The Correct Pitch: Hearing My Purpose

Usually, I write my blog in the first person—from my own point of view. But after this blog, I’m switching to the third person, taking a kind of bird’s-eye view.

This entry begins as broadly as it needs to, only to narrow by the end—offering a chance to pass through the eye of a needle.

The story will center on a male protagonist—a character, a person, a profile of someone. I want to write a narrative where someone else is describing him. I think that’ll be the most effective way to tell it.

For full transparency: yes, there are parts of the story that relate directly to my life. But most of it is fiction, though inspired by real events.

Stylistically, I’m aiming for a kind of ambiguity. I want the reader to wonder which parts are true and which are imagined—even the protagonist himself isn’t entirely sure what’s real and what isn’t. Some of it may be fantasy, or a distortion of something that did happen but has been warped by memory or emotion over time.

I need to do this.

Hold on—no, I don’t. I don’t need to do it.

The reason I’m choosing to do this… is because I feel like I need to. This story has been rolling around in my head, my heart, and my soul for a while now. I’m choosing to begin.

I don’t know exactly where it’s going, but it will be the first attempt.

Why I’m Shifting Gears with My Writing

Part of my ongoing struggle with writing is a bit ironic: I know I can write well—especially when I’m in the groove. But I also know that I’m not always strong with the technical side of things—the mechanics, the grammar, the polish. I know that when people read my fiction, they enjoy the ideas and the arc of the story, but they often get frustrated by my lack of skill in the craft of fiction writing. 

Honestly, I’ve felt the same way for a long time.

Nonfiction has always been my comfort zone.

For a while, I held onto the idea that being a nonfiction writer was somehow a fallback—that it was the “lesser” genre for those who couldn’t hack it in fiction. But when I finally woke up and admitted that nonfiction is where I feel like I have something real to say, everything changed. And I enjoy it. A lot.

Over time, I’ve realized that what I’m most drawn to isn’t just nonfiction, but creative literary nonfiction. That feels like the direction I want to explore more deeply. I’ve got a ton of ideas floating around—real stories, personal experiences, observations—but I often don’t know how to squeeze the juice out of them. 

There’s something intriguing about taking true events and reshaping them with a creative edge. Attaching some storytelling ingredients to real-life moments might just be what I need for writing a new recipe and enjoying some of the love life my writing gives back to me rather than rejecting it - over and over.

I keep thinking about writers who’ve done this well—those who blurred the line between fact and narrative art. Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood comes to mind. He told the story of a real event, but he did it with style, character, pacing… all the things that make a story want you to turn the page.

That’s the kind of direction I’m leaning toward. I want to play around with that genre and see where it takes me. Honestly, I think I’m a bit tired of the confessional-style posts I usually write here.

They’ve served their purpose, but I’m ready to try something new. I want to move this blog in a different direction—still personal, still honest, but with a little more structure, a little more creative flair.

Let’s see what comes of it.

Blurring the Lines (and That’s Fine)

And so maybe I’m blurring the lines a little bit — and that’s fine. I don’t mind. I can handle that. If someone ever said, “You need to decide — is this fiction or nonfiction?” I’d be like, okay, thanks for sharing and that’s your opinion. That’s not mine. I don’t share that view.

There’s nothing wrong with blurring the lines. Not a wall - blurred are not a wall because they are imaginary.

I’m an artist. I was born an artist. That’s my calling — being an artist. Am I a good one? I don’t know. Most of the time, I’m not sure. Some of the time, I think I am. I think I’m pretty good.

I’ve had my great moments — but they probably add up to less than fifteen minutes. 

Still, I’m here. My time’s not up. Not yet

But it’s short-lived, you know? Like I said, I don’t always know how to squeeze the juice out of the ideas. I get this picture in my head — vivid, full — but when I try to create it, it just doesn’t work. It doesn’t come out right. 

That’s not it. No, that’s not what I meant at all. 

Songwriting is the same — I hear it inside my head and spirit; I can hear the sounds. Then, when I create it, it doesn’t sound the same — it’s okay, a bit off-pitch, and the pacing is inconsistent. But it’s still kind of okay. Then again, not really — I’ve written a few good songs. 

In music, being "off-pitch" and "off-key" refer to when notes are not played or sung at the intended frequency or within the correct key, respectively. "Off-pitch" means a note is too high or too low, deviating from its correct pitch or tone, while "off-key" means a note or sequence of notes doesn’t belong to the key of the music.

Pacing is easier to fix because improving pacing is simply about putting in the time—over and over again. Pacing is critical, but it's a mechanical issue that can be addressed quickly. On the other hand, tone is a different matter and can be harder to get under control.

My music was more often off-pitch than off-key, and my other artwork was marked by similar inconsistency — my drawings, ceramics, paintings, mixed media works, poetry, travel articles, prints, photography, and scripts for short plays or movie scripts. I always knew my work was off pitch, as if my whole life was a series of missteps and contradictions. But that topic is not meant for this blog.

As an artist, there’s nothing worse than when what you create

isn’t what you wanted it to be.

But you don’t know if it will match your vision until you actually make it.

That’s the pain — the suffering — of being an artist.

And honestly, people who aren’t artists can still appreciate art, sure, but they’ll never truly understand what it feels like when your work doesn’t line up with your ideas. When it keeps happening. Over and over. The rejection, the imposter syndrome — it never lets up. 

