Member-only story
A WRITER’S LIFE
I Don’t Share My Writing With Family and Friends
Is that weird? Is it wrong?
My brother Lee and I both create art. He writes songs and I write prose. I used to think he and his art would never break up, that I’d be the one in the far-distant peloton while he crossed the creative finish line, tossing songs like roses to adoring fans. He’s always said music is his calling, while I’ve always thought of writing as my side gig.
In the 80s, 90s, and early aughts, Lee wrote and recorded a shit-ton of songs. Back then, he’d record and send me mixtapes on cassette, and I’d listen to them on my Walkman in the laundromat. I thought he had potential, but I’m his sister, so I would say that, wouldn’t I? He worked hard to perfect his craft, teaching himself keyboard and vocals and music theory. That was then. These days, a web search finds just two or three songs on a few platforms, on accounts with no engagement gathering virtual dust. These days, I’m the prolific one.
A few years ago, Lee took a year or two off to write and record full time. From his web presence, I’d guess that was when he was publishing: Spotify, Apple Music, Amazon, YouTube, and a sprinkling of other platforms. He also shopped his work around to friends of friends in LA. All he got for his efforts was a job offer at the same church…
