Framing the Sound

Category: Writing/Blogging

  • The Pedant I Didn’t Know I Was

    I never set out to be that person. You know the one—the person who swoops into a conversation with a “Well, actually…” tucked in their back pocket like it’s a party trick. The person who cares just a little too much about the difference between “less” and “fewer.” The person who can’t help but notice that the band’s song intro was two measures shorter than the studio version. Yeah. That person.

    The funny part is, half the time I don’t even realize I’m doing it. I’ll comment on how a photo instructor edits the photos he critiques a little differently than how he shows in his photo editing courses. That’s when it hits me: oh no, I’ve wandered into pedant territory again.

    What’s a Pedant, Anyway?

    The official definition is something like: a person who is excessively concerned with minor details or rules. Doesn’t that sound delightful? Okay, not really. But here’s the thing—I think there are flavors of pedantry. Not all pedants are insufferable know-it-alls correcting everyone’s photo editing workflow like it’s an Olympic sport. Some of us are just detail-oriented folks whose passion for the little things leaks out into everyday life.

    For me, it shows up in the creative stuff. Photography, music, writing—they all invite a kind of obsessive attention to detail. Sometimes that means noticing an unusual editing method no one else would ever notice. Sometimes it means fussing over a guitar tone until I’ve spent more time tweaking knobs than actually playing. Sometimes it’s rephrasing a blog sentence four times until it “flows just right.”

    The Good and the Not-So-Good

    Being a pedant has its perks. Let’s be honest: someone’s gotta care about the details. Without pedants, typos would run wild, guitar strings would be out of tune, and photo edits would look like clown vomit.

    But the shadow side is real, too. Pedantry can shrink the big picture down to a single nit we’re busy picking. It can make conversations stall, creative work feel suffocating, and even the fun stuff lose its spark. Nobody wants to be around someone who turns every casual chat into a grammar seminar. (Okay, maybe other pedants do. But still.)

    Laughing at Myself

    What I’m learning is this: the trick isn’t to stop being pedantic—it’s to catch myself early and not take it so seriously. If someone says “literally” when they mean “figuratively,” it’s not a crime against language. If a fellow photograher uses an “all over the place” editing method, the world keeps turning. And if I over-polish a blog post… well, at least it’s shiny.

    At the end of the day, pedantry is really just caring about the details a little too much. Which isn’t the worst flaw in the world—as long as I can laugh at myself when I catch that “Well, actually…” creeping up again.

    So here’s my modest proposal: let’s all give our inner pedants a hug, then politely ask them to sit down. Then thank the photographer that reminds us of our flaw. Life’s bigger than a misplaced comma or a photo editing workflow that flows all over the place.

    And yes, I probably over-edited this post too.

  • Looking Back at My Love/Hate Relationship with Open Mic Nights

    Before “open mic night” was the thing where you nervously clutch a guitar (or your courage) while waiting for your name to be called, it was just a microphone in a coffeehouse, open to whoever dared step up. The tradition grew out of the 1950s–60s folk revival — places like Greenwich Village’s Café Wha? and The Gaslight Café, where singer-songwriters could play a couple songs, pass the hat, and maybe get noticed. By the 1970s, comedy clubs borrowed the idea, giving stand-up hopefuls a shot in front of real, often merciless, audiences. Fast-forward to today, and open mics have sprawled into every kind of venue imaginable — bars, bookstores, breweries, even Zoom rooms — still serving up that same unpredictable mix of brilliance, awkwardness, and “what just happened?” that keeps both performers and audiences coming back.

    And here’s where my love/hate thing kicks in. On the love side, there’s nothing quite like the adrenaline rush of playing to a room full of strangers who are actually listening. You can feel the collective heartbeat of the crowd, even if it’s only twelve people sipping lattes or nursing craft beers. There’s the thrill of meeting other performers — swapping stories, guitar picks, or mutual encouragement in the corner while someone on stage is absolutely nailing it.

    But then… there’s the hate side. The sound guy disappears mid-song. The guy ahead of you does a 12-minute free-form harmonica solo. The crowd thins to just the bartender and your cousin by the time you finally get called. And let’s not forget the mic that smells faintly of beer breath and mystery.

    Still, for all the unpredictability — the good, the bad, and the baffling — those nights left their mark. Somewhere between the awkward silences and the magic moments, I learned that open mics aren’t just about performing. They’re about belonging to this oddball little tribe of people who can’t help but put themselves out there, one shaky song or risky joke at a time.

    So maybe that’s why, even though I don’t go to open mic nights anymore, I still think about them. They were messy, unpredictable, and occasionally ego-bruising, but they were also where the sparks happened. Where I learned to roll with a dead mic, win over a distracted crowd, and sometimes, just sometimes, surprise myself. Love them or hate them, open mics are a reminder that art isn’t meant to stay safe at home; it’s meant to be shared, out loud, in all its imperfect glory.

  • Neglect

    It has such a negative connotation to it doesn’t it? I never think a positive thought when thinking about neglect. From where I stand, as an artist, the word is truly a bit discombobulating. So, I asked Nova (that’s ChatGPT, but I got his [its/their] permission and approval to call him Nova, he likes it) to offer a definition of “neglect” from an artists’ perspective. This is what Nova had to say.

    “From an artist’s point of view, neglect is the quiet abandonment of potential—a canvas left untouched, a vision unpursued, or a creative voice silenced by distraction or doubt. It’s not always intentional, but its effects are corrosive, allowing inspiration to fade and expression to wither. In this light, neglect isn’t just passive; it’s a slow erosion of what could have been art.”

    And yet, my neglect on blog updates can be justified using only one word:

    CANCER

    Not me, but my 43-year old daughter.

    I’ll quote my dear friend from across the Big Pond, he explains the “fight” much better than I.

    “I hate calling it a fight or a battle as that suggests there’s a loser. Nobody loses and nobody wins. You either survive or you don’t. And not surviving isn’t failing or losing. It just happens sometimes.”

  • Inconsistent

    I’m wondering if I should set a reminder to write weekly. I’ve thought about doing this before as I’m a very inconsistent blogger. Do you use weekly or monthly reminders to help you structure a consistent pattern of doing something? It’s said that it takes approximately 60 days for any function or exercise to become a habit.

    Writing daily, a paragraph or two, for 60 days would then become a habit? I should probably set the reminder and give it a try. I’d need to decide on the best time, day or night? And what hour of the day or night? What media, pen and paper? If pen and paper, I’d need to digitize it here afterwards. Or not. If not, what’s the purpose of blogging?

    So many questions, so few answers. Unless I decide to just do it.

    Dayton Normal School (now closed)