Bob Dylan “On the Road Again”

In 1965, Bob Dylan released the album, Bringing It All Back Home. I was all of seven years old at the time, but somehow, Bob managed to slide a song onto that album that was meant just for little old me. The song was “On the Road Again.” it featured “comic grotesques” about the horrors of domestic life.

“I go to pet your monkey, I get a face full of claws/I ask who's in the fireplace, you say, ‘Santa Claus’ ”

Look, I am almost 65, and I still don’t know what he means when he says he’s going to pet a monkey. I don’t want to know. All I know is that the song illustrates the bizarre reality of domestic life. It’s a package deal. You don’t just get a spouse, you get the crazy in-laws who hide in your icebox, too.

“Well, there's fist fights in the kitchen, they're enough to make me cry

Then the milkman comes in, even he's gotta take a side”

The song is called “On the Road Again” even though Dylan doesn’t actually sing those words. It is clear that the dread of weird domestic discontent drives him to get back out on the road again.

Domestic dread is not what lead me to do my national book tour in 2022-2023. What lead me to drive 30,000 miles to the lower 48 states was the dream of people reading a book I had written.

When a person, such as me, gets an idea for a book, and then writes it, imagination takes over. The author begins to believe that people will read the book, love it, and applaud him or her. In my mind, I could hear the wild acclaim of my rapidly-growing national audience, chanting my name.

Then the dream would end. I’d wake up and realize almost no one was reading my book.

It is like a stand-up comedian telling jokes and no one laughs. A musician singing a song that no one hears. A dancer performing a difficult routine and finding out that the theatre is empty.

A dream is a funny thing. When you discover a dream, it lights you up, it sets you on fire. You can’t think of anything else. Everything else disappears. There is only the dream. The difficulties seem irrelevant. Your drive and determination will conquer everything. Nothing is impossible for you.

This is how great things get done despite the hurdles. Unfortunately, this is also how people like me find themselves driving all over the country with a book that no bookstore wants to sell. They can tell that, absent a miracle, no readers will ever want to buy it. The book will sit on the shelf forever. Bookstores want books that are short-term guests, not permanent residents.

Somehow, despite all evidence to the contrary, I continued to believe that my first book would sell. I insisted to myself that everyone would be curious to know more about Africa, despite the fact that the vast majority of Americans can live their entire lives without ever giving any thought to Africa.

But even I am not impervious to reality indefinitely. A year of fruitless wandering wore me down. I was starting to work on my next book, Home Free, and the thought of going through the entire process of writing a book again over the next two years without any possibility of success just became unbearable. I bottomed out. I saw black. I was afraid that I couldn’t do it all over again.

This is part of life on the road, or for that matter, life at home or life anywhere. Sometimes we all get overwhelmed by the obstacles we face. So, we have to take a step back, rest up a little bit, talk to friends and family, and think hard about whether to subject ourselves to the ordeal, the gauntlet.

I’ll be honest. I’m not sure I can do it again. The invincible confidence, like a rusty suit of armor, has sprung some holes. I was able to believe that I could succeed on my first book mainly because I had no idea what I was getting into. There are a million things you have to do all at the same time to be successful. And you have to be good at all of them. On top of that, you have to get very lucky.

You have to be the sort of person who stops at the grocery or the gas station and a stranger asks how you’re doing and where you’re from. The next thing you know, he’s a famous publisher. He asks about the book you just wrote and you feign modesty, but he insists, so you show him your book.

And of course, he thinks it’s marvelous and he wants to know if you have an idea for another book. He gives you his personal number and insists you call him the following Monday to talk when he is back in the office. And when you call he offers you a generous advance and a great contract.

But that sort of thing never happens to me.

I am the sort of person who stops at the grocery or the gas station and I get what I need, pay, and leave. Nobody talks to me. I don’t talk to anybody either, because I don’t want to be a bother. I grew up in the Midwest, where we all learn to mind our own business and keep our big mouths shut.

In the Midwest we learn to mind our own business

Nobody from the Midwest ever meets a publisher or gets a big advance.

Once in a while, I tell myself maybe it would be good to talk to someone and I give it a try. Yesterday at a coffee shop, there was a young couple with a cute baby boy. He kept looking at me, smiling. I told them they had a very cute baby and they seemed happy. We had a nice chat, but then they left.

None of them turned out to be a publisher: not the mom, not the dad, not the baby. Dammit. Sigh. Don’t worry. I’ll try to get over the discouragement and probably proceed with the next book.

This time, I’ll find an agent. I will get a publisher who will offer me a contract and an advance. I won’t have to hire my own editor, proofreader, or book designer. Once I’m published, major publications will agree to review the book. With a few good reviews, the bookstores will agree to stock the book. Customers will buy it. Fame and fortune will inevitably follow, but somehow, I’ll remain modest.

That is the plan, anyway. It’s implausible but I’m sticking with it. Does anyone know the grocery or gas station where all the agents and publishers hang out? I need to start hanging out there, too.

Thanks.

FAME!

The Fool on the Hill