I've written here before about how my dreams were part of my writer's toolbox during my half century as a 24/7 obsessive writer. When I retired -- not from writing but from the obsessive element -- I began dreaming like normal folks, surreal and crazy and disturbing film clips in my mind. They sucked, actually.
So I am happy to report that today this changed because I was obsessing about Autumn Leaves, the ukulele song I am working on, and my dream was about variations of arranging the song. This was more fun than finding myself the umpire in a ball game of nudists, or some such.
I am using the version at Ukulele Underground as a template but adding bits to it. It is going reasonably well for an old fart with arthritic hands.
So I am happy to report that today this changed because I was obsessing about Autumn Leaves, the ukulele song I am working on, and my dream was about variations of arranging the song. This was more fun than finding myself the umpire in a ball game of nudists, or some such.
I am using the version at Ukulele Underground as a template but adding bits to it. It is going reasonably well for an old fart with arthritic hands.
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