A result worse than being forgotten arrives and knocks on your door—self-pity and embarrassment are standing there. You step aside and let them in. Why? Because you're an artist, and we have a hard time saying no. Being an artist means experiencing everything so that we can comment on anything.

Most People Think

Most people think that artists are self-centered, into self-pity, and perfectionists. But that’s only a small part of what keeps us going. The majority of us are deeply caring, lively, spirited people who just want to be able to communicate our ideas clearly. It’s that simple. Plus, some of us are willing to do anything — at least the ones that make it over the wall. The artists who don’t, don’t make it, and that’s fine.

But some of us who don’t make it

allow spite to be in the mix.

I was trapped in one of the most dysfunctional relationships for most of my life — and dragged through that time — from about my later teens until I was in my mid-fifties. During that time, my life was in a constant state of being stuck in the wrong pitch. What has changed? 

Well, today, I know that I am in a stuck state, and that awareness has freed me to believe whatever I choose to believe. It’s a liberating point of view, not only to understand but also the power I gained after I started seeing my work through the lens of being stuck — it supercharged my energy and allowed me to optimize my position.

AI took me to the next level, and part of me thinks that with so many of us in that stuck state together, we could’ve developed the idea of an AI that will help a lot of artists finally see that their ideas align with their intentions because they can touch them in real life. 

In a way, I believe that those who were subconsciously or consciously wanting to create an AI to help us may have actually been the people who did create the AI that we ended up with because we were the people who wanted it but did not have the ability to create it—just like our art.

Navigating Purpose

So, our energy gravitated toward those who know how to build an AI that will serve us—and that is exactly what happened.

So AI was kind of freeing in that way. I could type in the idea — or just talk — and it would make something close to what I saw in my head. That was astonishing. That was liberating.

I can write in a document, freely, and then copy and paste it into the editor - Freeing me from overpriced, rude, and pretentious editors—who said some of the most horrible things about my fiction—and I’d reply, ‘Yes, okay, but you did read it.” 

These days, I’m making an effort to stop typing and rely solely on the Talk-Type feature. It’s incredibly cathartic. I can move freely around the room, express my ideas with gestures, and watch as the words effortlessly appear on the document.

As a writer, it’s been like that. Rescuing.

Because I know I have good ideas. I write fast — I throw everything in all at once. And then, before, I’d go back and try to take it apart, you know? Break it down vertically, horizontally — lay it all out and look for something that clicked. And that would take so much energy.

Usually around page 100, I’d hit a wall. Just…nothing left. I was bored. Like, I’m done. That’s it. No more. If I am bored and done, well, guess what? That was the reader's experience.

So now, just letting myself add in fictional, creative, original things — letting them in — it’s different. It feels lighter. It feels more like me. The blending together of points of view may result in the correct pitch.

And add that to using AI as an editing tool - not plagiarized or doing it for me while I sleep - but like a tool I am present and engaged and creating - a low cost unpretentious, non-judgment mental, perfectly capable editor.

That’s what I’ve needed.

This next phase of my writing blogs means some changes. Please know this is a deliberate decision, not something random. I want to let people know that I’ve thought it through and asked myself if this is the direction I want to take. I am accountable now. It’s out there.

A decision has been made. Moving toward creative nonfiction. It’s also clear that I will use AI as my primary—but not sole—editing tool. Having real people read my work as part of the process will continue.

At least now I know the direction. 

Whether it’s the right one, I don’t know yet because I’m still on the journey. But I’ve got my map, my compass. I can see the vanishing point, the horizon—the direction I need to head.

I’m going to start moving that way. And if I fall down a 100-foot crevasse and die, maybe it wasn’t the best choice. But maybe that’s my fate. Or maybe I create something I can truly recognize as what I was aiming for — that would be something, and everything would really come together.

If I can pass on with just that — to have that for a significant period of time, maybe twenty years — I’d be in my early 80s and could look back with affection. 

But if things continue on their current path, I will be looking back with spiteful rejection.

Most people will agree that cancer, dementia, and other known aging afflictions are just spite trying to free itself before you die. A kind of coming to terms with your back story making decent attempts at an estranged desire for the screening or reckoning.

And yes, I am referring to older people, in the sixth decade or more.

It's Raining Down on Me

I’ve been here before—changing habits, thinking, beliefs, trying to fix what felt like a life that didn’t fit. And it hasn’t always turned out well. The results often felt like the opposite of what I intended.

I will try again—and then again, and again. I’ll keep trying.

It’s no wonder I went insane and caused so much damage.

It’s clear now that all that trying led to dysfunction.

Why didn’t I learn earlier in life that doing the same thing over and over—

while praying and hoping and feeling—that things would be different this time

would somehow lead me to near insanity?

If I had known that getting different results would require doing something different,

bloody hell… maybe—just possibly, with a big hope and a prayer—

if I had known that in my twenties,

I might have been more successful…

successful in the way I had always wanted to be.

This time, I will not grasp at other outcomes or hold space for retreat. I will step into the present like one entering a temple, breath steady, spirit still. 

With mind clear, heart open, and soul aligned, I will offer this note to the universe—not as a plea, but as a truth already unfolding.

This is the sound of letting go,

the correct pitch of becoming. 

So, that’s it for this blog. I’m changing my format. There will be changes, and it’s on purpose, it’s intentional, and it will serve a purpose. 

Am I passing through the eye or a needle or existing in the eye of the storm?

I am listening.