Susan Speaks: Realizing a Dream

This was going to be a letter, but as it evolved, it’s really a blog post. So… here it is.

I feel a real need to say a big, loud, public thanks to everyone at the Metallica Club and the various groups (band, management, label, and so forth) as well as the organizers of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction ceremony who made it possible for me and the Tour Manager to attend last weekend’s affair. Without the chance to buy tickets through the MetClub, I’d have probably never seen a dream come true: To attend a RRHOF induction ceremony.

It probably sounds odd that a writer dreams of the sort of boring (in theory), stuffy (in theory) industry event as was staged last weekend. But before this writer chose fiction over all else, I spent a long time positioning myself to work in the music business. I turned down not one but three job offers from one record label, alone. There were other labels, too, who showed interest in having me come work for them, but in the end, I couldn’t deny it. Writing fiction is what I’m meant to do.

Choosing one life over another doesn’t always mean the end of the dreams that fueled me through long nights on stage crew, through delicate discussions with record label reps over why I couldn’t play their bands on my radio show, or through interviews with musicians that didn’t go quite the way I’d envisioned (The Great Kat was an experience I will possibly never get over). Certainly one glance at my fiction will show that I never truly left the music world. I can’t go; I belong here, even if it is on the sidelines. Hardly a candidate to watch most of my music-related dreams come true.

Yet I continue to find a way. My desire to learn promotions from the inside was realized when I stepped up to throw together a fan convention. Oh, I may not have had to deal with guarantees and gate receipts and all that, but I did it nonetheless. In typical Susan fashion — some would call it Metallica fashion — I found a way to make it happen on my own terms. I jumped in, both feet first, and came out at the other end standing upright. Maybe a little battered, a little bruised, but definitely wiser and richer for the experience.

Same for last weekend, although the risks were fewer. So were the obstacles.

If anything, it was easy. Entered raffle for tickets. Purchased tickets. Lined up place to stay, at an exclusive bed-and-breakfast that only cost me a copy of my book. Two babysitters vied for the honors of putting up with my children. We drove 105 miles. Jumped the public transit. And voila. Dreams came true.

Being there became bigger than simply watching my favorite (real-life) band be honored. From the moment the TV broadcast began, I was reminded of my true love for music, not simply for the one band who’d enabled my presence at the ceremony. Earlier in the day, as my family had toured the Museum, I’d tried to give my kids a feel for the bigger picture. How bands like Little Anthony and the Imperials may have been allowed to get up on stage and perform, but they weren’t allowed to be served dinner by the same people who were paying them for their gig. How rare a woman like Wanda Jackson had been, rocking out alongside the boys. We owe these pioneers much, the least of which is for the songs and melodies they produce. They changed the world.

Once upon a time, I’d dreamed of being one of those people who work behind the scenes. I wanted to be one of the people who make the musical magic happen for the thousands and millions of a band’s fans. I wanted to be able to stand at the side of the stage and look past the band I was working for. I wanted to look out at the audience and know that I was, in part, responsible for their being there. My first novel was about a woman who does exactly this. It’s safely under my bed now, but anyone familiar with my fiction knows that it was the start of something great.

I chose a different route from my musical ambitions, a route where I am both entirely behind the scenes and, simultaneously, the star of the show. But it’s where I can meld my two loves into one. Best of all, I can share it with anyone who picks up my book or who stops by my blog. Choosing fiction over my music career didn’t mean an end to those old dreams. There was no box to shove those ambitions and fantasies inside of, no lid to close, nothing to keep them from laying, dormant, until the time was right and they could come true.

Yeah, it took my membership in a certain band’s fan club to make it happen. That’s why I owe a huge thanks to the people associated with Metallica and with the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. There’s an old saying that the means don’t justify the ends. This time, they most certainly did.

Now, onward to conquer my next dream. I have so many, it’s hard to choose which will come true next. And that’s the beauty of it. I didn’t choose this; it fell in my lap. It’s reminded me of my love for all music, not just the heavy stuff I usually prefer. It gave me more than I expected, and for me, that’s how it’s best.