Bar Scott

A New Kind of Love

Since early November I have struggled with how and what to write. For the last seventeen years, since the inception of this blog, I’ve opted to remain apolitical believing that Love is more powerful than any message I might write about the right or wrong way to move forward politically.

            The last post I sent out included a new version of my song “Love is the Reason.” When I recorded it, I

Love is the Reason

Our Town

The last two weeks in our town have given me lots of reasons to love living here.

The New York Times, CNN TV, and US News and World Report have all done feature stories on the Darkness of our sky out here. We’ve worked hard (or our friends have worked hard) for Westcliffe, Colorado to be designated one of the world’s few Dark Skies Communities. That means we’ve committed to keeping the sky dark by minimizing the light we throw off at night. Stars are harder and harder to see in our densely populated world. Here, there is no problem (save a cloud or two) seeing all the stars you could hope for

In support of joy

My writing friend Annie Scholl is writing an article about writing for Huffington Post. A week ago she reached out to me and a few other writers with a questionnaire about our writing habits. She’d heard we don’t write everyday like so many writing coaches and teachers insist we must. She wanted to know how we feel about that. I feel strongly. I write when I feel like writing and I don’t write when I don’t feel like writing. Probably my writing suffers as a result, but that’s ok. Yes, I’d like to be better at it, but I’d also

A Post I Never Thought I'd Write

One of the things we deal with in our small town (650+ in town, 4000+ in all of Custer County) is the fact that we know each other by name, or at least by the circles we travel in. There’s the cowboy circle, the Baptist Circle, the Lutheran Circle, the Liberal circle, the rich folks (or come-here people) and the poor folks. We don’t overlap much, and there are other circles besides, but we’re aware of one another, that’s for sure.

My Gold Mine

This morning, I felt like I struck gold. I DID strike gold. As a senior citizen now I can’t keep up with all the features of any one app, like for instance, Facebook Messenger. Who knew that you had to check it to see if anyone had written you? Further, who knew that Facebook filters messages it perceives to be spam? Somehow, ancient messages from the 

Monty, Jerome, and The Present Giver.

A few weeks ago I flew back to Colorado after the Woodstock Writers’ Festival. I was tired when our plane landed in Denver. There was still another short flight to Colorado Springs and a 90-minute drive through canyons in the pitch dark after that. My visit east, as always, had exhausted me. I get filled up and drained all at the same time. So much love, a sort of overdose of love: my parents, Forrest, all the people in town who I miss or who miss me, or both. It’s a joyful tiredness, and as deep a tiredness as I feel these days. 

Becoming

I’m sad today. Maybe it’s the snow that’s falling when my body wants it to be spring. Maybe it’s being alone for six days straight, a gift in many ways but also boring after a while. Maybe it’s that I was in Woodstock last week and I feel more and more distant from my life there, as if it’s gone from me forever. It’s not, of course, but it’s changed its place in my heart. Maybe it’s that I’m transitioning from writing music that others will hear soon to writing for myself because doing concerts regularly is harder and harder.

Weather

A couple of weeks ago my brother met a couple with a 6-month-old girl at a coffee shop in Hong Kong. The young family was sitting at a nearby table. My brother was drawn to the little girl so he said hello. After a brief conversation the family got up to go. A moment later, the father came back and thanked my brother for his kindness. He said, “I don’t usually tell people this so I’m not sure why I’m telling you, but our little girl is sick.” My brother asked what was going on, and the father said “she’s got a rare liver cancer called hepatoblastoma. She’s just finished her third round of chemo.” My brother looked 

Dialogue worth reading

Last year my sister gave me a book written by Lynda Barry called What It Is. If you’re a writer, or an artist working in any form, I highly recommend this book. It’s dense and intense but Barry has a handle on some pretty common issues artists face (and people generally). She’s an illustrator who teaches art, but this book is directed at writers. She’s a great writer, too.

The reason I’m mentioning it here is that there’s this one sequence of dialogue in the early part of the book that I keep thinking about. Barry’s describing a conversation with her husband. It’s set in a comic strip of the two of them. Here’s how it goes:

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