Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Because this is what I wanted. This is what I was hoping for: that Blue would reflect back to me what seems so clear. That he would understand why I can’t compromise on how this album heads out into the world, not even a little bit.
My friends at happy hour didn’t get it, not really, I could tell.
I’m not sure even Charlotte and Baylor will understand. They love me and are excited about the baby, but they’re not artists or parents, let alone both. I don’t know if they’ll understand how all the acts of creation taking place inside of me are so intertwined that I couldn’t separate them if I tried.
But Blue gets it, gets me, a fact he proves by reaching over to take my hand. “I’m glad you stood your ground. You clearly know exactly what you’re doing and why you’re doing it. Just let me know how I can help.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, still fighting tears. “That means so much to me. Really.”
“Anything I can give,” he says, a promise I know he’ll keep. “Seriously.”
“Well, since you’re offering…” I pull my hand away and reclaim my fork, knowing there’s no way I’ll be able to keep the sniffly feelings at bay if I keep touching him.
And I don’t have time for sniffling.
I have planning—and eating—to do. My stomach is already growling again, insisting it hasn’t had nearly enough Pad Thai. There’s an ungodly amount of work ahead, and my body demands fuel.
“You launched indie albums before it was even close to easy,” I continue as we return to our meals. “I know things are different now, but I’d love to hear how you did it. How you built awareness, momentum, fan engagement, all that kind of stuff. I’m sure there are some lessons there for me, if you’d be up for sharing them.”
He looks uncomfortable, the way he always does when his former life pops up in conversation. But for the first time, he doesn’t immediately brush me off or change the subject. “I’m not sure how useful my experience will be. Like you said, it was a long time ago. Things have changed so much in the past few years, let alone the past decade, but…” He studies his plate, skewering a carrot, then a piece of broccoli. “But like you, I didn’t start from scratch. There was already some infrastructure and brand awareness in place. By the time I recorded my first solo album, I’d been touring with a kids’ group for years.”
“Really?” I ask, fascinated. “Which one? I might have heard of it.”
He exhales a laugh. “Doubt it. The Karma Kids weren’t exactly a household name.”
“The Karma Kids.” I wince, grinning as I tease, “Ouch. That’s bad.”
“Awful,” he agrees. “But yeah, we toured every summer, hitting every festival and farmers’ market we could get to in our old bus. We’d perform, then sell CDs and collect email addresses on clipboards.” He stabs another bite. “Though the emails were basically pointless. We didn’t have a newsletter until six or seven years after we started gathering them. I set it up myself when I was twelve.”
My jaw drops. “What? Seriously? At twelve?”
He shrugs. “Don’t be too impressed. It was just an excuse to get more time in the computer room. But the newsletter ended up being one of the best tools for driving pre-order sales.”
“Wow,” I murmur. “So, who was managing you during all that? Your parents?”
“The commune’s leader. Daveed.” The name lifts the hair on my arms for some reason, even though Blue’s calm tone doesn’t shift as he adds, “He’s the one who decided I would go solo. He had connections in the yoga music community, who seemed happy to help him out once he had something more marketable than a kids’ group. I didn’t see much of what went on behind the scenes, just how fast the email list was growing and the increased hits to the website. Daveed wasn’t a tech guy, but he had a firm handle on everything else.”
“A firm handle,” I echo. “Is that why you quit performing as soon as you left the commune? Because you were tired of being handled so firmly?”
He grunts. “Something like that.”
I want to ask more. I want to ask if this Daveed guy hurt him in addition to exploiting his youth and talent. I want to offer to hunt him down and rip his throat out with my teeth if he did.
But that’s not a conversation one has over dinner in public. And it’s not one Blue’s ready for. If he were, he wouldn’t be stabbing snow peas and avoiding eye contact like it’s his job.
So, I settle for saying, “Well, good for you. Screw being handled. But that was helpful. Thank you. I don’t have a newsletter. We had one for the band, but I need to start one for my solo stuff. ASAP.”