaceful isolation of Evergreen Estates, and my rural, Ohio Township.
To be alive and active was a blessing I would never take for granted.
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