I don't have much else to say today, so I'll tell you guys about my little scare last night.
I contacted an old friend of mine, Nat, for some research. See, he's on tour right now (www.cinderroadmusic.com) and I asked for an idea of the daily routine. When I told him why, he casually remarked, "you should check out this book..."
I nearly crapped my pants as a feeling of "oh here we go again" dread hit me. That'd be like the tenth time I've started a story only to find the exact idea has been used already. Further compounding the problem was that Nat didn't have the title of the book correct. So I couldn't look in to it better. I sent a desperate email back to him, hoping he could get a handle on what the title was. To his credit, even though I'm pretty sure he had a show last night, he remembered what it was and sent me the title late last night.The book he was talking about was Too Much, Too Late, by Marc Spitz. I had read his first
novel, How Soon is Never? which I highly recommend, about an aging music journalist obsessed with reuniting The Smiths. After looking at the description, I breathed a sigh of relief. Sort of the same concept, but not really. The band in that book were "never were's" that get an inexplicable resurgence from, of all things, a blogosphere movement.I think we may deal with some similar issues, but I think I'll be dealing with them in an entirely different way, especially if his style is anything like How Soon is Never?
So, with a sigh of relief, I soldier on.
