Y’all don’t write enough blog posts. Around the start of the pandemic, my attention span shortened. A causal relationship? Probably. I felt compelled to check the Johns Hopkins covid map every twenty minutes. And then the news, looking for the next appalling thing President Trump said or did. He rarely disappointed. The covid numbers crept higher and higher, and daily, Trump insulted a war hero or recommended drinking bleach or something. Every time I clicked onto the internet, I got sucked into a new story.
No new posts. I’ve seen huge attrition in my blogging circle. It’s gone six or eight months since Rachel posted. Anne writes once a week, sometimes less. Michael’s become intermittent. Jane went kind of nuts so I unfollowed her. Angela and Ben quit WordPress altogether. I’ve since latched onto some new blogs, but most of these lack the long multi-comment conversations I had with my old crew. I’m dangling alone from the flagpole, flapping in the wind.
To get my blog fix, I browse my tags. “Writing” is a good one, new posts every few minutes. People who post with this tag consider themselves good writers. “Creative Nonfiction” too, but that only gets a couple of posts a day. “Autism” is one of my favorites. I usually skip over the parenting focused posts, but I’ve found that many autistic adults write well, and they harbor a unique perspective of the world—one that somewhat mirrors my own.
“Sounds exhausting,” you say, “how can you read so many posts.” I don’t read the posts, just the first sentence. When I browse for books in the library, assessing dozens of choices, I’ve developed a foolproof weed-out method: good cover, good title? I pull it off the shelf. I randomly read a paragraph on the third or fourth page. If I like the writing style, I check out the book. I rarely miss. I almost always like the books I bring home. With blog posts, it’s the same thing. If the opening sentence is strong, I read the rest of the post.
Here’s my thinking: When faced with a blank page, most writers will pause and consider. Afraid to mar the page, if you will, much like an artist with a paintbrush and a white canvas. That first sentence is likely to be the best one in the story. If the blogpost starts out weak or dull, I don’t expect it to get any better. I’m not sure this is fair, but it works.
Last week, I joined Spotify. While half of America is bailing on the platform, I’m just getting started. Suddenly, all my favorite music sits at my fingertips waiting for me to listen (except Neil Young, of course, but I’ve already written about that). Much of this music I haven’t heard in years. One of the first songs I downloaded was The Medicine Show by the Dream Syndicate. I don’t expect you to know it. I think it would have been classified as fringe when it came out thirty-eight years ago. Now there might be six people on earth who still listen to it.
But The Medicine Show kicks off with the most powerful opening line in any story, song or poem I know. It makes Call me Ishmael seem ill conceived.
I’ve got a page one story buried in my yard; I’ve got a troubled mind.
I know I have a tendency to string out on weird tangents related to song lyrics, but c’mon, doesn’t this grab you? The first time I heard it all those years ago, it hooked me. I wanted to know, needed to know what happens next. It’s been a top ten song for me ever since.
When I took my first writing class back in the nineties, two pieces of advice stuck with me. Look for your shimmering images and kill the first line.
Writing like The Medicine Show sets an aspirational goal for me. I want to snag my readers from the start, and keep them captive. I won’t fool myself; I know my writing can use plenty of improvement. But I’ve always tried to come out of the gate hard. Make a strong declaration, I can explain what I’m talking about later.
Three years ago, I became a ‘syndicated contributor’ for the Good Men Project website. When I applied, my editor sent me the most encouraging note I’ve ever received as a writer: “Our CEO is the one who chooses posts when we syndicate, and her quote regarding you was: ‘I just love people who are such good writers they can write about anything and they grab you from the first sentence.’”
All of the credit goes to that writing instructor. I wish I could remember his name. Take a minute to read through the lyrics of The Medicine Show—poetry, dark, but darn good. I encourage you to listen to the song as well, but I have no idea if you will like it. I sure do.
The Medicine Show by the Dream Syndicate
I’ve got a page one story buried in my yard
I’ve got a troubled mind
I’m going down to the medicine show
If I’ve got to choose between doing penance
And doing time
I’m going down to the medicine show
I’ve got a one-way ticket on the 8:06
To the outskirts of town
I’m going down to the medicine show
And I’ll say, “hey conductor
Now don’tcha stop until you hear that gypsy sound
I’m going down to the medicine show
But I know that it’s hard to be a reasonable man
When you stop finding reasons for everything
But tonight I’ll get some answers
Down at the medicine show
I’m gonna find me that gypsy girl
That likes to dance and cry
When I go down to the medicine show
And we’re gonna lay our burden down
Beneath that lonesome gypsy sky
When I go down to the medicine show
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Previously Published on jefftcann.com and is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: iStock
